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Satoru has never liked beer, and has never pretended to. But the broad, sleazy man who just sidled up next to him at the bar sure thinks he does, snapping his fingers like an asshole at one of the bartenders and asking for two bottles of Coors Light. Satoru can’t hide the disgusted look on his face.
“Can I help you?” he sneers, leaning away from his greasy smirk.
“What’s a pretty boy like you doing here all by yourself?” the man leers. He reeks of cigarettes—smoke on his breath and tangled in his clothes. Satoru was already unimpressed, but now he’s irritated, too.
“Well, first of all, don’t call me that. Secondly, what makes you think I’d drink such cheap shit beer? And third, go find someone else. You’re not my type,” Satoru deadpans, rolling his eyes and shifting further away from him.
“Aw, come on, sweetheart. What is your type, then?” he oozes, the scar across his lips curling with every word.
Satoru scoffs. “Someone who can buy me something better than Coors, dickhead. Get away from me.”
The man rears back with shock, an offended look scrawled across his face.
“You ungrateful bitch, you should be grateful I—”
“I think it’s time for you to go,” a voice cuts in, commanding, from behind the bar.
The bartender doesn’t raise his voice. He sets the shaker down, steps closer, forearms braced against the counter. Up close, he’s nearly Satoru’s height, black t-shirt tight across his shoulders and chest, tattoos covering tan skin. Calm and watchful, he glares daggers at the man beside Satoru.
The man turns with a scoff. “Mind your business. I’m talkin’ to him.”
The bartender’s mouth twitches, something like an intimidating smile pulling at his lips. “Well, unless I heard wrong, he told you to leave.”
“So?” the man squares up, puffing his chest like a peacock. “You his boyfriend or somethin’?”
Satoru finally looks up at the bartender properly.
He decides that the way the bar lights catch the sharp line of his cheekbones isn’t fair. That the dark hair pulled back loose at the nape of his neck shouldn’t be allowed to be that shiny. That the silver ring glinting in his bottom lip is downright sinful and worthy of its own wet dream. His eyes are steady, unreadable, fixed on the man at Satoru’s side with a measured anger.
“No,” he says evenly. “But I could easily call our security over here to throw your greasy ass out.”
The man laughs, ugly and loud. “You think you can just throw me out? I’m a paying customer, y’know.”
The bartender leans in just enough for the man to flinch. “I don’t need your filthy money.”
Satoru exhales a quiet, surprised laugh under his breath. He angles his body back toward the bar, eyes on the protective bartender, almost instinctively aligning himself with this man who looks like he could end this in three different ways, but chooses the cleanest one in order to keep his job.
The man mutters something under his breath, eyes flicking around like he’s suddenly aware of how many other people surround them.
“Yeah,” the bartender adds, voice dropping. “That’s what I thought.”
A beat. Then, louder: “Out.”
The sleaze shoves off the counter, spits a curse, and stalks off toward the back exit, where a green-haired, scarily muscular woman gives him the dirtiest glare Satoru’s ever seen.
Bass pounds in Satoru’s ears, vibrating heavily in his chest.
The bartender straightens, rolling his shoulders, then finally, looking at Satoru.
“You alright?” he asks, tone gentler now.
Satoru grins, sharp and bright. “Do you always play hero for customers, or do I look like some sort of princess that needs saving?”
The bartender huffs a quiet laugh, settling his hands on the counter. “Depends. You gonna order something that you’ll actually drink?”
Satoru’s smile widens, scanning over the tilt of the man’s head, the gauges in his ears, the ink wrapping around his forearms, and the way the tip of his tongue toys with the ring in his lip. “Do I get to know the name of my knight in shining armor pouring it?”
The bartender pauses, raising a brow. Then he reaches beneath the counter, producing a clean, folded bar towel and flicking it over his shoulder.
“Geto,” he says. “Suguru.”
Satoru taps two fingers against the bar, pleased.
“And yours?” Geto asks.
Satoru leans in, lowering his voice and staring at the curious fire in Geto’s eyes. “Gojo Satoru.”
Geto hums, testing it once under his breath. “Gojo,” he repeats, like he’s committing it to memory. “What are you drinking, then?”
Satoru thinks for a second. “Just a vodka soda, please.”
Geto sucks his teeth in disapproval. “Oh, come on, that’s boring. I just saved you from a creep and you repay me by ordering that?”
Satoru barks out a laugh. “Wow, alright. Make me something else, then.”
Geto smirks. “Anything I want?”
Satoru nods. “If my drink is so boring, then prove it to me. Make me something better.”
“You like Fireball?”
Satoru rears back in disgust. “Ew, what the fuck? No!”
Geto chuckles, shaking his head. “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. No Fireball for the princess. You got a sweet tooth?”
Satoru rests his chin in his hand. “How’d you know?”
Geto shrugs. “Call it luck.”
With that, he gets to work. Geto fills his shaker with ice and pours a little more than one shot of vodka, just under a shot of Cointreau. He adds a splash of cranberry, a heavy hand with the lime. He slams the lid on top.
Ice rattles as he shakes the cold metal over his shoulder, vigorous and methodic in its rhythm.
The flex of muscle in his forearms is addicting, Satoru decides—hypnotized by the way his long fingers wrap around the base and the lid of the shaker. He starts daydreaming about those fingers somewhere else, but before he can get too carried away, Geto is already straining the drink into a glass, garnishing it with a lime wedge, and sliding it across the counter.
“Here. Cosmopolitan.”
Satoru picks up the glass and weighs it in his hand. He takes a small sip. The tart cranberry hits first, then the lime. The vodka bites deliciously at the back of his throat. He hums, impressed. “Not bad,” he admits, smirking.
“Not bad, huh?” Geto leans against the bar, watching him like it’s a game. “I was aiming for a little more excitement. Not sweet enough?”
Satoru tilts the glass in his hand, letting the light catch the ice. “No, that’s not the issue,” he says. “I’ll let you keep trying, if you want.”
Geto quirks an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Keep trying, huh? What’s my end goal?”
Satoru laughs softly, swirling the pink drink in his hand. He leans a little closer across the bar; Geto matches him like a magnetic pull.
“Geto!” the other bartender calls, a tall blonde woman with a charming smile of her own. “Come do your job, please.”
Geto glances back at Satoru, frowning slightly. “Unfortunately, you’re not the only one at my bar tonight,” he says, brushing his hands over his towel and giving Satoru a small, teasing smile. “Don’t leave without a goodbye.”
Satoru raises an eyebrow, tongue in cheek when he says, “Oh, I wouldn’t dare to.”
Geto smirks, the corner of his mouth twitching, and slides over to the other side of the bar. “I hope not,” he murmurs, and disappears into the rhythm of work.
The rest of the night crawls by like molasses. Every time Satoru glances up, Geto’s there—tilting a glass just so, running a towel over a counter edge, arms flexing as he moves. Satoru bites back a grin, swirling the remains of his drink slowly as he watches Geto’s methodical precision. Every quick glance they share is a spark, brief but intentional, leaving a heat coiling low in Satoru’s stomach.
“So I step out for a couple cigarettes and suddenly you’ve got yourself a little boyfriend?” Shoko teases, resting one elbow against the bar. A woman with long, glossy black hair and blunt bangs stands behind her, quiet but assured in her stance.
“Easy for you to say,” Satoru snorts. “Who’s your new friend, Shoko?”
Shoko smirks, tipping her head back slightly. “Utahime. Don’t scare her off, will you?”
Utahime steps forward before Satoru can respond, offering a little wave. “It’s nice to meet you. I like your necklace,” Utahime says. Her voice is raspy, its gravelly nature making it clear that Shoko wasn’t the only one smoking.
“Thank you,” Satoru smiles, tilting his head. “I don’t wear a lot of jewelry, but I figured it could be time to branch out some more.”
Utahime nods. “It looks great on you! Silver really complements your eyes. I think you could really benefit from some ear piercings—”
Shoko laughs, sliding a possessive arm around Utahime’s waist. “Alright, alright, you two. I’m so glad you’re already friends.”
Utahime laughs softly, pleased. “Ready to go?”
Satoru looks between the two of them.
Shoko smirks at him. “I’m going home with her, so I can’t really judge whatever poor decisions you make tonight. Just don’t be stupid.”
Satoru lifts his glass in mock salute. “Same goes for you. Debrief in the morning?”
Shoko nods, smiling and patting Satoru’s shoulder. “You know it. Be safe!”
With that, she and Utahime disappear through the crowd, leaving Satoru at the bar. He’s alone again, except for the unmissable sense that he’s being looked at from the other side of it.
Eventually, Geto makes his way back over to Satoru’s side of the bar, cheeks flushed just slightly from the job. He smiles, a charming, delicious thing, and leans a little closer than necessary.
“I’m off at one,” he says. “If I’m allowed to give you more than just a sweet drink, I’ll be out back.”
Satoru swipes his tongue over his top lip, meeting the brown of Geto’s eyes with a matched ferocity.
“I’ll let you give it your best shot,” he shrugs, acting as if there isn’t a fire burning deep in the pit of his stomach at the thought of this man having his way with him.
Geto’s smirk deepens, satisfied, but he doesn’t respond right away. He tilts his head, just slightly, letting Satoru feel the tension in the air, then finally whispers:
“Let’s see how long you can keep up the attitude, princess.”
Geto slips away into the back before Satoru can respond, leaving him grinning and blushing like an idiot. The countdown begins, every second electric.
When Satoru’s overly expensive watch finally reads 12:52 a.m., he pushes himself off the stool and heads for the bathroom. In the mirror, he runs his fingers through his hair, doing his best to tame the white mop and frame his bangs just right. He swipes his favorite gentle pink gloss over his already-peachy lips, smooths the wrinkles from his short-sleeved white button-up, and unbuttons a third button instead of just two. Typically, Satoru likes to be in bed for hours by this time of night, but for the sexiest man he’s ever seen, he figures he can make an exception.
Once satisfied, Satoru exhales and slips out the back exit to wait. The green-haired bouncer eyes him carefully, then looks away, attention settling back on the brick wall on the other side of the alley. They don’t speak—probably for the best, because Satoru isn’t even sure what he’d say anyway.
Oh, y’know. Just waiting to be fucked stupid by my stupid hot bartender, his brain suggests. Satoru decides he’s very glad he only had two drinks tonight.
He leans against the wall, tapping the toe of his heavy leather shoes against the pavement, head tipped back. After a few steadying breaths of cool night air, the metal door slams shut behind him.
Suguru Geto steps out. His hair is cascading down his shoulders, blending perfectly in the dark with the black of his leather jacket.
“Sorry I kept you waiting,” he breathes, ignoring the bouncer’s raised eyebrow. Geto puts a hand on the small of Satoru’s back, guiding him a step further from the back door.
“Oh, that’s okay,” Satoru shrugs, hoping that he can pass the blush on his cheeks off as just being outside in the cold. “I’m sure you’ll make it up to me.”
Geto’s gaze drags over him, slow and hungry. “What makes you say that, princess?”
A shiver runs down Satoru’s spine, hands twitching, aching to trace every inch of him. He schools his expression into something cocky, even as the hitch of his breath gives him away.
“You were watching me all night, weren’t you?” Satoru teases. “Don’t pretend that you weren’t.”
“And?” Geto challenges, stepping close enough that Satoru can feel the warmth of him in the cool air.
“Do you like what you see?” Satoru teases, letting his voice dip just enough to sound challenging.
Geto’s lips twitch. “Considering I asked you to wait, I’d say the answer’s obvious.”
Satoru locks eyes with him, smirk unapologetic, pulse kicking hard in his chest. “Alright, tough guy,” he says lightly. “Prove it.”
Satoru is expecting to be pinned to the wall—to be kissed breathless, a hand at his throat or a grip on his jaw.
None of it comes.
Instead, Geto tilts his head, smiles at him, and lets out a quiet chuckle.
“Your place,” he asks, voice calm and certain, “or mine?”
Satoru trails two fingers down the center of Geto’s chest. “Well, I live two blocks down, so…”
Geto catches his wrist mid-motion. “Lead the way.”
Satoru’s smile turns wicked. He twists his hand just enough to slip free, already stepping back and turning. “Try to keep up.”
Geto huffs a quiet laugh behind him and follows, close enough that Satoru can feel his presence at his back the entire walk: steady, unhurried, and inevitable.
As they get closer, Satoru glances over his shoulder, eyes swimming with mischief. “You’re very obedient, Geto.”
Geto meets his eyes, and Satoru would almost think he was unbothered if it weren’t for the quirk of his lip and the raise of his eyebrow that says, really?
“I’d watch that pretty mouth if I were you.”
Satoru doesn’t reply. Geto huffs at his lack of a snippy retort.
The elevator ride up to Satoru’s floor is tense, the air thick with want and uncertainty. Neither of them know the other one’s body, and for Geto, this is a brand new space belonging to a man he just met. It’s full of unknowns, and neither of them has ever felt so aroused.
Finally, the door to Satoru’s apartment clicks shut behind them.
He doesn’t turn around right away; he can feel Geto there, taking in the space and the goosebumps on the back of Satoru’s neck.
Geto slips off his leather jacket and hangs it on the hook Satoru tells him he can use.
“Well, um, welcome in,” Satoru mutters, painfully awkward. “I know it isn’t the prettiest, but—”
Geto turns him around with a strong grip on his shoulder.
“I’m not here to judge your interior design choices, Gojo.”
Satoru blushes as Geto backs him into the wall.
“What are you here for, then?”
They’re so close that their breaths are mingling, hot against each other’s skin—so close, yet still just short of what they want. Both of Geto’s hands are braced against the wall beside Satoru’s head, while Satoru’s fists clutch the front of Geto’s shirt.
“Are you gonna do something?” Satoru asks, face unimpressed. “I’m getting bored.”
Heat coils tight in Geto’s stomach. He licks over his bottom lip. Satoru’s breath hitches.
“You talk too much.”
If it weren’t for the tight grip he has on Geto’s shirt, Satoru is sure he would’ve crumbled to the ground the second their mouths met. It’s hot and heavy almost immediately, all tongue and teeth and curious hands. Geto keeps him pinned to the wall, one hand grabbing his waist while the other keeps him caged.
Satoru lets his hands wander from the front of Geto’s shirt to his shoulders, grabbing at every sharp ridge of muscle he can find. When Geto bites his bottom lip, Satoru tries desperately to hide the whine building at the back of his throat.
“Gojo,” Geto pants, eyes hooded. “Tell me what you want.”
Satoru looks up at him. Technically, Satoru is the tiniest bit taller. But when they’re standing like this, Geto hovering over him with desire burning in his eyes, Satoru can’t find it in him to complain about the forced height difference.
“Call me Satoru,” he replies. “You can’t kiss me like that and still call me by my family name.”
Geto huffs out a laugh. “Alright, that’s fair. Call me Suguru, then.”
Satoru tries the name out on his tongue. “I want you, Suguru.”
Satoru feels the way the hand around his waist flexes at the use of his first name.
“You have me, Satoru. You’ll have to be more specific.”
Satoru rolls his eyes. He barely finishes his sassy groan before there’s a hand gripping tightly at his jaw.
“I don’t waste my time with brats,” Suguru says sternly. “So tell me what you want, or I’ll leave you to take care of this by yourself.”
Satoru starts to tell Suguru that he’s full of shit, but then he’s pressing a thigh between his legs and—
Oh. He’s hard.
“What was that, princess?”
Satoru can’t find the words.
“Mm. That’s what I thought.”
Satoru sighs, letting Suguru win (this time).
“I want to have sex with you, Suguru. How clear do you need me to be?”
Suguru nods. “What do you like?”
Satoru throws his head back and groans dramatically. “You are the most boring hookup I’ve ever had.”
Suguru narrows his eyes, an unreasonable flame of jealousy burning in his chest. “How many other men have fucked you, Satoru?”
“Why would you immediately assume that I’m the bottom?!” Satoru scoffs. Suguru levels him with a knowing look.
“You’ve been drooling over me all night. Do we need to go have some self-reflection?”
“Maybe I’ve been drooling over you so I could bend you over,” Satoru retorts.
“That look in your pretty eyes tells a different story, princess. Not to mention, you let me call you ‘princess.’”
Suguru traces his thumb over Satoru’s bottom lip, tugging lightly at the skin.
“Besides, you’re too pretty. And pretty boys like you deserve to be full of cock.”
Satoru bites his lip to hide the whimper rising from his throat.
“Is that what you want, Satoru?” He tilts his head.
Satoru desperately wants to say, yes, Suguru, please, but he isn’t ready to give his game up yet. So, he chooses to shrug and not say a word.
Suguru lets go of him entirely, stepping back from the wall.
“Wait, wha—?”
Suguru smirks, pleased with himself. “Well, clearly you don’t want anything.”
Satoru grunts.
“What was that?”
Suguru gets another harsh glare in return.
“Right. Well, if there’s nothing you want, I guess I’ll see you next time you’re at the bar. Goodnight, Satoru.”
Satoru’s heart plummets. He’s not actually going to leave, right?
But then Suguru is reaching for his jacket and checking his pockets for his keys, wallet, and phone, then fixing his hair in the mirror by Satoru’s entryway. He doesn’t even spare Satoru another glance as he goes to open the front door, and Satoru cannot let him leave, so he reaches for Suguru’s wrist.
“Suguru, wait,” he gasps, eyes wide. Suguru turns around with the most teasing look on his face.
“What?” he asks, feigning innocence.
“Don’t—don’t leave.”
Suguru hums. “Will you tell me what you want from me, Satoru? I know it can be embarrassing, but I need to know so I can make you feel good.”
Satoru whimpers. Then, he nods.
“Good boy. How about we sit on the couch?”
Satoru nods again. “Shoes off, please,” he says as he slips his off by the front door. Suguru follows with his own clunky leather ones. Satoru takes Suguru’s hand and leads him to the quilted black futon in his living room.
As their socked feet pad over the fluffy white rug, Satoru turns around and presses a quick kiss to Suguru’s mouth. He doesn’t give Suguru any time to kiss back before sitting down and pulling him closer on the couch.
With a gentle smile, Suguru says, “Tell me what I can do in bed to make you feel good.”
Satoru takes a deep breath. Suguru holds his hand.
“Um, I like praise,” he starts, which he figures is pretty obvious. “I like being told what to do and being put in my place.”
Suguru nods along with every word. “Yes, I gathered that you’re quite bratty.”
Satoru looks at him, suddenly anxious in his chest. “Is—is that okay? It’s fun for me, but I can tone it down if you don’t like it, I—”
“Shh,” Suguru draws slow circles across the back of Satoru’s hand with his thumb. “I like it. It’s fun for me, too. Keep going, Satoru.”
“I’d like it if you were a little mean to me, and I really like being teased.”
“Like, if I called you mean names? Or if I was just rougher with you physically?” Suguru asks.
“Both,” Satoru clarifies. “You can hit me, or choke me, or whatever. Just not too hard. And, um…” he trails off.
Suguru tilts his chin up with his free hand. “And what?”
“I really like having things in my mouth,” he mumbles, mortified.
“Speak up, princess. I can’t hear you.”
“I like having things in my mouth,” he repeats, this time with more conviction. “Fingers, tongue, dick, whatever. I like—I like being full.”
Suguru looks like a cat that just successfully caught a mouse. “I can do that. Anything else?”
Satoru shakes his head. “I’ll tell you if anything else comes up?”
“Yes, that sounds good. Thank you, Satoru. I know it’s a little awkward, but talks like these really help me feel better before getting into anything with someone I barely know.”
Satoru knows it should be the bare minimum, but Suguru’s genuine care in understanding what he wants in bed—and his emphasis on clear consent—is refreshing compared to most men these days.
“No, it’s okay,” he says. “It’s nice that you care so much. Is there anything you want to tell me?”
Suguru thinks for a second. “No, I don’t think so. As long as you tell me what feels good and what doesn’t as we go along. And I’ll tell you if anything comes up, too.”
Satoru nods, smiling. “So, um, bedroom now? Or—”
Suguru surges forward, holding Satoru’s cheeks and kissing him softly.
“You’re so cute. Yes, princess. Let’s go to your bedroom.”
Satoru’s grin brightens, and he kisses Suguru once more before getting up from the couch and leading him down the hall. As soon as they close his bedroom door, it’s like a switch flips. Satoru rolls his shoulders back and lets the same sass and attitude as before melt over his skin, whereas Suguru resumes his no-nonsense mindset.
Their mouths meet again as if they have no time left to waste, and their hands wander across every inch of skin they can reach. Satoru digs his nails into the hair at the nape of Suguru’s neck, and whether he means to or not, Suguru pulls away to rest their foreheads against each other.
“Sorry, was that not okay? I—”
Suguru kisses him again.
“No, I like it,” he assures. “Pull my hair, Satoru.”
Satoru hums against Suguru’s hungry mouth, fingers tightening just enough to draw a pleased sound from Suguru’s throat.
When Suguru starts slowly moving them back towards the bed, Satoru follows every step with shaky confidence. As the backs of his knees hit the bedframe, as Suguru’s hands crawl under his shirt, Satoru feels every knot in his practiced game of mischief unfurling faster than he can keep up.
But something incredibly persistent in the back of Satoru’s head won’t let him give up, so before he even knows what he’s doing, Satoru bites down hard on Suguru’s bottom lip.
Suguru rears back, brows furrowed with irritation.
“You really don’t know when to stop, do you? How long do other men tend to put up with your bullshit?”
Satoru giggles evilly. “They never seem to mind. What, is it too much for you, big guy?”
Suguru shoves him onto the bed, hovering over him. “You’re really fucking pushing it, Satoru.”
“Aww,” Satoru pouts mockingly, “you gonna punish me?”
Suguru brings Satoru’s face towards his own by a mean grip on his jaw. He pauses, thinking carefully. “No, a slut like you would like that too much, wouldn’t you?”
Despite the harsh words, Satoru’s face lights up like he won the lottery. “Mm, yes, spank me, daddy,” he says, voice thick with sarcasm.
Instead, Suguru slaps him gently across the face.
“Watch your fucking mouth, Satoru,” Suguru snaps through his teeth. “I mean it when I say I’ll leave you like this.”
Satoru tilts his head, his blue eyes swimming with trouble. He lifts his knee to press against the bulge in Suguru’s pants.
“Then who’s gonna deal with this? Clearly, you don’t hate it as much as you’re acting like you do.”
Suguru slaps him again, harder this time. Satoru’s cheek burns pinkish-red, and he inhales sharply at the impact.
“I haven’t dealt with someone as bratty as you in a long time,” he says. “Maybe I’ll fuck it out of you so you’ll just be easy for me next time.”
Satoru licks his lips, brain fuzzy with want. “Suguru,” he whispers, hands twitching where they rest by his sides.
Suguru softens his hold around Satoru’s jaw, stroking his waist with his free hand. “You okay, princess? Too rough?”
Satoru shakes his head. “No. This is perfect,” he assures, corners of his mouth lifting in a soft smile.
“Good boy.” Suguru kisses his forehead, holding Satoru’s face and stroking his cheeks with his thumbs. “You gonna be good for me?”
Satoru laughs again. Suguru’s chest aches at the noise.
“Hmm, not yet,” he giggles. “But maybe if you beg.”
Suguru glares at his taunting smirk. “Oh, we’ll see about that, princess,” he growls. “Just you wait.”
Suguru pulls Satoru’s shirt up to his chest, exposing his perky nipples and toned stomach. The planes of smooth, creamy skin seem to go for miles. Suguru almost feels dizzy before he leans in and presses his tongue below Satoru’s belly button. Satoru’s muscles twitch at the sensation of the cold metal of Suguru’s lip ring grazing his skin as he presses slow kisses just above his waistband.
He licks up the center of Satoru’s torso, hands running up his sides and thumbs stopping just short of his nipples. Satoru whines at the denial.
Suguru pulls his own shirt over his head and lets it drop somewhere behind him, unhurried. He doesn’t say a word as he does it.
Satoru stares, openly, unashamed, his gaze dragging over the breadth of Suguru’s shoulders, the defined lines of muscle, the few small, faded scars that he’s sure have their own individual stories. His mouth parts before he can stop it. Whatever smart remark he’d been lining up dies on his tongue.
Suguru notices. “You’re being awfully quiet,” he murmurs.
Satoru swallows, fingers curling reflexively in his comforter like he’s just barely holding himself back from touching. “Just taking in the view,” he manages, voice barely feigning nonchalance.
Suguru lifts a hand to tilt Satoru’s chin up until their eyes meet. “No sassy little comments left in you?”
Heat pools low in Satoru’s stomach. He forces a smirk—tries to make it sharp, tries to make it bratty—but it comes out softer than he wanted. “Whatever,” he scoffs, even as his face flushes crimson, betraying him completely.
Satoru recovers just enough to lift his chin, eyes bright with challenge. He lets his hands roam—deliberate this time—sliding over Suguru’s ribs, thumbs brushing under his pecs just softly enough to be distracting.
“Don’t get cocky,” Satoru mumbles, voice practiced. “You take your shirt off and suddenly you think I’m done for?”
He nips at the thumb Suguru is tracing over his bottom lip. “It takes more than that to impress me.”
Suguru doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch. He just watches him with maddening patience, like he’s letting a petulant child finish a tantrum.
Then, quickly, Suguru’s hand comes up, gripping both of Satoru’s wrists and pinning them to the sheets above his head.
“Is that so?”
His other hand settles at Satoru’s waist, thumb pressing in just enough to make his breath hitch.
“I don’t believe you.”
Satoru opens his mouth, trying to argue, but Suguru leans in, stopping just short of a kiss. Close enough that he can feel Satoru’s stuttering breaths against his lips.
“You’re trying so hard,” Suguru laughs. “It’s cute.”
Heat floods Satoru’s face. His resolve begins to crack—not all at once, but in small, traitorous ways: his wrists relaxing in Suguru’s grip, his hips jerking without permission.
Suguru smiles. “There you are,” he says softly.
Satoru exhales a shaky laugh and twists his wrists, not really trying to break free, but trying to convince Suguru that he still remembers how to bite.
“You talk a lot for someone who hasn’t done anything yet,” he says, jutting his chin as a familiar spark flashes back into his eyes. “You don’t scare me.”
For a moment, Suguru just studies him. Then his grip loosens. He leans back.
“Go on,” Suguru says calmly. “Say it again.”
Satoru blinks. The challenge stalls in his throat. The loss of pressure, of warmth, hits harder than he thought it would. He puffs his chest anyway, stubborn to the end.
“I’m not—”
Suguru closes the distance again, slower this time, hands settling at Satoru’s hips, thumbs pressing in with patience. He leans forward and hovers closely over Satoru’s face.
“You are,” he says quietly.
Satoru’s breath catches. His eyes almost close, letting himself finally stop pretending. His head tips forward, resting briefly in the space between Suguru’s neck and shoulder before he can stop himself.
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Suguru coos, amused.
Satoru huffs, defeated and flushed, curling into Suguru’s chest. “Don’t sound so proud,” he mutters.
Suguru smiles, warm and cocky. “Too late.”
Suguru kisses him again, slipping Satoru’s loose button-up over his head and tossing it carelessly behind him. Satoru whines when Suguru’s thumbs brush over his nipples, arching his back into the touch and gripping tight to Suguru’s hair. The strands keep falling loose, slipping over Suguru’s face no matter how many times he brushes them behind his ears. It’s clearly starting to irritate him—he huffs a quiet grunt, already leaning back to dig through his pockets for a hair tie.
But he doesn’t get the chance. Satoru reaches up and gathers the loose strands in his hands, deft and unhurried, pulling them back into a makeshift ponytail. His fingers linger just a second longer than necessary, knuckles brushing Suguru’s neck.
Suguru’s breath hitches against his mouth at the intimacy, at the fact that Satoru could somehow tell he was getting annoyed and found a solution before Suguru could grumble about it. He tries not to think about it too much.
Suguru lifts Satoru’s hips and pushes him further back onto the bed, lying him against the pillows and wrapping his legs around his waist. Satoru groans, bucking his hips into the tent of Suguru's pants. It feels like they’ve been at this for hours now, some fucked up version of a cat-and-mouse game, waiting to see who will let the other one win. Of course, Suguru was always going to—Satoru just wanted to convince him that he wasn’t.
“Suguru,” he gasps as hot, open-mouthed kisses drag down the side of his neck. “Come on.”
Suguru looks up at him through his eyelashes. “Aww, baby. You’re so worked up, huh?” He grinds his hips. Satoru keens.
“Gotta tell me what you want,” Suguru says. “Otherwise, I can’t give you anything.”
Frankly, Satoru wants Suguru dead. Not actually. But the man is being profoundly irritating.
Satoru grumbles something dangerously close to that thought under his breath, rolling his eyes as he turns away.
Suguru doesn’t let him get far. He catches Satoru’s chin and turns him back, grip firm but measured.
“I thought we dropped the brat shit, Satoru,” he says, tone falsely gentle, mouth curving like he knows exactly how this will end.
His thumb presses lightly on Satoru’s jaw. “Are you done?”
Satoru scoffs, but the sound comes out thinner than he wants. His eyes flick down to Suguru’s mouth, then back up again, defiance flickering even as his pulse gives him away.
“...No,” he admits, barely audible. Then, stubbornly, “You like it.”
Suguru’s smile deepens—not sharp, not cruel, but patient. He leans in just enough.
“I like honesty,” Suguru corrects. “And I’d like it if you stopped pretending that you’re not exactly where you belong.”
“Oh, yeah? And where is that?”
Suguru drags his thumb over Satoru’s bottom lip.
“Right here, below me, waiting to be spread open like a slut.”
Satoru huffs, shoulders sagging despite himself. His cheeks burn red, and his hands come to settle at Suguru’s wrists. He doesn’t push him away.
“Don’t say that,” he mutters.
Suguru chuckles quietly, thumb pushing past Satoru’s lips for just a second before pulling back.
“It’s true, isn’t it?” Suguru says calmly. “There’s something you want so bad, but you’re refusing to ask me for it.”
Satoru rolls his eyes. “Oh, please,” he says, dismissive. “I don’t need to beg you for anything.”
He leans in until they’re only an inch apart, lips curving into an insolent little smirk.
“Touch me,” he adds, voice sweet with attitude. “There. Happy?”
Suguru doesn’t move. The silence stretches, thick and intentional.
“No,” Suguru says at last, almost amused. “Try again.”
He tilts his head, studying Satoru like he’s correcting poor posture. “Use your manners.”
Satoru freezes. His mouth opens, then shuts. His bravado falters, just for a second, and Suguru catches it. His thumb lifts Satoru’s chin.
“I’m patient,” Suguru murmurs. “But I want to hear it.”
Satoru exhales sharply, frustrated, flustered. His stomach is burning with want, his heart is racing in his chest, and he’s aching between his legs for something, anything.
His shoulders tense… and then, finally, they drop.
“Please,” he mutters, barely louder than a breath. Then, louder—clearer, honest, whiny, despite himself—
“Please touch me.”
Suguru smirks like that was always going to happen in the end.
“Atta boy. Was that so hard?”
Suguru’s hand lingers at Satoru’s cheek for a moment longer than necessary, thumb brushing just beneath his eye like he’s filing the expression there away for later—flushed, needy, still stubborn at the edges.
“Look at you,” he says. “All that attitude, and that’s all it took.”
“Suguru,” he mutters weakly. “Please.”
Suguru leans down and kisses him softly, running both hands down his chest and teasing his thumbs under his waistband. “You’ve been waiting for so long, hm, princess? Do you need me to make it better?”
Satoru whines, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Please, Suguru.”
Suguru pinches his nipple and slaps him. “Is that all you know how to say?”
Satoru whines, opening his mouth to speak again, but Suguru beats him to it.
“Do sluts like you only have a few words to choose from?”
Satoru’s entire body is tingling with want, gripping tight to Suguru’s wrists.
“I just wanna feel good,” he says, pouting. “Don’t you wanna make me feel good, Suguru?”
Suguru smacks his side. “You’re lucky I let you use my name in your filthy mouth.”
Satoru smiles. “You should let me show you what I can do with this filthy mouth.”
Suguru leans back. “Alright then. Choose.”
“Choose what?” Satoru asks, impatient.
“You want to cum now or later?”
Satoru thinks for a second. “Now, duh.”
“Oh, really? You didn’t even hear what you’d get for waiting.” Suguru watches the gears turn in Satoru’s head.
“...What do I get?” he asks after a while.
“You can cum once now,” Suguru starts, trailing a finger down his stomach, “Or twice on my cock later.”
Satoru pouts. “I can’t have both?”
Suguru starts to palm at the bulge in Satoru’s pants, revelling in the hitch of his breath.
“No, you can't,” Suguru chides. “Don’t be greedy.”
Satoru takes a sharp intake of breath and squeezes his eyes shut. He desperately wants to cum now, needs to feel Suguru’s mouth or hands on him or anything—but he also wants to savor the feeling of Suguru inside him, to drag the relief out until it aches. Anticipation coils low in his stomach, and he has a feeling that Suguru knows that. He knows Suguru can tell he’s wearing himself thin on the indecision, caught between wanting it now and savoring the ache of not having it yet.
“Didn’t realize the question was that hard, baby,” Suguru laughs condescendingly. “Decide, or I’ll do it for you.”
Satoru bites his lip. “Later,” he says quickly. “Later. I’ll—I’ll wait.”
Suguru looks at him in disbelief. “Will you be good?”
Satoru nods.
“Tell me,” Suguru commands,
“I’ll be good,” Satoru whines, and it sounds like he’s about to start crying. “I promise, I’ll be good, I’ll be a good boy.”
Suguru pats his cheek lightly. “Shh,” he says, kissing Satoru’s forehead. “I know. It’ll be worth it.”
Satoru nods, eyes wet and chest rising with heavy breaths. “Okay,” he relents.
Suguru kisses him again, rough as soon as their mouths meet. His tongue slips past Satoru’s lips and licks against his, sucking his bottom lip and grazing his teeth in a dizzying pattern.
Suguru lies down next to him, propping himself up on his elbows. “What did you say about that filthy mouth of yours?” he pants against Satoru’s mouth, feeling his evil smile before he sees it.
“Let me suck your dick,” Satoru whispers, licking his lips and kneeling between Suguru’s spread legs.
“Is that how you speak to me?” Suguru says, unimpressed. “You can ask me nicer than that.”
Satoru holds himself back from groaning and rolling his eyes.
“Please, can I suck your dick, Suguru?”
Suguru pats his cheek again. “That’s a good boy. Go ahead.”
He doesn’t have to tell Satoru twice. Almost immediately, his hands are tugging at Suguru’s belt, undoing the buckle and sliding it free from his pant loops before unbuttoning his jeans and slipping them down to Suguru’s mid-thigh. Even through his boxers, he looks fucking huge. Satoru is going to start drooling if he doesn’t get a grip.
“Off,” he mutters, just to himself. “Need these off.”
Suguru chuckles, lifting his hips to help Satoru along. He tosses Suguru’s pants and boxers onto the floor, followed by his belt. He downright whimpers when Suguru’s cock slaps against his stomach.
“God,” Satoru breathes, eyes fixed. “So big, Sugu.”
Suguru shudders at the nickname, brushing Satoru’s bangs back and slipping a thumb past his lips.
“Can you fit me in here?” he teases, tongue playing with his lip ring. “Can you take all of me in your pretty mouth?”
Satoru whines and nods, covering Suguru’s thumb in spit before pulling off.
“I can, I can,” he pants. “Let me take it, please.”
Suguru nods and lies back against the pillows. Immediately, Satoru starts kissing down all eight inches of him, tracing every vein with the tip of his tongue and teasing over his balls with one hand. He wants to tease Suguru more, to make him angry and punish him, but Satoru can’t wait any longer.
He mouths at the head of Suguru’s cock, dipping his tongue into his slit. Suguru hisses and throws his head back, and he genuinely thinks this is the most turned on he’s ever been in his life.
“Fuck, that’s it,” he groans, holding Satoru’s hair as he sucks him down halfway. “Good boy, Satoru.”
Satoru whines around his cock, unable to stop himself from grinding his hips into the sheets. Usually, Suguru would stop him, tell him to be good and wait. But they’ve been dancing around each other all night, arguably harder than either of them has ever been in their lives, and Suguru decides he’ll save his denial games for next time. If there is one, at least.
Satoru nearly chokes as he takes Suguru in further, tonguing at the underside of him and hollowing his cheeks. He massages his balls with one hand, claws at Suguru’s thigh with the other, and finally meets Suguru’s lower stomach. He can feel the tip of his cock hitting the back of his throat, and it’s absolutely filthy, but Satoru wouldn’t want it any other way.
“God, you look good like this,” Suguru pants. “I should keep your mouth full all the time so you can’t talk back.”
Satoru moans, helpless, drool tracing a slow line down to pool at Suguru’s hips. He can’t talk back, couldn’t fight even if he wanted to, and that does more for him than he ever thought it would.
He bobs up and down on Suguru’s length, swallowing around him at the top and pumping the rest of him with his right hand. Suguru’s fingers are tight in his hair, every groan motivating him to take his length further and make it filthier.
“I’m gonna fuck your throat,” Suguru says, breathless. “Is that okay?”
Satoru nods around him, pulling off and letting his tip draw spit and precum across his cheek just long enough to say, “Yes, please.”
Suguru tugs his hair and shoves him back down on his cock, and from there, it’s relentless. He thrusts deeper into Satoru’s mouth every time, drinking down Satoru’s choked off little gasps and gags like it's some sort of rare wine. Satoru digs his nails into Suguru’s thighs, head fuzzy at the idea of being used for nothing but what Suguru thinks he’s meant for.
“God, Satoru,” he grunts, thrusting nonstop. “Your mouth is so fucking good.”
Satoru can’t reply, so he moans. The vibrations of it around Suguru’s cock are enough to make the muscles in his stomach tense. He pulls Satoru off by his hair and nearly blows his load anyway at the sight of the strings of saliva connecting Satoru’s mouth to his tip.
“Lie down,” Suguru commands. “I need to fuck you. Now.”
Satoru smiles devilishly, licking his lips. “Was I good?” he asks, voice gravelly.
Suguru kisses him quickly, tasting himself faintly on Satoru’s tongue. “So good, princess. I knew that mouth had to be good for something.”
Satoru whines softly at the words and lies down, looking up at Suguru with the widest, neediest eyes he’s ever seen.
“I wonder if your little hole is as tight and warm as your pretty mouth,” Suguru muses, voice low, like he’s thinking out loud. “Should we find out?”
Satoru’s breath hitches, chest rising and falling too fast, his hands clutching at Suguru’s hips like he’s trying to anchor himself. “Please, I can’t—please, Suguru, please.” His voice is high, whiny, raw with need.
Suguru doesn’t rush. He just tilts his head, watching him carefully, letting Satoru twist and writhe against him. “Aww, so desperate.”
Satoru cries softly, lips parting, words spilling out in a stuttered, pleading mess. “I… I need it, Suguru, please, just—just touch me!”
Suguru lets a finger ghost along Satoru’s jaw, brushing the edge of his lips. “Mmm, I guess you have been behaving,” he murmurs, almost to himself, “should I take these off?”
He thumbs over the button of Satoru’s pants.
“Yes, yes, please,” he’s trembling, eyes squeezed shut.
Suguru unbuttons and unzips his jeans, slipping them and his boxers off in one smooth go. Satoru’s long, pale legs seem to go on for ages. His thighs are soft and begging to be bitten, so Suguru does just that, nipping and sucking at his inner thighs and licking every little patch of skin he can reach.
“Oh, Suguru,” he whimpers, tightly clutching the sheets. “More, more, more, please.”
Suguru pinches at the skin he just sucked a purpling bruise into. “I already told you not to be greedy,” he scolds, “do I need to gag you?”
Satoru shakes his head. “No, no, I’m sorry,” he pouts, sounding like he’d do just about anything if it meant getting Suguru’s hands on him.
His cock is so hard that the head is almost purple, begging for something, anything, and leaking precum.
“You’re so wet, baby,” Suguru coos, swiping a bead of precum onto two fingers and bringing it to his mouth. “Do you always get this worked up?”
“No, Suguru,” he says quickly, face flushed and bleary-eyed. “Just you.”
Suguru hums, content. “Good boy. Tell me what you want.”
It looks like it takes thirty seconds for the words to even make it past the cotton in Satoru’s head, eyes wide and mouth slightly open like he needs someone to shut it for him.
“I…” he tries, but the words don’t come. “I don’t…”
Suguru pouts at him meanly. “Aww, is the baby too dumb to think?”
Satoru looks at him and nods. He doesn’t even try to deny it, too far gone to fight back and defend himself.
Suguru’s smile softens. He leans in, thumb lifting Satoru’s chin.
“Satoru,” he murmurs, quieter now. “Are you okay? Do you want to keep going?”
Satoru nods immediately, a little too eagerly, breath stuttering. “Yes. I want it, I want it, I want you.”
That’s all Suguru needs.
“Good,” he says, pleased. “Then listen to me.” His thumb presses against Satoru’s jaw, parting his lips. “Use your words. Tell me what you want me to do.”
Satoru swallows, lashes fluttering. His brain feels syrup-thick, thoughts sliding around everywhere except where he needs them. When he finally speaks, his voice is small, wrecked.
“I want you,” he whispers. “Please, just do whatever you want to me.”
Suguru’s smile turns slow and satisfied, pride glinting in his eyes. “That’s it,” he whispers. “Such a good boy for me, so pretty when you’re all pliant.”
He leans down again, unhurried, and presses a quick kiss to Satoru’s parted lips. It’s soft, gentle, letting him know he’s still in safe hands even as things heat up.
“Now,” Suguru continues, “I’m going to help you.”
His thumb traces a slow line along Satoru’s cheek, grounding. “Tell me exactly what you want.”
Satoru exhales shakily. It takes effort—real effort—to pull the words together. His hands curl into the fabric beneath him, knuckles tight.
“I want…” His voice cracks. He squeezes his eyes shut, then forces them open again when Suguru’s thumb stills. “I want you inside. Please.”
Suguru sighs, cock twitching at the blatant nature of his words. “There’s a good boy,” he says softly. “I knew you could do it.”
Satoru whimpers. “Need it, Sugu.”
Suguru kisses him again, deeper this time. “Where does my princess keep his lube?”
Satoru shudders and points to his nightstand. “Bottom drawer,” he mumbles, nearly shaking in anticipation.
As Suguru slicks up two of his fingers, he watches Satoru with something borderline predatory in his eyes. “Do you want my fingers in you, Satoru?”
He nods quickly, pulling his knees up to his chest without having to be asked.
“Pretty boy,” Suguru whispers, almost in awe. “God, you’re fucking beautiful.”
Satoru keens under him, hole fluttering and begging Suguru to fill it.
Suguru traces the tip of his middle finger over the puckered ring of muscle, and Satoru’s entire body goes taut at the touch. He’s so sensitive, so desperate, shaking under Suguru’s every move.
When the tip of Suguru’s finger breaches his hole, Satoru shouts, head thrown back and eyes squeezed tight. He can’t help but cry out for Suguru.
“Oh, baby,” Suguru sighs, thrusting the length of his middle finger in and out. “Is this what you needed?”
Satoru nods fiercely, jerking with every brush against his walls. He’s so close to his prostate that Satoru thinks Suguru is avoiding it on purpose just to be mean.
“More, more,” Satoru cries, rolling his hips. “Need you inside, Sugu, please.”
Suguru shushes him gently, pushing two fingers of his free hand past Satoru’s lips. “So loud,” he teases, matching the rhythm of his fingers in Satoru’s hole to the ones in Satoru’s mouth.
Finally, Suguru presses his ring finger deep into Satoru’s hole, and he doesn’t give him even a second to adjust before he’s curling his fingers up into Satoru’s prostate. Satoru writhes and cries at the unrelenting touch.
“Shh, shh,” Suguru repeats. “How are you gonna take my cock if you can barely handle my fingers?”
Satoru shakes his head, meeting Suguru’s hungry eyes with his wet ones. “No, no, I can take it,” Satoru gasps, “I can take your cock, Sugu, please give it to me.”
Suguru pretends to think for a second as he continues to open Satoru up. “Can you?”
“Yes, yes, I can! God, Suguru, please!”
Suguru scissors his fingers wider inside Satoru’s warm hole, making sure he’s sufficiently opened up before slipping them out and wiping his fingers clean on the sheets.
After sliding on a condom, Suguru coats his length in more lube before lining himself up with Satoru’s hole. He brings Satoru’s legs over his shoulders and meets his eyes.
“You ready?” he asks, kissing his ankle.
“Yes, Suguru.”
That’s all it takes for Suguru to press the blunt head of his cock past Satoru’s rim, and he’s so tight and hot and warm around him that Suguru thinks he might cease to exist. He can’t help the groan that rips from his throat at the sensation of Satoru’s hole sucking him in further. Satoru’s back arches with every inch, eyes nearly rolling back in his head.
“Fuck,” he gasps, “so fucking full.”
Suguru trembles when he bottoms out. “How are you so fucking tight?” he grunts.
He’d meant to take his time, to draw this out further than he already has and make Satoru shake and cry and beg for it. But Suguru is reaching the last of his composure, restraint slipping through his fingers, and all he can do is give in.
He plunges deeper into Satoru’s hole, gritting his teeth at the all-consuming pressure and the way Satoru slips out these stupid, fucked out little whines with every thrust. He can barely handle it himself. Suguru’s no neighborhood whore or anything, but he’s slept with his fair share of men and women. Satoru, by far, might be the best he’s ever had. He hopes desperately that this is more than just a one-time thing.
“Sugu, Sugu, Sugu,” Satoru cries, drool slipping out from between his lips.
“What, princess?” Suguru pants, angling his hips and hitting Satoru’s prostate dead-on.
“Fuck!” Satoru shouts, legs shaking where they rest atop Suguru’s shoulders. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my go-od—”
Satoru is moaning like a fucking pornstar, and it’s driving Suguru crazy.
He promised Satoru that he’d make him cum twice on his cock, and he intends to honor that. Suguru leans over and sucks one of his nipples into his mouth while pumping his cock, digging his nail into Satoru’s slit and humming in satisfaction when he bucks his hips and grips Suguru’s hair.
“Oh fuck, Suguru,” he pants, “I’m close, I’m close—”
Suguru keeps going, determined to see Satoru fall apart. He aims directly at his prostate, alternating between mean thrusts and pointed grinds in a pattern that Satoru can’t keep up with. It’s inescapable, devouring—Satoru can’t even tell where he ends and Suguru begins.
“That’s it, Satoru,” he breathes, tonguing over his nipple. “I want you to make a mess for me.”
It doesn’t take much longer before Satoru is quivering under his touch and spurting white across his stomach, breathing heavily and tugging at Suguru’s hair like an anchor.
“Good boy, Satoru,” Suguru whispers, kissing him gently and slowing his thrusts for just a second as he catches his breath. “But I’m not done with you.”
He pulls out and flips Satoru onto his stomach, pulling him back on the bed by his hips and driving his cock inside again. The arch in Satoru’s back is something worth painting, so beautifully erotic in its practiced nature. Every thrust punches another whiny sound from Satoru’s throat, making a debauched harmony with Suguru’s own grunts and groans.
“Don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop—”
Suguru’s attacks on Satoru’s prostate are relentless, and Satoru starts clawing at the bedsheets, pulling himself up closer to the headboard and away from Suguru—
“Absolutely not,” Suguru growls, grabbing Satoru’s hips tighter. “Don’t fucking run from me, princess.”
Satoru moans even louder. “God, fuck, Suguru, harder—”
Suguru plants his hands on either side of Satoru’s head and pounds in deeper, harder, faster, and everything is so much that both of them feel dizzy. Suguru leans down to put his mouth to Satoru’s ear, grunting with every push into his tight warmth.
“You take it so well, Satoru,” he groans, sucking on his earlobe. “Are you this tight for every man who fucks this pretty hole?”
Satoru wails. “No, no, just you, Sugu, only you, yours, fuck!”
Suguru leans back and makes a tight fist in Satoru’s hair, pulling him up to his knees and wrapping his other hand around his throat.
“God, you look so good,” Suguru whispers, fingers squeezing gently around the column of his throat. “So fucking good for me, Satoru.”
Satoru keens and throws his head back on Suguru’s shoulder, hips grinding down to meet Suguru’s every thrust.
Suguru goes to wrap a hand around Satoru’s cock, trailing a hand down his torso and finding a just barely-there bulge at the base of his stomach. It moves with every drive of Suguru’s hips, and that’s when he realizes—
Holy fucking shit, Suguru thinks. That’s his cock.
Suguru presses down on Satoru’s stomach, at the heady realization that Suguru is big enough to be making Satoru his from the inside out. The thought makes him feel crazy.
Suguru grabs Satoru’s hand from where it’s clawing at his thigh and brings it to his stomach.
“You feel that?” he pants. “You feel me right there?”
Satoru moans loudly. Nothing’s ever felt as good as this does.
“Oh, fuck, Suguru, so deep,” he babbles, “yeah, shit, I like that, hngh—”
“Yeah? You like being able to see how deep I am in your perfect hole?”
Satoru nods, a single tear sliding down his cheek as he whines. “Please, Suguru, I need to cum.”
Suguru kisses the tear away, letting the saltiness wash over his tongue. “Shh, I got you. You’re doing so well for me, Satoru.”
Suguru’s getting close himself, feeling the beginnings of a white-hot knot in the base of his stomach build and build. He wraps a hand around Satoru’s cock, pumping up and down to the rhythm of his hips.
“Please, oh god, please,” Satoru whimpers. “Make me cum, please make me cum, I need it!”
Suguru bites the side of his neck, the dark, possessive side of himself determined to make sure Satoru can still see it in the morning.
“Oh, I’ll make you cum,” he growls, circling the head of his cock. “I want you to scream my name when you do.”
Satoru nods. “Fuck, fuck, right there, oh god—!”
Suguru grinds hard circles into his prostate.
“I’m gonna cum, gonna cum, gonna cum—”
“Cum for me, Satoru,” Suguru says. “Be a good boy and cum all over yourself, make a mess, just for me.”
“Suguru!” he screams, entire body jerking and twitching as his orgasm washes over him. He’s clenching down so hard around Suguru’s cock, so tight that he barely even realizes it before Suguru is cumming, too. It’s overwhelming, honestly. He can feel the pleasure in the tips of his toes, hips stuttering inside Satoru as he finishes.
Satoru feels like he’s getting devoured, every inch of his skin burning as he cums. It feels like the ecstasy never ends, he can’t hear a thing, and he has no idea what sounds he’s making, what he’s saying, or if anything is even leaving his mouth at all.
“Satoru, Satoru,” Suguru breathes heavily, rubbing gently at his sides. “Deep breaths.”
Satoru does his best to listen as he finally starts to come down. He’s still shaking, relying on Suguru to keep him from falling apart altogether.
“You’re okay. You’re okay. You did so good, baby, I’m so proud of you,” he coos, hugging Satoru’s waist and kissing his shoulderblades.
“Suguru,” he mumbles, voice hoarse.
“What is it, honey?” he says, rubbing up and down Satoru’s back gently.
He doesn’t get a response, Satoru too fucked out to really know what he was going to say, or if he was going to actually say anything at all.
Suguru pulls out slowly, gently, and lies Satoru down. He pulls and ties off his condom and throws it into the trash can at the corner of Satoru’s desk, and then lies down next to him. Satoru curls into his side, eyes closed and breaths finally steadying.
“I need to clean you up, sweetheart,” Suguru whispers, petting Satoru’s hair. “Do you have a washcloth I can use?”
Satoru makes a dissatisfied noise. “In a second,” he says. “Don’t go yet.”
Suguru kisses the top of his head and tells him that he isn’t going anywhere. That seems to do the trick, because Satoru is nuzzling further into his chest like a little cat, and Suguru desperately hopes he doesn’t catch the skip of his heartbeat.
They lie together for a little while longer before Suguru insists on getting up, despite Satoru’s petulant groan and reluctance to let him go.
Following Satoru’s simple directions in the bathroom, he finds a washcloth and wets it with warm water before bringing it back to the bedroom and swiping gently over Satoru’s stomach, cock, and further down. He’s only given a minute before Satoru is begging to cuddle, so he tosses the washcloth in the general direction of the bathroom door and lets Satoru pull him down onto his chest.
Slender fingers brush through Suguru’s long hair, and Suguru finds that he really enjoys listening to the steady ba-bump of Satoru’s heart.
“Was everything okay, Satoru?” he asks, resting his cheek on Satoru’s bare chest and looking up at him.
He nods, smiling tiredly. “Yes, it was perfect. I felt so good. Thank you.”
Suguru leans up and kisses his lips. Satoru melts against him, hands resting gently on his shoulders.
“Was I good?” Satoru asks, eyes wide and almost insecure.
“You were perfect,” he assures, stroking Satoru’s cheek. “Don’t think any differently. You made me feel so good.”
Satoru preens under the attention and kisses the inside of Suguru’s wrist.
“Come here, let me scratch your back,” Suguru beckons, patting his shoulder and opening his arms to invite Satoru to lie on him. He closes his eyes as he scratches gently up and down Satoru’s back, feeling the most relaxed he’s felt in a while.
He has no idea what time it is, and doesn’t really want to know. He just knows it’s too late and time for him to go home.
“I should probably head home,” Suguru says gently, pressing another soft kiss to the top of Satoru’s head. “You promise you’re feeling okay?”
Satoru doesn’t answer his question and instead snaps his head up from where it rests against Suguru’s chest with furrowed brows.
“What? You can’t leave, it’s so late,” Satoru says, genuinely concerned. “Just sleep here.”
Suguru looks at him—really looks at him—and finds that he’s even more beautiful than he realized. From the blue of his eyes to the furrow of his brows, the unique beauty of his hair, the slope of his nose and cheekbones and the pout of his lips.
“...Are you sure?” he replies. “I’d hate to be a bother.”
Satoru immediately shakes his head and clings tighter to Suguru’s shoulders.
“I’m sure. Now let’s go to sleep, I’m tired.”
Suguru laughs quietly and relents, following him to the bathroom to brush his teeth with one of the new toothbrushes that Satoru keeps in case of guests. It feels oddly domestic, brushing their teeth together. Suguru decides not to read too far into it.
Satoru throws his comforter into the laundry room to deal with later and instead grabs two large, fuzzy blankets for both of them. They’re so soft, Suguru feels like he could melt into the bed.
They forgo any clothes and slip under the blankets together.
“Goodnight,” Satoru whispers, kissing his lips, and Suguru can tell he’s smiling even in the darkness.
“Goodnight, Satoru,” he mutters back, kissing him once more before they both fall into deep, comfortable nights of rest.
Their legs are tangled together under the covers, inching closer to each other without even realizing.
.✦ ݁˖
When Suguru wakes up, he immediately smells coffee.
He rubs his eyes and slips out of Satoru’s bed, noticing the pair of sweatpants on the nightstand with a sticky note that says “suguru :)” lying on top. His heart clenches at the gesture as he slips the black sweatpants on and exits the bedroom.
What he sees in the kitchen is so intimate that it makes him want to close his eyes. Satoru is leaning against the island wearing nothing but gray sweatpants and clear-rimmed glasses. There are two mugs on the edge of the counter with a bowl of fruit in between them.
“Good morning, Suguru,” he says softly, smiling. “Sleep okay?”
Suguru closes the space between them and frames his waist in his hands and kisses him gently. “Really well, actually. Did you?”
Satoru nods and kisses him again.
“Are you this nice to all of your hookups?” Suguru teases.
He takes the mug that Satoru slides towards him and forgoing the cream and sugar that he offers.
After sufficiently sweetening his own mug, Satoru looks at him and blushes. “No.”
Suguru leans one hip against the counter. “I’m special, huh?”
Satoru mirrors him and adjusts his glasses. “Yes, I’d say so.”
They drink their coffee together slowly, picking at grapes and sliced apples from the bowl and basking in a quiet morning.
“Satoru,” Suguru starts, “can I see you again?”
Satoru positively beams. He kisses Suguru’s cheek and pushes a stray bang behind his ear.
“You beat me to it,” he says, “I was going to ask you the same thing.”
Suguru laughs. “I’ll let you ask me out, then.”
Satoru raises a brow. “Oh, ask you out? What makes you think I want more than just some casual hookups?”
Suguru’s stomach drops, and he quickly tries to fix his clear misread of the situation. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”
Satoru kisses him and smiles mischievously. “I’m just teasing, silly. Will you go on a date with me?”
Suguru sighs in relief and pinches his side. “You’re evil, you know that?”
Satoru giggles and leans into him anyway.
“Yes, Satoru,” Suguru says, warm and sure. “I’d love to go on a date.”
Satoru’s smile glows brighter, and he hugs Suguru tightly. “I was just gonna ask again if you said no, anyway.”
Suguru laughs and pulls him closer. “Well, I’d expect nothing less.”
Satoru doesn’t tease further. He just stays, pressed comfortably against Suguru’s chest, like this is exactly where they were meant to end up.