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Lately, things between him and Satoru had fallen into a rhythm. Not dull, never that—Satoru was incapable of dull—but familiar. Predictable. Suguru could chart their nights like constellations: the way Satoru’s hands always reached first, greedy and warm, the way Suguru inevitably gave in, how their bodies tangled in the same patterns, over and over. Pleasure, yes. Comfort, yes. But still, the edges had worn smooth.
It was Shoko, of all people, who sparked the idea. They were sprawled in her kitchen one night, half a bottle of sake between them, when Suguru admitted, “Feels like we’re… predictable lately. Comfortable.”
Shoko arched a brow over her cigarette. “That’s just code for boring, Suguru.”
He clicked his tongue but didn’t argue.
She exhaled smoke and smirked. “Utahime and I tried this game once. No touching, for both of us. We went out drinking, stayed as close as we wanted—but not one hand, not one kiss, nothing. First one to cave lost.”
Suguru blinked. “And?”
“Let’s just say she didn’t last very long.” Shoko’s grin turned sharp. “But it worked. Next time we were alone, she practically tore my clothes off. Cleared the cobwebs real fast.”
Suguru leaned back, considering. A game. A challenge. His mouth curved slowly, the thought already taking root. With Satoru, there was no doubt it would spiral. “Mm. Interesting.”
Of course, Suguru couldn’t leave well enough alone. He was nothing if not dramatic, and if they were going to shake the dust off, he would do it properly. Why stop at private denial when he could drag it into the public eye? When he could let everyone else brush against him—friendly touches, lingering hands, harmless but not really—while Satoru stood by, forced to swallow his jealousy whole?
The idea settled in his chest like heat, burning slow and steady until he couldn’t resist.
And so (after a lengthy—and slightly awkward—discussion with their friends) they found themselves in a crowded bar, bass rattling through the floor, sticky with spilled drinks, neon lights strobing over the crowd. Suguru felt the pulse of it in his ribs, the drag of sweat down his spine. He’d chosen his shirt carefully—sheer, dark, cut off an inch or two above his bellybutton—the kind that caught the light in flashes and clung just enough to suggest. The chain at his throat glinted whenever he moved.
He let Shoko curl against his side first, her laughter vibrating against his chest as she leaned in to tell him some cutting joke about Nanami’s scowl. Her hand was warm and flat against his stomach, fingers splayed, nails dragging idly as she shook with laughter. Nanami sighed into his whiskey, muttering, “You’re all unbearable.”
Suguru only smiled, pressing his cheek briefly against Shoko’s hair before stepping away, tugged toward the dance floor by Utahime’s eager hand. She spun him in a sloppy circle, her arm wrapping around his abs for balance, her body pressed close for a moment too long before the crowd swallowed them both.
He allowed it. Hell, he encouraged it.
Because just beyond them—tall enough to tower over every head, sunglasses gleaming under the strobe—Satoru was watching. Every twitch of his hand, every aborted reach toward Suguru’s waist, every flex of his jaw when he saw someone else’s fingers skate over Suguru’s ribs… Suguru noticed it all. And each time, he gave him nothing. When he turned, it was only to smile at Satoru deliberately, slow and infuriating, before letting the music spin him back into the crowd.
A nameless dancer pressed against his back during the next song, grinding to the beat, palms sliding over his hips before letting go. Suguru didn’t even flinch, just rolled his shoulders back into it for a moment before slipping away. Shoko caught him again by the bar, draping her arm around him like he was hers, her palm flat on his chest while she sipped from his glass.
Across the way, Satoru barked a laugh at something Nanami said, but his eyes never left Suguru. When he finally stalked closer, he leaned in low, voice pitched to cut through the noise, letting his eyes drop pointedly to the hand Shoko still had on Suguru’s chest.
“You having fun?”
Suguru tilted his head, smiling. “Plenty.”
The night blurred in drinks and songs, each touch another needle in Satoru’s composure. Suguru felt his gaze like heat on the back of his neck—every time he bent to let someone speak into his ear, every time another hand trailed too low, every time his shirt slipped and someone’s fingers brushed bare skin.
By the time the night ended, Suguru could practically taste Satoru’s restraint. His smile had grown tighter, his laugh sharper, the muscle in his jaw ticking even when he joked.
Perfect.
That was the point.
• . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. •
When the door of their house finally shut behind them, silence replacing the pounding bass, Satoru collapsed onto the couch with a wild, strangled laugh. His hair stuck up in sweaty spikes, his shirt clinging damp to his chest, glasses shoved into his pocket.
“You,” he said, pointing at Suguru with a half-cocked grin that couldn’t disguise the frustration in his voice, “are a fucking menace.”
Suguru only smiled, shrugging out of his jacket, letting the sheer shirt rise a bit higher to tease him. He crossed the room, straddled Satoru’s lap, and kissed him slowly. His hands wandered everywhere—jaw, chest, stomach—all the places Satoru had been aching to touch on him all night.
Predictably, Satoru’s hands shot up and Suguru caught his wrists, pressing them down into the cushions with a sharp tut. “Ah, ah. You didn’t ask permission.”
Satoru blinked, then laughed, sharp and incredulous. “Are you serious right now?” He tried again, slower, testing.
Again, Suguru pushed him back, firm. His voice was velvet and steel both. “You need to ask before touching something that isn’t yours.”
“Not mine?” Satoru scoffed, his grin cocky as ever. “Baby, you are mine.”
Suguru only smiled, unbothered, and bent to kiss him again. His mouth moved down Satoru’s throat, open and slow, while one hand dragged lazy spirals over the hard line of muscle beneath his shirt. He felt the frustration building in Satoru’s still hands, the tremor of restraint.
“I’m not gonna—” Satoru cut off with a hiss when Suguru rolled his hips down, slow and deliberate, silk shirt slipping open enough that their chests nearly touched. His grin faltered, his breath catching.
Suguru kissed the corner of his mouth, then pulled back just enough to murmur, “Ask.”
It took longer than he expected, but eventually the words pulled out of him, strained with pride swallowed. “Fine. Can I touch you?”
Suguru hummed, lips brushing against his skin. “That wasn’t very polite. You can be nicer than that, can’t you?”
Satoru groaned, throwing his head back. “Please,” he ground out, voice strained. “Can I please touch you?”
Silence. Suguru ignored him, mouth moving down his throat, tongue teasing a wet line across his skin, tracing a teasing circle around a nipple before pulling away again. His fingers slid just above the waistband of Satoru’s pants, tapping idly, not dipping lower.
“Please,” Satoru tried again, sharper now, desperation sneaking into his voice. “Please, baby, can I touch you?”
Suguru finally looked up, eyes half-lidded, smiling soft and merciless. “Thank you for asking so nicely, sweetheart.”
Satoru exhaled, visibly relaxing, hands already twitching up—
“No.” Suguru’s grip caught his wrists easily, pressing them down against the couch cushions. He kissed him once, lingering, before pulling back just enough to whisper, “You may not. But you can keep looking.”
The strangled, frustrated laugh that broke out of Satoru’s chest was music. Suguru let it wash over him, content to keep tracing idle swirls down the length of his chest, every touch a reminder of exactly who was in control.
“God, you’re cruel,” Satoru gasped, voice cracking around a laugh.
He faked a pout. “I just can’t help it, when you look at me like that…” Suguru murmured, rolling his hips again, savoring the helpless way Satoru bucked up to meet him. He trailed his nails down his ribs, drew idle swirls just above his waistband, never giving, only taking.
“Please,” Satoru groaned again, louder this time, almost broken. “Please let me touch you. Just once. Please, Suguru.”
Suguru kissed him again, soft and slow, before pulling back to whisper against his lips: “No.”
He shifted lower and tugged at the waistband of Satoru’s pants with leisurely precision. He freed him slowly, watching the way Satoru’s chest heaved when his cock sprang free, flushed and leaking already.
“Mm,” Suguru hummed, wrapping his hand around the base, stroking him with deliberate slowness. “So hard already sweetheart?”
“Please,” Satoru rasped, bucking into his fist.
Suguru tightened his grip on his wrists, pinning them to the couch cushion beside Satoru’s legs with one hand, before lowering his head. He dragged his tongue along the underside of Satoru’s cock, slow, savoring, before finally taking him into his mouth.
The sound Satoru made was raw, unguarded, hips arching up off the couch until Suguru pressed him back down. He worked him lazily, letting spit gather, hollowing his cheeks only to pull off again, licking the head in teasing circles. He kept his eyes locked on Satoru’s the entire time, drinking in the way his grin cracked into helpless gasps, his cocky façade shattered by every drag of Suguru’s mouth.
“Fuck—fuck, baby, please—” Satoru twisted under him, wrists jerking slightly in his hold. “I need—let me—please let me touch you—”
Suguru pulled back with a wet pop, lips shining. “No, Satoru.”
He climbed up Satoru’s body, kissing him hard, letting him taste himself. When he pulled away, he shifted, settling on his lap. His robe slipped open, the sheer shirt riding high, leaving nothing between them but thin fabric and sweat.
He loosened his grip on Satoru’s wrists just enough to trace his thumb along the pulse in his wrist.
“If I let go,” he murmured, lips brushing Satoru’s jaw, “are you going to behave yourself?”
Satoru gave a wild laugh, already nodding. “Fine. Fine, I can behave.”
Suguru tilted his head, unconvinced, but then smiled. He guided Satoru’s wrists upward, until his hands gripped the top of the couch behind his shoulders. “Then hold on here,” he said softly, kissing him slow and deep, savoring the way Satoru melted into it. When he pulled back, his voice was velvet yet commanding. “Don’t let go.”
Satoru swallowed hard, but obeyed, knuckles white against the fabric.
Suguru leaned to the side, reaching for the end table. From the drawer, he pulled out a small travel bottle of lube—he’d stashed it there yesterday, always planning ahead. He flicked it open with one hand, slicking his fingers with deliberate care.
Satoru’s eyes went wide as Suguru spread his knees wider over his lap, the sheer shirt slipping higher up his thighs. He trailed his slick fingers down his own stomach, lower, until they pressed between his thighs.
The first stretch made him exhale, long and low, head tipping back, hair falling loose around his face. He circled his rim with teasing patience before pressing one finger in, slow, curling it just enough to make his own body shudder.
Satoru groaned beneath him, fists clenching harder against the couch. “Fuck, Suguru—”
“Eyes on me,” Suguru ordered, adding a second finger, stretching himself open with infuriating precision. He drew them out, pressed them back in, twisting, showing every flicker of pleasure on his face, every flex of his thighs.
Satoru’s cock twitched against his stomach, leaking already, but his hands never moved, gripping the couch like his life depended on it. His voice cracked around a laugh, desperate and ragged. “You’re trying to kill me. You—fuck, you’re so—please, baby, let me—”
Suguru pulled his fingers free, spreading them to show the glistening digits before reaching down again. “I told you. You get to look. That’s all.”
The slick sound of lube filled the quiet room as Suguru worked himself open, fingers sliding back in with easy precision. He angled his wrist, curling deep until his breath caught and his thighs trembled.
Satoru groaned under him, head thumping back against the couch, his arms trembling where they gripped the top. “You’re—fuck, you’re gonna kill me. Sitting there, looking like that, touching yourself in my lap—”
“Mm,” Suguru hummed, sliding his fingers out only to press them back in, slower this time. “Behaving so well, though. I’m proud of you.”
“Proud of me?” Satoru barked a laugh, ragged and desperate. “I’m dying over here, Sugu.”
Suguru smirked, leaning forward to kiss him once, wet and deep, before pulling back. Satoru groaned again, hips jerking upward helplessly, but his hands stayed exactly where Suguru had placed them—fingers gripping the couch. The strain in his arms was delicious, muscles taut, body shuddering under Suguru’s control.
Suguru pulled his fingers free at last, slick glistening down his hand. He wrapped those same fingers around Satoru’s cock, spreading the wetness over him with slow, deliberate strokes.
Satoru’s curse was guttural, his back arching. “Fuck. Please—please, baby—”
Suguru lined himself up, the blunt head of Satoru’s cock pressing against him. He paused there, savoring the tension in Satoru’s body, the wide eyes locked on his. Then, with maddening slowness, he sank down. The stretch stole his breath—thick, filling, almost painful before it melted into pleasure. He groaned low, tipping his head back, one hand braced on Satoru’s chest as he took him inch by inch. Satoru’s eyes rolled back, his mouth falling open in a strangled moan.
“You watching, sweetheart?” Suguru’s voice, though a bit breathless, was still teasing.
“Mhm, mhm,” Satoru picked his head back up, nodding frantically as his eyes found the contact of skin on skin, watching Suguru sink onto him, swallowing him inch by inch. When Suguru finally seated himself fully, thighs pressed to Satoru’s, he let the silence stretch. Both of them panting, trembling, shivering with the intensity of it. Then he rolled his hips once and smiled down at Satoru’s broken sound.
“Good boy,” he murmured. “Now don’t let go.”
Satoru laughed—high and cracked, half-sob, half-relief. “You’re—oh god, you’re evil. You’re fucking evil.”
Suguru set the rhythm himself, lifting up slowly, grinding back down even slower, circling his hips until Satoru was gasping curses into the air. He dragged it out mercilessly, never fast enough, never giving him what he wanted—only what Suguru chose to give.
“Please,” Satoru begged again, voice unraveling. “Please let me touch you, please, I’ll be good, I’ll be so good—”
Suguru leaned down, kissing him deep, swallowing the pleads right out of his mouth. When he pulled back, his own smile was wicked, his body trembling as he rode him harder.
“Fuck, you feel—” His words cracked apart on a groan as Suguru dropped hard, the smack of skin loud in the quiet room. “—so fucking good, baby, I can’t—please, Suguru, let me—”
Suguru reached down, nails dragging lightly across his chest, circling a nipple until Satoru bucked up helplessly. “You sound better when you beg,” he murmured, breathless but cruel. “Keep going.”
Satoru laughed, wild, broken, his cock twitching inside Suguru with every grind. “Please—please, baby, I need to touch you, I need to hold you, I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna lose it—”
Suguru tipped forward, hair falling loose around his face, lips brushing Satoru’s ear. “Good. Lose it for me.”
He clenched down hard as he rolled his hips, pulling another wrecked curse from Satoru’s throat. Suguru could feel himself shaking now, thighs burning, his own cock dripping against Satoru’s stomach. He was close—too close—and as gratifying as Satoru’s begging was, the pleas were quickly unravelling him as well.
Satoru was gasping now, incoherent, cries and curses tumbling out between ragged moans. “Please—please, Suguru, I can’t take it—please let me touch you—” His voice cracked, wild and desperate. “I’ll do anything, I swear, anything you want, I’ll crawl, I’ll beg on my knees every night—fuck, please—”
Suguru only clenched tighter around him, smiling cruelly as he slowed his rhythm. “Pathetic,” he murmured, tilting his head as if in thought. “All that begging, and for what? What do you even think you can give me, Satoru?”
Satoru broke, his head snapping back against the couch. “Nothing—fuck, I’m nothing without you, baby, you hear me? Nothing—just let me hold you, let me feel you, please, I’ll be so good, I’ll shut up, whatever you want—fuck—just please, please, please—”
Suguru finally pressed his lips against his temple, whisper-soft: “Touch me, Satoru.”
The sound Satoru made was guttural, primal, as his hands flew down from the couch to clamp bruising-tight on Suguru’s hips. He yanked him down hard, grinding up with desperate force, finally able to anchor himself in the slick, trembling heat around him.
“God—fuck, baby, you’re—” His words dissolved into groans as he drove up into him, sloppy and hungry, meeting Suguru’s rhythm with frantic thrusts.
Suguru moaned, the loss of control sharp and sweet, as he rode him faster, harder, chasing the crest building between them. His hand wrapped around his own cock, stroking quick and slick in time with their bodies.
It broke all at once—Suguru crying out, shuddering as pleasure wracked him, spilling hot over Satoru’s stomach. Satoru followed with a groan, pulling him down tight, hips jerking as he spilled inside him, grip unrelenting, as if he’d never let go again.
Suguru collapsed forward against his chest, both of them shaking, sweat-soaked, breathless. For a long while, there was nothing but the sound of their breathing, ragged and uneven, their bodies trembling against each other. Suguru stayed straddled in his lap, still pulsing faintly around him, forehead pressed to Satoru’s shoulder.
Satoru’s hands, once bruising on his hips, loosened, sliding up his back like he couldn’t bear to let go. He laughed weakly into Suguru’s hair, his voice shredded. “You’re evil. Gorgeous and evil. I thought I was gonna fucking die.”
Suguru huffed a quiet laugh, too tired to be smug now. He pressed a kiss to Satoru’s throat, then another, softer. “You did so well for me. I’m proud of you.”
That made Satoru go still, chest rising and falling under Suguru’s cheek. His arms tightened around him again, and when he spoke, his voice cracked. “For a second there it felt like I wasn’t enough for you. Like—like you didn’t need me at all.”
Suguru lifted his head at that, startled, and cupped his jaw gently. Satoru’s eyes were still glassy, his grin gone crooked, but underneath it he looked raw.
“Hey,” Suguru murmured, thumb brushing his cheek. “That was the game talking. You’re everything to me. You know that, don’t you?”
Satoru swallowed, then nodded once, quick and rough.
Suguru kissed him, slow and grounding. Then he pulled back with a faint smile. “C’mon. Let’s clean you up before you get cold.”
Suguru cleaned him gently, unhurried, wiping sweat and slick from his skin with a warm damp rag. He kissed the inside of Satoru’s wrist after, murmuring, “Thank you for trusting me with this.”
Satoru cracked one eye open, grin lazy. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get too used to it. Next round, I’m winning.”
Suguru laughed and shook his head, settling beside him, tugging him down until Satoru’s face was buried against his chest. “You’ll try,” he teased, stroking white hair damp with sweat. “But you’ll beg just as sweet next time.”