Chapter Text
“And?”
“And I won’t be a dick about it?” Satoru says, winking at the deity lounging on his bed.
Suguru’s face tightens in a constipated expression he had the chance to hone over many years of being together.
“And I’ll behave. Like the obedient little dog I am,” Satoru amends amiably.
They’ve been at it for ages. Not 'cause Satoru didn’t get it, but because he was in the mood to be a brat. Suguru was being mean to him, really fucking mean, keeping him on the cold-ass floor naked, painfully on stand-by for this long.
It didn't seem like Suguru cared to hone his patience at first, but the frustration must be starting to get at him now, seeping through the cracks of his composure, making him bounce a leg, fiddle with his hair in a nervous tick. Satoru is not the only one who has been on standby for too long—Even if Suguru probably doesn't feel the need to crawl to him on his knees and slobber all over him like a dog like Satoru does.
"And?"
And?
Two wholly naked thighs out there doing nasty things to his brain, and Suguru expect he's listening still? Those slanted eyes narrowed at him with irritation are so fucking unfair. He deserved to be praised, really—holding himself put against all that, he's the best boy Suguru could ever wish for.
A manicured foot rises to his face.
"Satoruu. Focus." Suguru's legs parting with the movement glimpses him with the cutesy panties buried between.
"Hmm, no can do, pal." Voice coming out muffled from under the foot he's too busy venerating. Suguru's body, at last!
The feet part ways with his face all too soon as Suguru straightens, collecting his legs and letting go of a bit of the alluring pose to grab Satoru's hair and attention. He gives him an exasperated look before spelling it out for him.
"Are you allowed to speak without my explicit consent?"
"No—"
Suguru's eyes narrow in suspicion for a second, the answer sounding a bit too close to a question for his liking.
"Are you allowed to take control before I say so?"
"No."
"Are you aware that I will punish you if you break the rules?"
Satoru squirms. His baby is shooting straight at his dick with this. He's never harsh-worded with their students, but in the moment of need, a naughty brat calls for a naughty teacher, and that had always had a special place in Satoru's fantasies—fat ass in a pencil skirt, cane ready and hair pulled back in a no-nonsense bun. A few strands always slipping out, like the control he has over him. Red lipstick ruined around his cock. Thin-rimmed glasses stained white with cum, begging him to behave while he bends him over his cock. Suguru, Suguru, Suguru-
"Yes."
"Do you need to be reminded of what the punishment will be?"
“Nah,” Satoru purrs, smug little grin turning his lips into a pretty bow. “I just want you, babe.”
Suguru gives him a dry look.
"And what did you do for me to have to discipline you like a dog?"
"Nearly hijacked a plane ‘cause some random bitch tried to fuck you halfway across the globe."
Another long-distance call, Satoru excited to hear his boyfriend saying he was boarding and finally coming home, but Suguru’s voice had been gruffy and guilty instead, mumbling apology after apology through the line. Too much wine, too many toasts. Unintentionally, too many signals sent. His hurband had blacked out and woken up in a stranger bed, head pounding, a woman next to him who sure as hell wasn't Satoru but his fine-ass French host, all smiles and “merci”, thanking him goodbye with a farewell dinner the night before his flight back to Tokyo, a flight that Suguru had ingloriously lost. Satoru had seen red. Nothing happened, Suguru said, Suguru swore, Suguru pleaded, but reason didn’t mean jack at that moment.
Hence the plane. Not one of his proudest moments... It has been unexpectedly easy, though.
"And that was..." Suguru trails off.
"Too late?"
"Bad!" Suguru hisses. "That was bad, Satoru! Seriously, never do something so stupid again! You heard me?"
Satoru sends out a coquettish look from under his lashes the way he knows drives Suguru nuts.
"Careful, darling. If you're too sweet to me tonight, I'll want to do it again."
Suguru isn't aware he's threading too close to a streak of Satoru's insanity none of them are really prepared to handle, but Satoru will not give him this heads up. He tries his best to be careful with Suguru, considerate, even—but he's still pissed about that bitch.
He'll learn for himself.
Suguru rolls his eyes and beckons him forward. Satoru gladly crawls onto his hands and knees, already pacified by Suguru's smooth hands grabbing his face dearly, his smooth lips placing a kiss on his forehead.
"Promise me."
"Sure, baby, whatever you want." Satoru's cheeks hurt from how wide he's smiling. He can't help it. "Can we fuck now?"
"Sure." Suguru looks too pleased as he thumbs his cheeks with that smile of his that foretells troubles and misery. "I'm afraid you will not get it your way, though."
The bedroom is dim when Suguru crosses to the dresser, just a few candles flickering. It’s always candlelight when they mess around. Only candlelight. Suguru says it’s so he can take the blindfold off, but a lamp would do the trick. It’s not really about the light. Suguru has to be dramatic when it comes to his Satoru. Can’t help himself. And honestly, Satoru eats it up. He wants to be the centre of Suguru’s world. That obsessive, all-in kind of love. It's ruined him in the best and worst ways. He’s thrown away any ounce of reason just to stay Suguru’s for these past ten years, and never regretted it once.
Satoru knew he was doomed from the first time Suguru went down on him, to be honest. Bright eyes, shiny wet adoring eyes, looking up at him like he wanted to hold all of Satoru in his mouth, in the bottom of his belly, all the way down to his soul. Like Satoru was bound to become one of his curses, and in Suguru, he would have found his beginning and his end.
That moment really fucked up his heart. He doesn’t tell him that, though.
He tells him it was the summer they went to see the stars under the rice paddies in Yamagata, where the fireflies glowed so bright it looked like the earth had its own constellations. He tells him it’s when they laid out on that busted-up dock, crickets so fucking loud around them. Didn't matter, Suguru managed to fall asleep on his shoulder halfway through his explanation of the Tanabata myth, mouth half-open and hand locked around his wrist like Satoru was the shepherd to his soul.
He says that’s when he knew.
Not the truth, though.
In the mirror above the dresser, Suguru’s reflection glows a warm yellow in the candlelight. He stands there, the inverse of a dream, his Orihime. He’s digging through the top drawer, choosing out items he brought back from his trip, and he looks good. Standing there in the flesh after a whole month away, he looks good.
Suguru had the chance to collect a selection of toys, tools, and weird little eccentricities in their years together, so much so, they had to sacrifice one of the biggest drawers just to keep up. From that very drawer full of wonders, he now pulls out the first of many things he’s brought to the table tonight and chuckles at the way Satoru's dick bobs at the sigh of the leather piece. Satoru's not gonna admit it, but he was frothing at the mouth at the idea of Suguru collaring him since he told him earlier. The collar his boyfriend has chosen is a pretty, feminine thing, pink with a heart-shaped ring on it, and comes with a leash. He can't tell if he had chosen it for humiliating purposes or it's just Suguru's taste, but he doesn't mind either way. It will look hot on him, and that's the only thing that matters.
Suguru toys with the leather for a moment, bending and twisting it in his hands to check if it yields to his liking, then fastens it around his neck.
"It suits you well," he says, tugging at his hair to lift Satoru's head and expose the new piece. He tenderly brushes his face, thumbs gliding over his cheekbones, tracing the underside of his gorgeous eyes. "Do you like my gift? How does it feel?"
Satoru stares up at him, pressing his face against his hands like a cat. Suguru didn't give him explicit permission to talk, so he stays silent. Suguru bends over for a closer look, a couple of silky strands escaping from his shoulder down to his chest, grazing over his left nipple where the black metallic bar shimmers. A silk robe and a cheeky pair of lace panties are all he's wearing, wrapping his hips in purple—sexy, but still in the way. Satoru wants to tear them away with his teeth and growl like an animal.
God, he missed this.
The real thing is so much better than the teasing phone calls and fuzzy late-night pictures that never quite did Suguru justice. After a month of seeing him through a phone screen, Suguru's presence sits on the top of his frontal lobe carnally.
His husband can be beautiful and handsome at the same time. Entirely in his element, even if he’s not usually the one taking charge in bed. He'll easily slaughter curses into gruesome oblivion under that guise of easiness he's wearing, so Satoru doesn’t push. He stays put and waits for instructions. Their sex life’s already complicated enough—no point in poking it worse before he can guess at Sugure's real intent with this farce.
It had always been that way. Given their rought start, Satoru had to work his ass off at first to make it even remotely functional. Then he got complacent, let him evolve without really tracking the changes—until he realised Suguru was a monster in the making, a monster he helped shape.
Once again safe in his self-confidence, Suguru had become a flower always in bloom. People on the street stop in their tracks to notice him more than they notice Satoru now. That was never the plan. And yeah, as despicable as it sounds, it scares him—because Suguru’s heart is huge, and can carry too many people in it. He’s so hard to read. The kind of pervert who won’t say he wants to be used, won’t beg to be ruined, but clearly craves it. When it's... tricky to find his limits before they've already driven straight through them, Satoru wonders about the possibility of somebody else in his place, doing better, hoarding Suguru's recognition for themselves. So he gives him anything he wants.
They were banned from training on the school ground, all because being forcefully subdued gets Suguru all hot and bothered. A flicker of a glance from the side of his eye was all Satoru had to work with, it meant go-time. Thankfully, Satoru had taught himself to see everything since the moment he first opened his eyes. So, like a well-trained puppet, he went along with it. They used to chalk it up to competitiveness, but that excuse didn’t hold for long. People caught on. And Satoru had to lean into it, too—Suguru wanted him sloppy, pushing him down, hiking his hips up, feeling him roughly through the uniform, making it look like he was the one who couldn’t control himself.
At the cost of Satoru’s pride, Suguru loved every second of it. They stopped. For the student's sake, mostly, though Yaga still gives them a look every time he sees them alone, like he expects something awful to happen. Which is unfair, they do announce when they’re about to “handle urgent business” and vanish for a while now.
It's not always so smooth, though.
Satoru remembers this one fight they had that went on for days. Satoru was pissed and came off hurt, and he put in the effort to hurt Suguru just as much. Things got really foul halfway, they almost broke up—screamed into their face they were going to, at least. Satoru doesn't remember what caused it, but he remembers the sex that came after. They did break the bed. A few days later, Suguru admitted he pissed him off just to rouse him.
Satoru had been sour for months. It drives him nuts that he has to be always so careful while Suguru plays with his heart on a string. People are always fawning over his Suguru, thinking about him as this gentle soul. They don't know how much of a nightmare he can be if he wants to. And Satoru can't do anything against it. The polite bastard had him wrapped around his finger tighter than anything he will ever phantom, because the only thing he lets through his infinity is Suguru himself, and that makes the comparison useless.
Thankfully, they’ve gotten better with words. Suguru had started asking instead of tricking. Like now, saying he wanted to dip his feet into taking control for once. Even if Satoru is starting to suspect the whole plane thing was still somewhat of a ruse. But whatever. Satoru is fine with letting his precious horny baby have whatever his precious horny baby wants, especially if he ask nicely.
It’s not that.
It’s the month apart. A whole month, thirty-one days. The mission dragged on forever, dealing with those old geezers' diplomacy had wasted two weeks more than what they had hoped for. Then that bitch showed up, and things went another shade of sideways. Satoru’s going feral from the lack of action, and Suguru wants to “take it slow". Fucking hell. He would have jumped him the moment he walked through their door if Suguru hadn't dropped to his knees and swallowed his cock there and then, the taste of his welcome home still on their lips and his luggage in his fist. But after that, a duty call from Jujutsu Tech pulled him away. (It was that serious, yeah. They would've had to pry Suguru off him with a crowbar otherwise, pry his hips free from of his cold dead hands finger by finger.)
So, ten hours later, he’s still pent-up, and lowkey pissed. This was supposed to be standard reunion sex. Some classic rock and roll, fucking the bed undone before they ever could get under the covers, ruin each other until standing up was out of the question and passing out in their own filth. Suguru owns him one of these, for God's sake! But no. "Try to behave and follow my lead," he says. "You're going to be my little puppy," he says. And Satoru has to try, because it always falls on him to make things work.
The tiny part of his brain not clouded by lust remembers how he’s never regretted a single one of Suguru’s ideas, and he hangs on that for dear life. Emotionally, they’re a disaster. More often than not, at least. But sexually? Sexually, they are a jackpot for his dick.
So Satoru keeps still and leaves the fantasies of bending Suguru over and mounting him stupid for later execution.
His lovely fiend of a husband comes back from another trip to the dresser, this time with a soft pair of handcuffs. They don't represent a real constraint for either of them, but the view is nice, and they fulfil the purpose of letting the user know he should stay put. But again, Suguru is the usual designed wearer.
"Babe, please, can you put your hands behind you?" Suguru asks, sugar-sweet, practically purring. Having the time of his life.
Satoru complies, disgruntled, but instead of walking behind him, Suguru bends over him, unavoidably pushing Satoru's nose into the soft flesh of his groin. He doesn't even have the mind to be taken aback by the free-of-charge contact that he's already mouthing at Suguru crotch, tongue pushing against his clit, lavishing the fabric over it.
He needs to taste him so fucking bad! But all he finds is an ocean of clean cotton. His brain froths, circling on three simple concepts like a horse caged in the ring: Suguru smells so good, he must taste him right now, and these damn panties are in the way. He turns to bite the flesh over his hip out of spite, licking a stripe down the high-cut hem, then tries to push down the panties with his teeth to no avail. The height difference is against him.
Suguru lets him to his business as he ties the handcuffs, sporadic ragged breaths telling him when his mouth reaches him right, but doesn't give him any more access. Annoyed, Satoru pushes him with his head, trying to sneak a shoulder in between his legs to make him spread them. But Suguru steps back at that, done with his task.
"Be good, Satoru," he reprimands him. Satoru huffs back at him, but quickly forgets his displeasure when one of Suguru's feet lands on his groin, fondling his balls.
Fuck.
Unpleasant friction is definitely there as he slowly traces his dick from the bottom to the wet tip, and then down again. He doesn't care. Whatever complaints he had before, they are quickly giving in to the side of him that loves to be played like a fiddle by his husband.
"Something to say?" Suguru chimes in with a grin. His eyes are slitted closed, a tell-tale sign he's ecstatic with his little scheming.
That poor bitch, he almost feel like pitying her now. It was Suguru's fault and Suguru's only, wasn't it? A danger for other people's sake and sanity. Bewitching your brain until you can't think about anything else but him, the dip of his grin, the warmth in his smile and between his legs. Satoru, too, used to be affected by his bewitchment. All those years as a student at Jujutsu Tech were never enough to scratch that itch out of his mind—where is he? What's he doing right now? And later, when it's night? With whom?
Living together helped. Like toxin immunity, like the liver of an alcoholic getting used to the abuse, Satoru got immune to Suguru's charms—but for it to work, he needs his hit of Suguru every day. With a mouth of withdrawal, that horny monkey brain of his had started to whisper bad things to him. Bad bad things. Like to get up and just spread Suguru open and make him cry, too long since he last felt that grip on his cock. To take him on the floor where it hurts, until Suguru had to beg for his forgiveness, to turn his voice hoarse and scratchy, making him remember whose he was supposed to belong to. Suguru's is not helping, wrapping the leather leash around his hand, forearms flexing as he yanks at it and grins, trashing Satoru around and loving every minute of it.
Satoru feels like growling and barking and drooling.
Precum slowly leaks from his slit onto the foot still toying with his dick. He's not a feet person. Or at least, he didn't think he was a feet person, considering how he's so embarrassingly close already. Suguru catches on fast. He pulls on the leash, forcing Satoru to bend over his knee.
"Soil my foot and I'll make you clean it with your tongue."
"Fuck!" Satoru buckles into the touch while chasing more friction, stunned at how fast this is spiralling.
A second later, and he's being pulled back by the fist in his hair, head bent painfully. When he focuses on Suguru's face again, he's smiling sweetly.
"You are pretty down here." He sighs, "But you keep on moving around and doing whatever you want. Don't you want to be good for me, Satoru?"
Satoru bares his teeth.
"As good as you were with that bitch? I could try."
When Suguru's eyes crease, the rage inside of him cheers wildly. Good. Let it burn. He doesn't want to sit still and be obedient, he wants the fight. He’s still too raw not to.
"Don’t need alcohol to whore myself out like you do."
Suguru rolls his eyes at him, but his face clears out. He’s gotten good at not rising to it. That’s why they’ve lasted this long.
"I told you, nothing happened. Stop acting like a child."
"But you get to be a slut for anyone with a pulse? How is that fair?"
He’s goading to be mean, hoping Suguru will act on it like he said he would.
The leash falls to the floor while Suguru's hand rises above his head.
Yes.
Satoru watches as it falls on him in slow motion, like a divine punishment. Suguru has never deliberately slapped him. Punched, kicked, bitten, scratched, yes. Okay, slapped too, but on equal grounds, and with bodies brimming with testosterone and competitiveness, with the need to prove they are better in some kind, laughing their heads off, so high on endorphins that stopping gave them whiplash. This is different. It feels unavoidable, not a muscle in him trying to escape, and when it lands, the slap cracks across his face and his head jerks sideways.
"Oof." Air rushes out of his throat in a whoosh.
It hurts. More than he thought it would. He doesn’t even know if he wanted it at this point. If he wanted Suguru's hands on him to scratch at that venom surging inside of him, or just Suguru's attention. But at least, the rage dries out. That's something. Then a curious thing happens. Suguru drops to his knees in front of him. He doesn't look smug or happy—or in control, to be honest. Something is not right. His lips wobble. He looks shaken, like he was the one getting struck instead.
"Oi." He can tell he's quietly panicking. "Oi, Suguru."
"I'm so sorry." He sounds like he's gonna cry any second, little eyes pained and regretful. Satoru sighs.
This is not how it should be.
This is the side of him that's nothing but a sweetheart. The cutie who strokes his hair for hours when he gets down with the flu and fills all their coat pockets with candies for him to find, who calls home when drunk to whisper he loves him like it was a secret only they knew. Satoru loves it, don't get him wrong, but it’s not supposed to be here, not now. Not when Suguru needs to feel strong, like there is nothing that can nip at his control. He’s a man of many shields, and Satoru gets that. Got a few down in the past years, but there are others left. And while he’s familiar with all of them, Satoru can't just bulldoze them until they crumble. Even somebody like him knows it’s not that simple. It's a matter of patience, moving a brick at a time and hoping there aren't any others behind, waiting for him.
Still, he’s not frustrated about it. Never has been. He just wishes Suguru didn’t need them anymore. He kisses him, leaving his own mouth to do the reassuring.
It's me, I'm here, it's okay.
Satoru knows what Suguru needs to hear right now. He can't use his hands to hold him, and that's a sin, so he pushes their noses together, mouthing at any skin he can reach. He lays kisses on his cupid bow, on the corner of his mouth, pressing his face hard into his cheeks. The need to breathe him in is overwhelming. His own thighs are wet with precum, but he still wants to drink him, to savour him, because sex is sex, but kissing Suguru is another whole kind of making love.
His teeth nip at Suguru's chin until he's ready for his lips. They softly trace a path to a mouth and feast on it, following the curve of it, letting skin drag on skin, until Satoru can't stop himself and suck in Suguru's lower lip, biting down hard enough to coax a moan of pain. Begs for his tongue, eats him when Suguru gives space to meet him halfway, forces his way inside and claims his sovereignty, as nobody owns the coordinates of the space inside Suguru's mouth but him.
He pulls back a fraction to admire his work, and indeed, it's good work.
Suguru is a simple man after all, yearning for nothing but love, and that was enough for him to understand he got his share of it. Sitting there, he's docile, lips parted wet and eyes lidded, thirsting for a bit more of that love, puffing softly as he waits patiently to be told again he was redeemable with these lips, that he didn't hurt the most precious of his belongings. How sweet it would be to lead him on and leave him like this, mouth open in anticipation of the next kiss, until he realises Satoru is just toying with him? But Satoru is not such a strong man when it comes to Suguru Geto.
He dives back. Suguru's tongue greets him home, meeting him in languid strokes, allowing to be coaxed out into an open-mouthed kiss that leaves both of them ruined. Things get messy after that, spit and drool and teeth and tongues stroking cluelessly at any skin they can reach, no finesse at all. Satoru drowns into his mouth with Suguru right behind, moaning sweetly when he sucks on his tongue once again.
"Shhh, I know you were waiting for me, baby. Untie me and I'll give you what you need."
Suguru mewls. When Satoru kisses him the right way, he falls apart, like putty between his fingers. That's probably why he never managed to take control before—Satoru knows how to undo him too well. "Touch me, Suguru. Feel how hard I got for you."
A hand travels to Satoru's groin, giving him some kind of relief for a few quick strokes, then disappears abruptly.
"Stop trying to manipulate me, you rascal," Suguru grumbles breathlessly against his cheek. Satoru chuckles - the teacher's fantasies are there for a reason. He peers at him with just one eye, smirking.
"Is it working?"
Suguru leans back, finally recollecting his composure as he wipes the mess off his lips.
"No, and you are a terrible slave."
These words remind him of how they both got on the floor. Suguru fiddles with the leash that somehow has jumped back into his hand, shooting him glances, all coy and apologetic.
"Are you okay?"
Satoru makes a grand gesture of rolling his eyes.
"You can rough me up if you want." Given how packed Suguru's slaps can be, he'd rather they don't make it into a regular thing, though. "Occasionally."
Suguru huffs out a laugh, one of these soft ones Satoru would die for.
"I don't think I want to do that again, don't worry." He lifts the leash, apologetic. "I'm sorry for being so confusing." Satoru watch the self-distrust seep in like poison. He studies him, unsure if it's better to stick to more familiar grounds, given how shaken Suguru seems to be over something so minor.
"Do you want to stop? I was enjoying the, you know, bitching around."
His voice steers clear of pressing, only careful, touched with the faintest thread of concern. He gives him a boyish smile, dimple peeking out, trying to reassure him that it's all peachy perfect for Satoru, but Suguru chooses fast, with a small shake of his head. Satoru's glad. Getting him to open up has always been the biggest challenge. Suguru never offers anything about himself without being asked thrice, and even then, he often has to be led out of the pits he curled into.
"Having the Strongest at your feet, all pretty and submissible, who would want to stop?"
Suguru smiles softly and lays an open-mouthed kiss on his grin.
"Pretty, submissive, and still so full of himself." He nags him as he gets back on his feet. "I still do not quite see the submissible part to be honest, but I'll do my best to bring it out." He winks at him. Satoru's easy heart leaps in his chest.
While Suguru bends over to tie the leash to the bedframe, he takes a good eyefull of the close-up of his perfect ass. The lewd glance his husband throws from over his shoulders is gratuitous violence.
"Will you be good for me, puppy?"
Satoru nods.
"Good," Suguru pulls him by the collar, "come here." He forces him to crawl on his knees, then hops on the bed, turning to face Satoru. Sprawled on the edge, he pulls down his panties in a burst of motion and spreads his legs obscenely, pulling at the leash again.
"Be a good boy and show my pussy some love, then." He says with the tips of his ears going red. That lingering shyness they couldn't eradicate, no matter what. Doesn't it make his baby all the sweeter?
Satoru wants to laugh from the bottom of his heart. He wants to tease, too, to lock Suguru away and hoard that sweetness all for himself, but the reality of being between Suguru's legs hit him at last and his mind goes blank.
The low buzz that had been living in Satoru's head rent-free for weeks finally goes silent looking at Suguru's pussy. Shaved bare, dark with want and glistening like a pearl, his heaven is greeting him home, sodding wet. They had done nothing but bark at each other's and Suguru is already so wet he can drown in it—that's his reward, that's what being loved really means. Suguru loves him. His pussy loves him too. And Satoru loves just how much that pretty cunt loves him. Pretty and lovely cunt, one only he had the pleasure to meet, ony he had the pleasure to taste and grope and fuck open with his cock and that belong to him because Suguru loves him.
That has been made for him, he's selfish enough to think sometimes. He doesn't tell Suguru.
If Suguru were to be a God, this pussy right here would be his temple. Satoru would’ve stumbled upon it one day and taken shelter inside, unaware he was writing his own end, doomed to become his most zealous worshipper for the rest of eternity. He presses all his prayers into that lovely heat now, tongue and teeth, rubbing his nose, smacking his lips, grinding his chin against Suguru's soft pussy in pure veneration.
The taste belongs to summer, sweet with a saltiness that lingers on the back of his tongue and makes him crave more when he pulls away to watch Suguru's heavy gaze trace his slickened lips.
Like sun-kissed skin in the afternoon and mature peaches.
Suguru gasp when he licks a mean stripe from his hole up to his clit and dives his tongue back inside to lap at his walls, face a mess.
"Ah, mhh, Satoru!" He begs, "Slow down."
Fuck slow down.
Sucking sloppily, he draw out some more of those sounds from that cunt Satoru's dick loves. He nurses one fat lip between his teeth, tugs it back gently as he locks eyes with Suguru. "Yeah, good—" He inhales sharply when Satoru nips at his clit, "Good boy."
This pussy did black magic on him, bound his cock in loyalty and made him whine like and animal every time he smell it.
With the urge to sink his teeth, he shifts to the tender flesh of Suguru's thigh and bites down on the two initials tattooed on the crease of his leg.
It was a present for their anniversary—drove him nuts for months, popping a chub every time he had to sign his own fucking reports.
He can't help but write against the handcuffs, damn things blocking him from reaching out for that joy of the senses. He wants to spread it and stare at the red slit gaping against his tongue. He should break them, break them and bury his fingers into Suguru's wet hole, pulling apart those red lips and-
"Don't! A-ang," Suguru pulls him off by his hair abruptly, forcing Satoru's head up. "Don't! Satoru!" Satoru finds out he was growling, honest-to-god growling. He doesn't care. All that matters is how his meal is suddenly getting taken from him, so he pulls it back with a pulse of Blue and sticks his tongue out to graze wherever he can reach.
Suguru stares shamelessly at where his tongue is lolling out, lapping like a dog at his mound, a string between his nose and the opening of that wet heaven. He moans, loud and breathy for Satoru's ears.
"I missed you."
"Suguru, spit on your pussy and make me lick it clean."
Suguru blinks, a bit lost and red. He dips that little tip of his tongue out to lick at his lips, makes Satoru want to hurt him. He takes it out on his thigh again, the hand gripping his locks twisting so hard with the bite, his scalp burns.
"C'mon, come here and spit, I want to see you doing it."
Suguru looks like he wants to argue that he should be the one in command, that Satoru didn't earn it yet, but eventually curls up and complies. He sucks on his teeth, allowing spit to pool into his mouth and then drip down his tongue, slowly, until it reaches his groin and settles in his slit, a thin line of saliva still on with his tongue. He tucks a lock behind his ear doing it, a slick whore too bashful to be called a slut, watching him like he believes Satoru's will not gonna break him after this.
RCT activates to stop him from coming untouched right there and then, distracting him from dangerous thoughts.
The sheer power this man holds over him, he has no idea.
He stares as Suguru's spit settling, mixing with the slick already there and drooling lower with his pussy clenching over nothing. He spits on it too, because why shouldn't he, and dives in again, holding eyes with the menace above him.
His tongue traces fold by fold, pointedly skipping his clit out of spite, then dives in all at once, greedy and unannounced with his whole maw, trying to reach as deep as he can. Suguru writhes, walls clenching so tightly they shove his tongue back out. He bullies his way back inside, grinding his hips into thin air as Suguru falls back into the mattress with a gasp, hands fucking his locks around as he arches his back into the mattress and trashes like he was losing his mind.
Satoru grins. He’s getting close.
He knows the pattern by now. Suguru never gives in easily. Never has. Even after turning him him into a crying mess the night before, it’s never a guarantee he will keep his guard down and reach out as the greedy bitch he is. Every time, Satoru has to start slow, drag the want out of him, coax it past the walls Suguru builds just to feel them crumble and turn him into a wanton mess.
It's how it is. He never fucked him into the backroom of a bar, into a public bathroom, never feeded his cock fast and rough into a barely wet pussy on a dark alley their way home. Suguru apologises with his throat, giving away like it was Satoru's personal cocksleve anywhere, anytime, but that's different and they both know it.
Suguru is a hard bitch to break into. Never gives anything for free, and when he feels like exploring, the assface throws his ideas out in the open and waits for Satoru to carry them out, candidly renouncing any responsibility, trusting him with his whole soul.
And maybe now—Maybe this is his way to say he’s ready to take the reins more often. Satoru’s down for it. Hell, he’s rooting for it. Wants to know what it’s like to shut his brain off and just feel. But that’s not where they are tonight. Not yet.
Tongue deep in, Satoru ignores the ache in his jaw. He must be out of practice. Suguru’s sobbing now, choking on pleasure, fists tangled in Satoru’s hair, holding him down hard enough to cut off air. Satoru keeps going. Suguru's whines had just reached that desperate pitch, there is nothing in this world that will manage to pull his tongue out of that hole now. Nothing. RCT can keep him working for ages without oxygen. And that light-headed feeling he gets from strangulation got his cock on the threshold of coming untouched for the second time in ten minutes.
Pussy martyrdom, what a glorious way to go.
Suguru strangled pleas are so good he feels like sucking on his clit now, but the hold Suguru has on his head is iron strength. He lets his tongue rest for a moment and sucks hard with his whole mouth, like he was dealing with a juicy, delicious peach instead of a juicy, delicious pussy. The sound that comes out is so lewd, Suguru whimpers in shame, closing his thighs and burying Satoru for good between his legs.
Satoru accepts his fate, looking up one last time to glance at his love before perishing by the mean of pussy.
Under Satoru's undisturbed ministration, Suguru had trashed the bed into a wreck. He looks good like this—He always looks good, but dishevelled and messy is what only Satoru has the privilege to see. Hair wild in a spilled ink and tongue wet, lolling out to lure his cock like a siren. That one was made for his dick - makes him want to jump on the bed and hump his face. Rubs against his nipples, standing hard, seeking attention. He wants to suck on them until they hurt and Suguru's complain for days. He also wants to kiss him, to let him taste his own pussy on his lips. That's probably all off-limits for now. God, he's not good at doing this. Never liked things in moderation. Satoru had grown up spoiled, and Suguru had just aggravated the situation. Being denied of something that rightfully belongs to him is absurd.
Frustrated, he bites the mark on Suguru's thigh hard, wanting to leave even a bigger one, then bites him again on his outer lips. He makes out with his plush cunt, without diving in, just to tease. Suguru lets out a desperate whine and shoves his head down. A little rougher this time, more desperate. He must be near. Satoru tongues go back to fuck his fussy husband's hole, but at a slower pace this time. If he was running before, now he's leisurely taking a stroll through the park. Suguru writhes under him and pulls at his hair, trying to fuck himself on his tongue faster and deeper.
Satoru moans against his walls a few times, starting to miss the sound of his own voice, and grins at how Suguru gets more frustrated by the minute. He's even thrusting himself up into his mouth now, feet planted on his shoulders to find some leverage, but the more work Suguru puts into it, the more Satoru retreats, slowing his tongue until he stops altogether.
Suguru snaps. "Satoru!" Even with Suguru's hands trying their hardest to push him down, he strains his neck and smirks at him. They could be frustrated together, can't they? But then, Suguru sobs out an oh-so-sweet "Please" under his breath, so ripe his voice breaks, and Satoru's resolve crumbles with it.
He shakes his head to throw off Su's hands and goes straight for his clit, sucking hard on it. Suguru inhales sharply, pushing hard against his tongue while going tense under him.
"Please, I'm so close. Please!" He fists the sheets, letting out loud crude moans suited only for porn actresses.
Satoru may or may not want to wipe out his phone to record him if he keeps going like this. He feels like tonight would be a good moment for taking a souvenir. But under his undivided focus, Suguru can't really hold back his orgasm any longer.
As Suguru shudders and falls apart, calling out his name again and again as he pulses on his tongue, Satoru leisurely admires how he arches, pushing out his chest. Fucking nipples so hard and red, they will be his next meal next—willingly or not.
Satoru's head gets crushed between his thighs one last time as he works his tongue hard to draw out every last straw of his orgasm. Once Suguru's voice turns whiny, twitching from the overstimulation with his clit too sensitive, Satoru takes pity and retreats to dive back into his folds, lapping at the slick pooled over his opening. He feels his walls still pulsing under his tongue, beckoning him back inside as Suguru whimpers softly over the bed.
His cunt got all puffy now, looks so good.
He rubs his chin and cheeks over it, spreading slick everywhere. Then he goes lower, teasing the tight ring of his rim. Suguru doesn't move to push him away.
"Suguru?"
"Mmm?"
"I'll fuck every one of your holes tonight."
Suguru's conceding chuckle makes his dick weep.