Chapter Text
Megumi kicks open the door with the platform of his latex Pleaser, even without the distraction of an incoming text. He hates the door and the door hates him.
Raggedy old thing.
He adjusts the brightness of his phone’s screen—the contrast in lightning between the club’s dim floor to the fluorescent locker room more than stark; it was an annoying, constant back and forth of either burning his eyes or not being able to see shit.
“He doesn’t have more than $300 on the table.” The text from Nobara reads.
He can hear the eye roll.
Nobara had stuck back with the patron that she and Megumi snagged upon arrival, entertaining his rant about something NFT related or another. It was agitating to say the least but the pickings were less than slim on Sundays. Still, it wasn’t typical for Nobara and him to try one of the more accursed shifts as the men who mosied in at this hour, on this day, were more often on a flippant side quest than in the business of paying somebody’s rent.
Or in other words, they were bored and broke.
But something about this particular night gave Nobara a “feeling” she was sure they had to see through. Reluctantly but with a positive nod, Megumi agreed. It wasn’t like he had many plans for the day anyway so he figured what’s the worst that could happen?
"Ask if he wants to do a double-dance.” Megumi writes back, his manicured nails tapping softly to the bubble sound of his keyboard.
It was easy—almost too easy to sway a man to the benefit of not one but two asses in his face. At a rate of three, two minute long songs with each song equating to one, $40 dance, it was the easiest $120 a person could make.
Megumi makes quick work of the lock safeguarding his stuff and imagines fishing out a handgun to off himself with instead of what he actually grabs—a small bottle of lavender scented perfume. Nevermind the Florida heat that never fails to fuck off somehow making its way inside, sticking around to partner with the boredom of just fifteen dancers and six patrons, Megumi was beyond over it.
‘It’ being too much shit to count.
“We have the ever stunning and sensational Fantasy to the main stage! Fantasy to the main stage!” The DJ’s voice crackles through the intercom overhead.
"Up next, brb."
He hits send with a huff, hastily shutting the locker and motioning toward the exit with a sigh in remembering what his therapist suggested: think positive. So he directs his negative thoughts to an image of himself laying in the warmth of his bed, cuddled by the thick coats of his shepherds Shiro and Kuro, with a nice glass of vino and a rerun of Misfits .
Passing by the shared vanity’s mirror, he stops to give himself a quick once over. He adjusts his black micro-bikini top first before half turning around to make sure his sheer mini-skirt wasn’t sitting wonkily on his waist and worse yet, his thongs weren’t anywhere but right over his pussy. The all black fit was definitely one of his simpler sets but he was finding out the approach actually played a lot to his favour.
His body shape wasn’t for everyone but he had more than enough patrons point out how they found his small breasts to be alluring; noting it was more than complimentary to his bottom heavy figure. What he really cared about and thought of himself had nothing to do with the opinion of others but for the money’s sake, he’d pretend he did.
He leans over the dated countertop closer into his reflection to reapply a layer of clear gloss to his lips with a soft pucker and pop and a zhuzh of his hair. Throwing his last piece of spearmint gum into his mouth he steps back out onto the club floor where he is immediately hit with a burst of cold air and as he knows all too well, it’s the only spot in the whole establishment that he’ll feel that reprieve.
Keeping to the trick of the game, he purposefully adds a languid sway to his hips with each step just in case there was a watchful eye with deep pockets. It was at times hard to remember or care about, really but from the moment he handed over his house fee to the moment the lights came on he was to be a star turning on its axis: dazzling. Only until he found himself standing in line waiting to tip out could he slouch and yawn.
The waltz to the stage is a short one but it’s enough for him to scan the room unsuspectedly to see if any new prospects had stopped in while he was in the back.
As he anticipated it was still a wasteland. Off to his left the first bar hosted the same older gentleman who hadn’t as much looked at any of the dancers and the booths some feet behind him were still an empty darkened mass of tufted periwinkle. Not even across the way to the second bar had anyone come along and that was nearly the final straw for Megumi’s sanity.
That is until there, off to the left of the main stage, sits a man—a vision—clad in Cocktail Attire. Beneath the fabric of a perfect blue waistcoat his white button-down is undone to the second button, exposing just a taste of muscle so impressively thick it bunches and bulges before the joint of his elbow. Noticeable even from across the room, his hand, large and tanned, is wrapped around a short glass of dark liquid that he looks at in contemplation; swishing the liquid otiosely before bringing it up to his lush lips for a slow sip.
On the tip back Megumi catches a glimpse of what can only be a Patek by the way his wrist glistens under the flicker of the strobing lights above.
Holy shit.
It’s both alarming and curious as to why he’s sitting alone, especially as he notices some of the other girls, Celeste and Velvet, sitting on their phones in other booths in idleness. Patek aside, the man was absolutely gorgeous. That much was evident so the circumstance of his solitude could only be one of two things: the man had either shot everyone down who tried to talk to him or his wealthy appearance was nothing but a gimmick. Whatever the case may be, Megumi was sure a shit going to investigate.
Continuing his walk to the center of the room Megumi looks over to where he last left Nobara and not the least bit surprising she’s nowhere to be seen but Brokey remains as he was: inert.
Glad to know they wasted forty-five minutes on the dude.
Ascending the few steps to the main stage in a creep, Megumi keeps his eyes low to its acrylic surface that glows a soft shade of pink. Mimicking the drip of molten molasses, he dips down to drop his money bag near the top of the steps in exchange for the rag and spray bottle that sit in wait; turning then on the ball of his foot to saunter over to the first pole of two.
The drone and echo —the same drone and echo of the same song the DJ has played over and over and over—begins to play over the speakers. This club, Crystal Carat Cabaret or C3 for short, typically plays music that made Megumi want to gouge his eyes out but that was neither new nor something he could do anything about.
If anything, he thought how he moved on stage would make anyone none the wiser to his disdain and tonight was going to be no exception.
He cleans the pole once over with a steady swipe of the hand, making sure to poke his ass out when he bends over and keep his long lashes as coyly close to his cheek as possible. Anything to portray himself as a demure damsel, ripe with innocence just waiting for a knight in shining armour to pluck him pretty.
Rag and bottle now set aside, he reaches for the cool metal of the pole with his right arm fully outstretched, leaning away to begin walking around it. He overlaps his left foot with the right in a Cheshire canter through one full rotation. On the second rotation, still facing inward to the pole, he spins once more, sliding his palm down just short of his neck and switching it with his other hand; reassuming the position of putting the pole between him and the Mystery Man to complete the rotation in a backward spin.
Coming back to where he started, he tilts his chin up to look ahead, fully forward facing the man still lonesome in the booth without the obstruction of rounded metal.
In a snap of a second, green meets ember. What Megumi didn’t even consider to happen, happens. His heart leaps, somersaults and maybe even stops. Never in his life, let alone in his two years of dancing, has he ever seen a face so captivating.
Up high, the light illuminates the man better, to the point Megumi can make out the outline of his long, long legs and broad shoulders. His hair, short, tastefully styled in slicked back fashion and light in colour that contrasts nicely to his dark beard, has Megumi wanting to abandon his set entirely to run his fingers through it.
Maintaining his composure he steps out in front of the pole, lining it with the curve of his spine. One hand reaches above his head in a reversed grip, serving as the anchor for his body so he can hold his pelvis out ahead of him. His free hand smooths down the skin of his thigh, pushing his thighs apart to open wide as he drops into a crouch, bringing himself level to the man’s eye—at least as level as he can with how far away he sits. The hand over his thigh slips behind his back, between the band of his skirt and skin to pop the button loose, effectively shedding the cover up in one go.
The usual and literal song and dance is to go slow, get the crowd to really see the flow of the body and capture the patron like a fish on a hook but Megumi’s mind nearly short circuits the longer he looks at the man.
Abandoning his original plan to dive right into floor work he stands back up, taking three steps—subtly dragging and moving to the side his skirt under his foot—then turning to jump up with one hand reaching higher than the grip he already has established to throw himself into a backwards chopper, where his legs bend back and in a ‘V’ to invert. He soars around the pole and gracefully transitions with a hook of his right leg into another upside down leg hang where he reaches with his left arm closer to the base of the pole to twist back into a scorpion pose. He holds it like a freeze frame while the spinning pole takes him around and around like a carousel; all while making sure to elongate his torso and point his toes.
When he untwists he brings himself upside down, hanging by just his hip and ankle wrapped around the pole. His left leg extends out in a point for him to readjust his hands in a full extension both above and below his head. The leg hooked to the pole releases and in another slow spin he spreads his legs in another chopper.
Tricks aren’t typically his thing and certainly as any dancer knows it isn’t really what the patrons care to see but when he does do them, he feels weightless. Though it was pain he became immune to to do it, it was gratifying to know the wonder his body could do and the feats he could perform.
At the drop of the beat from the chorus to the hook Megumi reshuffles his legs to one side of the pole where he flips down onto the floor into a split. He stretches forward over his shin, looking toward the man with heavy lids. Sure enough, he is there but…he hasn’t moved. He hasn’t come to sit by the stage.
In fact, it looks like he hasn’t moved so much as a finger.
He hates to admit it but Megumi feels the vein on his forehead twitch at the realization. Perhaps this is where his riches in favour from heaven run dry. Of course the sexiest man to ever step foot in this shithole of a place would be another bastard looking for a free show. He would chalk it up to not being the man’s type but if there is one thing for certain it’s that the man hasn’t taken his eyes off of Megumi.
It gives Megumi somewhat of a bad taste in his mouth but he won’t throw the towel in just yet.
He leans his chest to the floor, tutting his left hip up to jiggle it a few times. For him it’s always been fun to imagine he’s throwing it down on a dick, that way he gives the allure of sex to whoever is watching without being outright raunchy. His mouth hangs open daintily, letting the now supple skin at his hip ripple with every soft bounce. Just as the next song starts he slides his leg back to fall in line with the other to push his ass up—extending forward with his arms out in front of him into a downward dog; giving whoever is behind him a full view of his backside.
Rising into a kneeling position, Megumi runs his clawed hands over his thighs and up his torso, sighing as he feels the soft patter of dollar bills that fall over and onto his back—the beat of his second song , another techno pulse, adding nicely to the drama of the moment. He turns over his shoulder to see a man standing at the back of one of the stage side chairs with a smoking cigar hanging from his mouth and a corduroy Newsboy hat. He tosses more wads of bills into the air, smiling lazily as his eyes roam over Megumi.
Grateful for the money and using Hat Man as a distraction, Megumi gives him a coy wink before turning around to take advantage of how he’s sitting to look Mystery Man in the eye—engaging in a one sided tug of war with himself in the middle; undoing the knots of his bikini top to remove it completely, revealing his pierced nipples.
“Those days are over
You don’t have to put on the red light.”
He stands and walks to the near edge of the stage to Hat Man, the height of it placing his crotch level with the top of his head. The man seems to enjoy the pointed attention, even if Megumi hasn’t done anything more and throws more dollars up into the air.
Amused, Megumi turns around, presenting his ass. Taking his hands to cup the underside of each ass cheek, bouncing the fat in a two-step cadence. Hat man hollers, throwing more dollars into the air. Smirking, Megumi slowly dips into a squat, lowering his ass close to the floor that has him balancing on his toes. He sways to the right to open his body so that he can look over his left shoulder and thigh.
“That ass is crazy, baby.” Hat man says, waving another wad like a fan. “Bring it here.”
In his mind, Megumi rolls his eyes but playing the part out loud, he runs his finger under the string of his thongs and watching himself do it, maintains an allure of mischief. He lifts the fabric from his skin for the man who slips another wad between before Megumi hastily lets the threads snap back to secure the ones before whining back up to his feet.
Looking forward again he finds Mystery Man still looking his way and still in his seat. He reaches for the pole again to walk around it a few times in a luring taunt, using the momentum to reach up with both hands and throw his leg up and over in a hook, rotating once around and using the hooked leg to climb half a foot higher and extending the hooked leg up in a straight line; emulating a scissoring motion that spins him around and around.
It throws Hat Man into a frenzy and another patron who steps up to place three $20 bills onto the stage. Red and purple beams light up the room, pumping in concert with the music, fueling Megumi with the adrenaline only putting on a show can. It pushes him through to the end of his set, where he’s on his knees sweeping all of his tips to one corner of the stage while the next dancer steps up, side stepping him with a smile to give the pole another wipe down.
“Thank you.” He mouths genially to the rain maker, quickly but nicely stuffing his earnings into his bag.
He fastens his top and skirt on before stepping back down to the carpet, taking an immediate left to walk around the curve of the massive stage toward the Mystery Man. It should be some sort of rage that fills him for the man’s clear attentive gaze yet tipless hand—and even more than that he should go with the guy who did tip him generously at that but he thinks of Nobara’s earlier comment and realizes she may be a prophet.
Unexpectedly the man watches him not once blinking until Megumi is standing just at the end of his table. While the club still remains dark enough for some mystification, Megumi feels his knees threaten to buckle at what he can see as he gets a good look at the man. Not only is he beyond handsome, but Megumi immediately notices his size and age nearly doubled now that he’s closer.
“May I sit?” Megumi asks, gesturing to the booth.
“Please do.” His voice, a deep baritone, drops down on Megumi’s pussy like a weight.
Aged amber wafts from the man in an earthy cologne, the sting to the nostrils like sweet smoke. It takes a moment of self awareness to keep Megumi from leaning in to sniff him.
“Not enjoying yourself?” He chances, looking at the gold band on his ring finger.
The man chuckles low in his throat, tapping his glass once onto the table.
“That’s what we’re here for, you know. To make you feel good and have fun.”
His eyes, dark—likely a brown colour slide over to him. “That you are.”
The man’s admittance but calm demeanor intrigues Megumi. “So?”
“Do I look that mopey?” His tone hasn’t a hint of sarcasm.
“Well, you’re here, aren’t you?”
The man chuckles again but this time it’s closer to a full laugh.
“What’s your name, sweetheart? Would you like a drink?”
Now, not even behind the mask of a forced smile do the pet names ever make Megumi want to do anything but puke but from him, this magnificent prototype of man, he doesn’t mind it. He might even venture to say he wishes he’d keep it coming.
“Fantasy.”
That causes the man to turn his head with a brow raised in question.
“Your folks named you that?”
“It’s my stage name.”
“Ah, right.” He looks back to his glass, the liquid dithering.
Amused, Megumi turns his body to sit more comfortably. “You do know where you are, right?”
He hums, quiet for a moment. “I do.”
When he leans back into the cushion of the booth, resting his arm along the top of it, Megumi decides whatever this man’s deal is, it’s no act. That or he’s a damn convincing actor.
“What about yours? What’s your name?” Megumi tries back.
Still quiet, his eyes drag from where he looks down at the table up to look Megumi into his. Megumi notices then a crescent shaped scar that runs under the expanse of his right eye. The curve of the booth, the nature of their seating configuration and how pointedly he looks at Megumi has him taking a subtle gulp.
“Sukuna.”
“Nice to meet you, Sukuna.”
“Pleasure.”
“Are you from the area?”
“Visiting.”
“Oh?” Megumi feels his usual internal cue to act interested in conversation with patrons flat line. In this rare occurrence Megumi dwindles down the rabbit hole, willingly entertaining small talk. “Where from?”
“New York.”
“Not too awfully far then.”
“Geographically speaking, perhaps.”
“Not fast paced enough for you here?” Megumi smirks, relaxing into the seat. He places his money back onto the cushion between him and Sukuna, shrouding it in darkness beneath the table top.
“I haven’t been here long enough to gauge it yet, actually; but I reckon that’s my gripe.”
“Work trip?”
“Wedding.”
Megumi’s gaze shoots back to his large wedding band, wondering.
“Not mine,” Sukuna supplements, inching his hand back. “My best friend’s.”
“Congratulations to the happy couple.”
He taps one thick finger onto the table. "Well, unfortunately this union never came to be.”
“Oh? What’s the story?”
Sukuna takes another slow sip, hissing softly after the bite of finishing it off. “Not much to it other than it didn’t happen."
“Let me guess, someone got cold feet?”
“Not quite, dove.”
Warmth curls around Megumi at that pet name, the coil of feeling adored shedding its rust. He tilts his head, giving Sukuna eyes.
“Consider me invested.”
Sukuna swallows through a short pull of his whiskey and Megumi watches, closely, the bob of his Adam’s apple.
“First, let me ask you something. I’m curious to hear your answer.”
“Fire away.” Megumi leans in, business-like.
“To be righteous, is it God given or bore from discipline?
Blinking once, Megumi finds his thoughts come to a stop. He hadn’t been expecting something like that. Contrary to belief, the average patron, even the mopiest ones, weren't interested in anything other than getting straight to business when they stepped through those double doors—almost especially in party cities like Miami or Las Vegas.
What lingered on their mind was how far they could stretch the dollar for skin; so for Sukuna to open with more intellectual conversation was refreshing.
“Neither, I think…people are inherently good until they choose not to be. It's a choice.”
All matters of the club carry on around them. The lights, the music, the girls on and off stage but Megumi finds it both easy and enjoyable to ignore it for Sukuna, the world’s most interesting senior citizen.
“Hmm, the power of choice. I think you’re right on that.”
Megumi sits up a little straighter in his seat, not unused to some form of praise because that too wasn’t uncommon in a place like this. If anything, could compliments count for currency, Megumi’s net worth, liquid assets and tangible accounts would be fatter than a turkey on Thanksgiving.
But as thoughtful and genuine as they were, they didn’t pay the bills; so it wasn’t at all what Megumi cared for. Except in this moment, he was liking by the second the favour to Megumi’s answer and interest Sukuna was casually passing off to him.
“Is that what happened then? It was a matter of some choice?”
Sukuna thumbs at his chin, the sprouted hairs causing a soft scritch as he gives a noncommittal response. “More or less.”
“I’m afraid you’re stuck with me until I get the full scoop.” Megumi feigns a forlorn sigh.
Sukuna relaxes back into the seat, contemplating some more with a lilt to his expression. “Well, allow me to set the scene for you then.”
“I can call a waitress over, first—” Megumi interjects, pointing to his whiskey glass. “For us both.” He then adds after remembering Sukuna’s earlier question.
It could be the trick of the light but whatever sad cloud hung over Sukuna at the start of their conversation slowly pulls away, revealing the beginnings of a melliferous shade to his smirk.
Megumi wanted to see how much farther he could push it.
“Sure, order whatever you’d like.”
And Megumi does just that.
He takes advantage of a free drink and orders himself a nice Pomegranate Gin, his first and only alcoholic drink of the night, whereas Sukuna keeps his dwindling fill of whiskey.
Distrait in her steps, the waitress they managed to flag down nearly trips over a table trying to keep her eye on Sukuna but soon vanishes before either can think on it; returning the privacy of the section to them.
Megumi offers Sukuna a drink of his gin when it's brought out to him but he politely declines, divulging that he doesn’t really drink himself but tonight, he was in the mood.
“A friend I’ve known since college recently got engaged and this would have been his second marriage. The first was a rotten hand, so he had a grand idea to do all the things he couldn’t the first time.”
Megumi nods, having moved a cushion closer to one of Sukuna’s spread legs with his money bag long dropped to the leg of the table to accommodate. He sips through a thin straw and feels no desire to get up from the seat unless Sukuna asks. It’s slow enough still that all Megumi needs to worry about is being called up on stage again for another set but that was still a full rotation away. Whatever money he could be making, probably only with Hat Man, he had a feeling wasn’t enough lost to really care.
Not to mention, he had never been so interested in a patron before like this.
“So,” He old man exhales. “Ever the eccentric type, he dragged every Tom, Dick and Harry he knew to Naples for the weekend with the ceremony itself being today. What otherwise should have been a celebration turned to shit.”
Sukuna, Megumi decides, is a great story teller. And funny.
Who is Tom, Dick and Harry?
Where most men would drone on and on, Sukuna was to the point and that was really sexy but what was really exciting was that he provided just the right amount of detail that Megumi’s mind could ponder with wonder at the rest of the details before getting to the main course of what exactly went down.
“What happened?” Megumi blinks, on the edge of his seat.
“A young woman, barged into the church and, with evidence in hand, informed both the groom and the whole of the room she was pregnant with his kid.” He takes his gaze back, but only for a moment.
Megumi gapes.
“The man he was marrying—we have known since we were 18. We’re 52 now.”
“Jeez.”
A gay, possibly bi, man set to remarry at 52 was expecting a child with his mistress. It was a lot to take in, even for a complete stranger like Megumi in the situation, so he could only imagine how Sukuna felt. A sense of blindsided betrayal and at the hand of someone he thought he knew couldn’t be fun.
“Do you believe her?” Megumi chances—realizing it may be a bit of an insensitive ask but he wasn’t really one to sugar coat. Plus, there was nothing to lose with a stranger he would never see again. Not dignity nor self preservation.
“Am I a poor friend if I said yes?”
They look into one another, the space of the table between them shortened to a mere reach of the hand.
“Honesty always makes you the best kind of friend.”
“Hm.” Sukuna hums. “Perhaps you are right.”
After a moment he reaches down into his pants pocket, pulling out a leather billfold. “In any case, how much do you usually earn a shift?”
“Oh, uh,” Startled by the sudden shift of topic and the topic itself, Megumi's thoughts start to flounder.
“You can always make up a number too.” Sukuna gives him a luring look.
He could and he should; the Megumi he knows would. To lie was inherent if not integral to the craft of dancing. Big lies or small lies, it didn’t matter.
Here, he was who he and patron created together.
“Thirty-five hundred, on a good night.”
Turning the wallet over in his hand, he smooths his thumb over its dark surface once.
“And while it’s not polite to ask a lady her age but—”
“He.”
Sukuna raises his eyebrow in that way old men do when they’re still stuck in the prehistoric era of thinking.
“I’m a boy.”
“Oh, pardon me.” He’s easy with it and seemingly genuine.
Oh .
Megumi takes back thinking he was prehistoric.
“It’s ok.” Megumi gets a rare feeling of wanting to reach over and touch him out of comfort. “And I’m 20.”
“So how does this work; do I go to the ATM alone or do you come with me?”
“I come with you.” That much isn’t a lie but even if it had been, the thought of letting him wander the floor like game during open season was all the reason he needed to choose that option.
Holding out his hand, he gestures for Megumi to lead the way. He exits first, making sure to retrieve his money bag before scooting out completely. Standing at the butt of the end cushion, he holds his arms down in front of him, gingerly clutching the bag that hangs mid thigh.
Sukuna slides out in easily the smoothest exit he’s seen a patron do and before Megumi has the chance to think on how impressive he made it look he’s stunned into another silence when he stands at his full height. Being just 5’5” himself, it didn’t take much from others for Megumi to think of them as tall, but Sukuna, easily a foot taller, has him openly staring.
In a bend Sukuna reaches to take one more slow sip of his whiskey to finish it off.
“It’s bad manners to leave even a drop.” He says.
More than eager to take after the lessons Sukuna is out to inadvertently teach him, Megumi steps back to the table to finish the rest of his own drink, to which Sukuna patiently adds to his statement that in doing so it shouldn’t be done in a rush. He doesn’t seem at all mad but Megumi still can’t help his blush.
Fixing the metaphorical embarrassment from this face Megumi walks them over to the nearest ATM machine that awaits close to the front entrance. He stands close to Sukuna’s bicep, tucked just a touch in his shadow so as not to appear overly eager and rude. While he taps away at the screen Megumi looks behind them, taking a quick scan for Nobara again but still she remains unseen. He fishes his phone out to send her a quick text when Sukuna clears his throat.
“Let’s find a manager.”
Megumi looks up from his phone to see the ATM back to its welcome screen and Sukuna fixing the cuff of his dress shirt. He isn’t holding any cash or even a receipt if the transaction had been either accepted or rejected.
“Is something wrong?”
“No, dove.”
Megumi drops his phone into his bag and tucks strands of hair behind his ear. Not wanting to give Sukuna any reason to change his mind about paying him, he takes his large hand into his—the width of it from his pinky to index finger so sizeable Megumi nearly settles to hold just two fingers. Always walking the floor checking on the girls as well as the patrons, Takaba, the manager of the night walks right into their line of sight. Before calling out to him to get his attention, Megumi comes up with an idea and stops, successfully halting Sukuna in his tracks too.
He turns around and looks up at the man, not yet letting go of his hand.
“Did you want to stay? Get a champagne room?”
Taking his expression as confusion, Megumi giggles softly before explaining. “It’s another name for a private room where you take me out of rotation for however long you want to be with me. Just you and I. Alone.”
There’s a hesitation palpable in a flash across his face and the weight of his hand, a wedded writ welded, feels a few pounds heavier. However Megumi doesn’t let up either, he can be just as guilty. He bats his lashes all long and pretty, making sure to bring attention to his lips with a subtle bite to its plump corner.
“We can do that.” Sukuna says.
The smile Megumi gives him isn’t an act, even now. Sukuna, this elusive old man, was growing on him. He squeezes ever gently on Sukuna’s hand, before continuing his path toward Takaba who is now chatting with one of the newest bartender hires. He manages to pull him aside to ask for assistance with booking him for one of the private rooms. It’s a painless relaying of information, gaining approval to do so and all for the requested rate of $1,000 for one hour.
“Is that ok?” Megumi turns to ask Sukuna, low enough only he hears.
“If it’s what you want.”
Takaba, on the other side of the counter next to the DJ booth, pulls from below a crisp band of 1s for Megumi after taking and returning Sukuna’s card. He caps his pen with a clip and looks to Sukuna in delight.
“Right this way.”
They’re led up the stairs to the second floor where the balcony of closed off rooms are situated. On one end of the floor there are three parallel facing three rooms for a total number of six. Takaba takes them to the room at the very back on the right, chauffeuring them in before speaking with Sukuna directly. He offers to take his jacket to hang by the door and they exchange a few words before Takaba takes with him Sukuna’s card—a black Amex—again.
Megumi takes a seat at the farthest end of one of the cushioned couches, waiting for Sukuna to join him and thoroughly enjoying the grunt the man lets out when he takes a seat. As big and as old as he is he doesn’t carry at all the same cocky demeanor many of the other patrons do. Even the regulars Megumi does like he decides they don’t hold even a candle to all that Sukuna exudes, even from a distance.
“Have you ever been to a strip club?” Megumi turns his body toward Sukuna.
“Once, something closer to 30 years ago though. It was a nude joint. Another friend of mine—it was his first business venture and grand opening.”
30 years ago Megumi wasn’t even a thought.
“How fun.”
“Wasn’t my style.”
“You prefer only the topless spots, like this one, then?”
He laughs. “No, I—with all due respect—am not much of a fan of clubs in general.”
Megumi hums, not at all offended but instead curious. “Why the sudden change of heart today then?”
“Nothing’s changed.”
He’s dealt with this sort of narrative before and he’s always thought of it as a patron's ploy to appear edgy or not as desperate as most of those who come into the club do. However with Sukuna, Megumi still saw no trace of playing a part.
“Is your conscience guilty for your friend, maybe?”
It was another bold ask but that was the nature of life within the four walls around them.
“Could be.”
Takaba steps back in through the curtain, holding in hand an opaque container of poker chips, much to Megumi’s surprise. Chips were a dancer’s golden ticket. Not only do they represent an indisputable amount for each transaction but having them was a guarantee for a large sum of money.
“Dear,” Takaba hands Megumi the container before handing Sukuna back his card.
“Is there anything else I can get for you two?”
Sukuna turns to Megumi first.
“Dove?”
“I’m fine, thank you.”
He turns back to Takaba to order another whiskey and a bottle of water. As Takaba turns to leave Megumi takes his other hand to the container, holding it blankly in his lap.
“Are you…extending the hour?” Megumi asks, looking over to Sukuna curiously.
The need, that would have on any other day torn him apart, to know didn’t tickle him. He’d wait until tip out to see how much it was, which was foolish, but he couldn’t be bothered to think more on it.
“No, that’s separate—for indulging me with conversation.”
Megumi sets the box down to the small table and stands, taking the two steps that partitions them and straddles him; gently placing his palms to his chest only to slide them up and behind his neck where he wraps around him like a necklace.
It’s typical, but like the rest of the night so far, Megumi feels an odd sense of displacement; Sukuna had no interest with tricks and was almost deeply to the point. For that, Megumi felt his will to abandon all standard practice and ignore the fact that he still has three hours left before the lights come on.
It wasn’t like he could potentially blame the decisions on a swig of tequila. This was a pure and utter conscious decision driven by the gut looking him in the eye.
“Do you want me to dance?" He asks, hardly letting his backside graze his groin.
Not yet.
Sukuna is still slow to react and much slower than a patron usually does, at that. If anything they’re always overly eager, touching too fast, too much all at once and everywhere they shouldn’t; so the change of pace is nice and what Megumi wishes could be the standard slow boils to desire met and reaches a point of balance.
“Or we can talk, whichever you like; it's up to you. I'm here for you, remember? I know you came in here because of what happened but when you’re inside, outside doesn’t exist—when you’re with me , outside doesn’t exist.”
Through his monologue Sukuna’s demeanor remains still, attractively calm and observant. He looks over Megumi’s face in a slow sweep, tilting his head back slightly.
“Is it your namesake you live up to or the other way around?”
Megumi hums sweetly, feeling the tension he swore he saw at the table downstairs bubble. He moves his head to one side, elongating his neck, to bring his lips to Sukuna’s ear; while his right hand slithers down and reaches for Sukuna’s left.
“Both, likely. Either way, it’s all good fun.”
It almost catches him then—that desire to explore, but he has never done that here and he won’t start now.
He thinks.
The playing field is all manners equal. In any standard instance, the patron—Sukuna, dangles the money above not only Megumi’s head but the club’s too; and Megumi, the commodity, dangles from the patron one, two, three, countless reveries they can experience only through watching Megumi move on Megumi's will.
When Sukuna fails to answer or decide again, Megumi takes over the reins—though something tells Megumi that’s exactly what Sukuna wanted.
“Maybe it’s a hug you need.” Megumi whispers, wrapping his arms around Sukuna’s shoulders to tuck his chin over his forearm.
Sukuna remains motionless with the exception of the sturdy rise and fall of his chest; and now that Megumi is pressed up against it, he feels the corded muscle.
Delicious.
Megumi melts into Sukuna’s warmth, his tanned window of skin coming into contact with Megumi’s has him unknowingly sinking deeper down until he feels a sizable bulge. Uncouth but without regret he doesn’t take himself off of it.
“You can touch me, I don’t bite.”
Finally, with a touch impending on attraction, Sukuna’s hands come to hold onto Megumi’s waist, the expanse of both so large his finger tips touch at the point.
“Wasn’t a thought on my mind. To be frank, you seem too sweet for this.” He says, the words trickling down his spine.
That gives Megumi a laugh. “We aren’t evil, you know. We’re people with stories too.”
“I didn’t mean anything by it, only that I imagine it would turn any heart jaded.”
That…he wasn’t entirely wrong about. Often it was the veteran dancers, the ones who never got out, that were the most bitter. They walked around with a twitch to their eye so eager to pounce on the new dancers in hopes of persuading them to turn around but not for looking-out for them.
“I’d like to think I have thick skin.” He replies.
“That’s good,” Sukuna breathes low. “Keep your heart.”
Pulling away to bring them face to face, Megumi notices his eyes are brown—the purple hue of the dimmed mood lighting them making them turn black. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
He liked Sukuna, quite a bit actually. It wasn’t atypical to get a “normal” guy, in that his conversations weren’t always geared toward him talking himself up or trying to score a dinner date after hours.
“Tell me, what does a man from New York do?”
“Well let’s see, much like Florida, we have garbage men, lawyers, law enforcement—“
Megumi slides his hands down to fiddle with Sukuna’s first set of buttons, running and digging his nails around the coconut shell coating with a huff of a laugh.
“Aren’t you funny.”
“At my age humor is a luxury I like to indulge in from time to time.”
“Is life so different near the end, old man?”
Sukuna chuckles. “Perhaps not.”
“So?” Megumi inquires sweetly.
Thinking on the comment, though clearly meant as a light, hearted self-depreciating joke, makes him consider that it’s likely Sukuna is a fast paced environment, likely finance or tech and in a top position at that, after confirming he was in fact wearing a Patek .
“Nothing worth musing over.”
“Surely not everything is a secret,” Megumi says, soft with his voice. “Unless…if you’re in the Mafia you have my scout’s honour not to tell.”
Sukuna cracks a smile close to laughter. “I’m afraid organized crime is a bit beneath my purview.”
“You know, it seems to be in your nature to be cryptic but the more you speak, the more I want to know.”
“Duly noted.”
Megumi blubs with a quieted whine, jutting his bottom lip out slightly, all to follow Sukuna’s charmed gaze. Running his fingers along Sukuna’s nape with a bitesize smile, he tips his head toward one shoulder and asks his next question.
“What about what you do for fun?”
“I don’t have much free time but I enjoy traveling when I can.” He replies.
“Oh, a globetrotter. Are you the type to plan or impulse jet set?”
Megumi sits back again, sliding his hands up and down Sukuna’s chest where he focuses on rubbing the ends of his shirt's collar between his fingers, then under the flap of each side—giving him a sort of gentle massage. And all at the same time he feels Sukuna’s thumb make gentle work of the skin beneath his skirt, their subtle and increasing touches with one another growing more curious.
“A bit of both.”
“Hmmm.” The plot could be lost quickly, Megumi realizes, as he feels Sukuna’s muscles relax with each stroke. The man smells good, looks good and feels good, it was honestly going to take a crane to pull him off of him now.
“And you?” Sukuna throws the question back at him.
The next half hour plays out with Megumi sitting into Sukuna’s lap like a kitten, asking him a variety of questions and being asked some back, none of which are personal. It was without a doubt in Megumi’s mind that Sukuna was a man who was sure of himself and so never needed to puff out his chest; evident in the way he carried himself he was wealthy, successful, intelligent and clever.
“What time does the club close?” Sukuna asks, somewhat diverting from the topic of their current tangent.
“4.” Megumi says in the space between their lips.
“Hmm.”
His thumb, still under Megumi's skirt, runs over the skin where his hip and thigh meet. The weight to his gaze pulls Megumi deeper in, he can’t help but stare. Sukuna's, so impossibly sexy, shrouded in the darkness tan skin takes on a beautiful auburn glow and his face. Its structure is chiseled to perfection, a mortal man’s unachievable dream, it makes Megumi shiver.
“I’m happy to extend our time until then.”
Megumi takes both hands down to rest on Sukuna’s chest, lightly scratching his pecs with his nails. “I take it you’re enjoying yourself then?” He asks, just wanting to hear Sukuna laud him some more.
“I am.”
Humming Megumi leans forward into one of Sukuna’s shoulders, turning his head inward to his forehead is touching the underside of Sukuna’s jaw, the soft tickle of hair a nice added touch. He reaches to the side to grab onto Sukuna’s right hand, running his nails up and down his wrist and forearm. “I’ll go get the manager again to tell him. Same rate?”
Sukuna turns his hand over, sliding their palms together. They watch themselves play with each other's fingers, eventually lifting them up to their respective forward-facing position; palm to palm again. Megumi’s hands come up a quarter of an inch short to the tips of his fingers, making him snort softly.
“10.”
“Hm?”
“Tell him to extend it for $10,000 for each.”
Megumi hopes Sukuna can’t feel his heartbeat because there wasn’t anyway it was doing flips. Sukuna was the man of every dancer’s dream: handsome, charming, intellectual and wealthy. Naturally, it was the money Megumi only ever gave a fuck about but a phantom vagary sat in the corner of his mind’s eye; however grateful and excited he was for the more than nice bag he’d be taking home tonight it wasn’t what he was really excited about.
“Oh?” He starts, pulling off and back to sit back to look him in the eye. “If it's Cirque du Soleil you’re hoping for, I can do that.”
“As you are is more than enough.”
“I’ll feel guilty for not having truly earned it—I mean, to be clear I don’t do extras,” He corrects himself, because while he won’t ever dog on the decisions of what other dancers did but it wasn’t for him nor anything he ever let a patron think they could get out of him, though for Sukuna, he’d give in if he so as asked. “It’s just, usually I’m dancing and being entertaining—whimsical, even, until my legs give out.”
“You’re a hustler, I get it, dove.”
It’s wiring Megumi’s brain to malfunction, wiping away what he faces hour after hour every Thursday through Sunday. Patrons aren’t allowed to touch the dancers, not on stage and not even during private dances. Champagne rooms on the other hand had some exception but still within reason—though even that was dependent on the girl (and club); so Megumi should be jumping for joy, doing flips and clapping his hands that Sukuna was only asking him to sit pretty and not trying to bend the rule to break.
“As long as you don’t leave disappointed…”
Sukuna chuckles. “A dancer afflicted with compunction over money freely given, now that’s an oxymoron.” Sliding his hand further down the underside of Megumi’s thigh, he rubs at the skin consciously—like a consoling father. “Whatever expectations you have for yourself or even what others have had, they aren’t mine.”
Megumi lets out a gentle laugh, one of disbelief for the poison long picked and how it’s ruined his ability to handle handouts. Though what he was feeling even deeper was something of frustration because he wanted Sukuna to touch him—wanted him to grip on his body like they were fucking as Megumi slathered his sweaty body over his expensive tailoring. He wanted Sukuna to be sleazy, to push aside both pairs of thongs to try to feel him up, to ask him what time he got off—where he stayed.
It would be easier to hate him that way.
“Alright, you win.” Megumi murmurs with a smirk. “For now.”
He gets up from Sukuna’s lap with an usual smile he has when a patron suggests a longer session and makes his way to the door before letting Sukuna know he’ll be right back to inform Takaba.
With ease he finds one of the security guys to walky Takaba up so that Megumi doesn’t have to walk around the whole club trying to find him. In a flash Sir Sideburn appears, walking back to the room with him to confirm his request through Sukuna. When he gets there, he jots down a quick note for the DJ to keep Megumi off of rotation and in the same wind, makes off to bring him his $20,000 in chips. It’s a lot of back and forth but somehow Takaba condenses the journey in a split and leaving Megumi to return to the room how he left it.
Megumi almost fully expects to see Sukuna on his phone but to another one of his surprises he’s calmly seated still, with one arm slung on the back of the settee—whiskey in hand. He looks out across the balcony that overlooks the main floor, where even though they are fairly high up the lights that dance above in a spiral are even higher, until the moment Megumi steps to the door where Sukuna’s attention turns back to him in tandem; the shade of his eye so effortlessly sultry.
He makes a gentle motion to the balcony before bringing his whiskey close for a sip. “Do you enjoy all of this?”
Megumi walks past the coffee table, pretending to look over the balcony, through the veiled curtain like he hasn’t seen what awaits below a million times before.
“I like the outfits and the money, of course but it’s not what I want to do, if that’s what you’re curious about.”
“What is it that you want, then?”
Megumi turns over his shoulder, a mischievous thing by nature he takes on a lustful expression, thinking of all the answers he wants to give.
“Me?” He walks over to return to Sukuna’s lap, this time with his back to Sukuna’s chest, dipping his toes in the pool of badinage. He takes Sukuna’s unoccupied hand to lay over his bare stomach as he crosses his legs to ensure most of his ass presses into his groin. “I want a sexy old man to want me like I want him, a smoothie, a house with a yard for my dogs to run around in, a 401(k)—you know, the usual.”
It’s erotic without being outright and Megumi wasn’t at all prepared for it. Sukuna remains calm, his warm cheek so close to the side of Megumi’s forehead it fills Megumi’s sense of smell with his cologne and the whiskey all the more. He turns in toward Megumi, the soft shell of his plump lips brushing against his willowy hair against his forehead. Megumi expects him to move after realizing but he doesn’t, he keeps still.
“Lucky for you, you can have all of those things and more.” He says low.
“Think so?” Megumi looks down at his own hand that scratches the back of Sukuna’s.
“I know so.”
Takaba walks in with a smile, holding another canister of chips.
“Here you are Mr. Ryomen.” He hands Sukuna back his card with a polite bow. “Are there any bottles we can interest you in?”
Reaching around Megumi, Sukuna groans numbly at the stretch of putting his half full glass to the table. He keeps himself there while his other hand runs back and forth in a petting motion, calmly looking over the menu laid flat to the table.
“I’m alright. Dove?”
“Nothing for me, thank you.” Megumi smiles, seeing Takaba off with a curt wave of his hand to leave them be again.
Typical to most nights, the majority of patrons and dancers come in as the closing hour draws nearer and following suit, the clamor that fills the building from floor to ceiling climbs a volume higher. As well too, the smell of cigar smoke permeates into the very fabric of the carpet and the music drives the ears into a numbed state is inescapable; except for Megumi, who sinks his senses elsewhere.
He grabs onto Sukuna’s wrist and places it down to the cushion to lean down and forward, placing his hands to the edge of the table. He arches his back to give Sukuna a bubbled-view of his ass and waits a beat by taking a sip from his bottled water.
Three solid seconds pass with no push back and it’s all he needs to take off.
He starts a slow roundtrip roll of his hips by pressing the outer curve of his ass into Sukuna and following the movement through in a halved figure 8 until it's the outer curve of his left cheek that’s pressed down; ending right back to where he started. He reverses, repeating the movement and then back again. Not even halfway through the second rotation he feels Sukuna harden beneath him.
Leaning even further down, knowing the ratio between his ass and waist looks even more insane, he lifts himself to softly mimic slamming down like he he was reverse cowgirling it. At that Sukuna’s hand comes up to palm the side of his ass, reminding Megumi all too excitedly that he was real and there.
Megumi giggles through a muffled moan, not even playing it up a little—his pussy was actually pulsing the longer he danced. Coming back to Sukuna’s chest he brings his finger tips to Sukuna’s jaw, releasing another soft moan when he presses just right into Sukuna with what window of his pussy can feel it. The song that plays overhead seeps into him like nitrous, carrying him forth with one clear destination in mind without pause.
Taking the position on the part of Sukuna’s thigh just before his knee, Megumi holds his weight steady to lift up until his arms are ramrod straight; he begins gyrating in a languid side-to-side motion that hovers over his burning heat, looking straight ahead to the maroon felt of the wall in a quave. He does this until his ass dips past the edge of the couch and he’s gotten himself to a low crouch to the ground.
“Heart games you can play with a bad bitch.
I want you girl, I think she’s so fine, yeah.
I want her too, I want her too.”
He sheds his skirt with a flick of the wrist and spins on the ball of his foot, turning himself around to face Sukuna’s crotch—the mass of his dick so heavy that even under the navy fabric in the dim lighting Megumi can see it. The temptation to keep eye contact with it as if it were sentient crosses his mind but he flicks his green eyes up to Sukuna’s brown ones, tilting his head to one side while running his palms up his legs.
Sukuna’s expression is unreadable but it’s at least clear his attention is laser focused on Megumi. His hands too lay cooly at the back of the couch but Megumi hopes when he comes back up that they’ll find his ass or his throat. Either he’d be happy with.
Megumi brings his chest forth, zig zagging above Sukuna’s zipper with a bitten lip; a total and silly tease. He serpentines his way up to straddle his lap again, leaning back with one hand on the table to lean almost horizontally away from Sukuna.
An echo in the lyrics falls in line with how he unties his top, letting it drop completely from his body in a slide. He moves in a slow writhe starting from the hip and working its way up brings his hand to fondle his chest; playing with himself and his piercings with pinches and squeezes but only so long enough as to make Sukuna wish it were him.
Losing himself he takes his hand past his stomach piercing under the strings of his thongs to slide over to the waistband just above his pussy. He thrums his fingers out from under the fabric to move over top of it to pat with some bit of the song’s beat at himself. Images of Sukuna bucking up into him make him moan aloud again as he rolls his neck in one rotation before looking down between them.
When he looks up again he keeps his eyes low and lashes lower with sealed lips but not without an occasional and suggestive smile—it's his usual bait but quickly he realizes he’s met his match. It’s him who should be making Sukuna nervous but it’s quite the opposite.
“Fuck, you’re making this hard.” Megumi laughs, tipping his head back.
Sukuna’s warmer than warm hand comes up to lay flat over his stomach, sliding an inch up and to the side; he clutches onto his waist, his thumb reaching down to roll the skin around his piercing.
“How so?”
It feels like levitating but Megumi hopes how it looks is sexier when he hauls himself upright to sit fully on Sukuna but he goes up even further—bringing his chest nearly flush to Sukuna’s face. He places his hands to his shoulders, looking down at the top of his head until Sukuna tips his head back, looking him dead in the eye.
“No, no—you know exactly what you’re doing.” He shamelessly whimpers, turning his head to the side.
Holding Megumi above his hips with both hands now Sukuna’s hum resounds at the base of Megumi’s own throat. “I’m an old man you see, my mind fails me at times.”
“You know that’s not true.”
“Walk me through it.”
Megumi tips his head back with a sardonic laugh but he doesn’t stop rubbing himself over Sukuna until it morphs into a full grind.
“There’s something off about you but in a good way. You’re not really here but you’re here, with me.” It’s a vague beginning to what he’s wanting to get at and some part of him thinks of himself as losing it for even talking about it.
Nonetheless, he tips his chin back down, sitting perfectly straight where his fingers find the skin of Sukuna’s chest through the opening of his shirt; running his nail down to the button that first holds the fabric enclosed and then back to his own sternum, he draws both of their attention to his glittering acrylics. Sukuna follows his hand retract back to watch him cup his breasts, caressing them with his palms, pushing them in together and rounding the heel of his hand back; moving in hypnotically slow circles.
“Not once have you checked your phone since coming up here.” He can’t help the muffled moan that escapes him as he feels Sukuna’s grip tighten.
The statement, so simple, still has Sukuna quiet. He looks from Megumi’s piercings to his face while his fingers continue to absentmindedly rub their own shapes into the doughed skin of Megumi’s hip. In an airy release of breath Megumi takes Sukuna into his embrace again, wrapping his head close to his chin and chest. His hips rock back and forth from the joint, no longer out of entertainment but sheer arousal.
“Does she make you happy?”
“Mind your mouth.”
Taking it as a hurdle at the start of this challenge, Megumi lets his mouth drop open diminutively with a simper.
“It’s just you and I, isn’t it? You can be honest.”
“Why is it you’re so sure there is something to be honest about?”
Sukuna doesn’t push or throw him off, prompting Megumi to keep probing.
“Does she have cameras on you? Why are you so reserved with me? I know you want me, beyond all of this.”
“As beautiful as you are, I’m perfectly content.”
“You wouldn’t be in here if you were—your friend’s sabotaged wedding or not.”
A needle thread through the nucleus of Megumi’s wants and needs tugs at the corner of Sukuna’s mouth, though still close together, it tightens.
“I think we can make each other feel real.”
Sukuna’s hands have moved to cup Megumi’s ass, pushing the weight of it up in handfuls, in all carefully kneading him as he lets Megumi’s thoughts tumble from his mind to his mouth.
“You need someone to take care of you , to slow down.”
“You think you know me?” The question itself is scathing but Sukuna asks it in such an innocent tone, still just as genuinely curious as he was some hours ago.
“I know what you desire.” Megumi is sure to look him in the eye when he says it. “Let me give it to you.”
“How often does this game of yours work?”
“You’re the first.”
Megumi isn’t sure who moves first but it doesn’t really matter once they connect. The kiss deepens with each move of muscle and more when Megumi cups Sukuna’s jaw with both palms. He pushes his back into a deeper arch, hoping to open more of his pussy for Sukuna to rub and he’s almost beside himself when Sukuna reaches over to run his finger along the thin string that separates all of Megumi’s dignity from him.
It’s not at all intrusive or too much, merely a tease; but it sinks into Megumi’s nerves like a pedal connected to the ignition. Megumi prods in question with a quick sweep of his tongue, humming in a lewd whine when his finger traces up to the bead of his cunt.
“Please—” Megumi pulls back in a tiny jolt. “After close, let me come to you.”
“You are one hell of a straight shooter.” He holds Megumi with full conviction now, the pads of his thumbs pressing deep into the line beneath his ribs almost holding him up.
“Your time seems wasted enough.”
He seems to reel back for a moment, caught in a tide that thrashes his inner thoughts from every which way but he lets Megumi give him a soft peck, through careful and continuous roll of his hips.
“Why deny yourself?”
Sukuna can play silent all he wants but Megumi feels his dick. Knows that no matter what he wants Megumi to believe he can see right through it.
“You came here for a reason.” He prods and prods.
“I came here because I didn’t want to be found.” He finally says.
“And yet, I see you clear as day.”
Without warning Megumi is lifted into the air, up and up and up—where the view of the main floor becomes aerial. Sukuna turns around and lowers Megumi to replace him, in the warmth of the cushion.
“Wha–”
“Drop it.” Sukuna says, tone stern.
He walks over to the coat rack in the corner, past his glass of whiskey. Not bothering to insert his arms through it and instead slings it over his arm. He pats his pocket and makes for the door, not once looking back at Megumi.
“Where are you going?”
Ignoring him, Sukuna pushes past the curtain and takes the immediate left down the hall. Scurrying to his feet, uncaring for his top and skirt but still maintaining some modesty he runs out with an arm over his chest.
“Don’t go, please!” It’s pathetic but Megumi doesn’t care. It doesn't look like there’s anyone else in any of the other rooms either, so it’s only himself and Sukuna who will hang his desperation over his head.
At that, Sukuna stops in his tracks. He turns around and Megumi stops himself in time before barreling right into his chest. It’s something out of a movie when he takes his coat and holds it up to Megumi, hissing under his breath to cover himself up.
“B-but—”
He cuts him off again, voice still even.
“I will save you the theatre, how much more was it you were hoping for?”
“I,” He scrunches Sukuna’s jacket closer into his chest, blinking away the tears that threaten to fall. “That’s not what I—”
Again Sukuna doesn’t let him finish when he turns around to continue his march out. Worse yet when Megumi takes the first step forward, Sukuna half turns with his palm extended wide, holding Megumi at arm’s length.
“Do not follow me.”
As quick as he came he’s gone, a tendril blent into the very shadows found in every corner. Megumi clutches on his jacket with a wobbly wrist, wishing this wasn’t where they met one another. He turns back to the room in a shock of unknown territory—a shell of the self he collects through looking around him to discern if it really happened and is.
The two hours to close pass like jumping into an electric fence with barbed wire. Megumi stays in the room by himself, hugging his knees to his chest in thought. As the lights come alive in a slow crawl, Megumi takes his leave back to the locker room, clutching his chips with Sukuna’s jacket tightly to his chest. He checks his phone for any sign of Nobara but he’s still without a reply. He starts to grow worried until he sees her seated at one of the benches that lines the row their locker is in.
“Is it so hard to answer your phone?” He calls out without any heat, even cracking some semblance of a smile at seeing her bob flip with the spin of her head.
“Hey hun—oh wow, someone got lucky— holy shit! ”
He’s quiet. From appearances, walking around with as many chips as he has in hand, he should be catapulting into new worlds but Nobara doesn’t know that and he’s not so sure he wants to relive it in telling her. Though he knows he will.
Luckily, she talks enough to converse for two for him to find the words.
She clicks her tongue. “Well, I myself thought I had a real score but he was all talk. Motherfucker only gave me 2k, a nd he was weird about me having a phone so yeah, that's why I went ghost mode. But anyway, who the fuck were you with?! Jeff Bezos?”
He takes a seat next to her, explaining the story from start to finish while she counts some of her ones from her bag, already dressed back in her sweats and slides. In a curious and rare occurrence, she’s almost dead silent listening to Megumi the near moment he begins, not at all interrupting to ask questions or go off on a tangent.
Not even bothering to count his stage money he gets dressed and rubs haphazardly at his face with a makeup wipe, taking a seat across from Nobara while they wait in line to siphon home via tip out.
“So he just… left?” She asks, letting her head rest against the beige locker.
“Yeah but I guess he went to Takaba anyway and pulled out more money.”
Her eyes slide over to the five canisters of chips he has on the bench in front of him. “Uhh, yeah . You don’t say.”
“And he left this.” He holds up his jacket.
“You know, I wouldn’t believe this story if I wasn’t here to witness it. It’s like Cinderella meets Bruce Wayne.”
Megumi wants to laugh but he doesn’t really have it in him to do it.
“Well, whatever—you got paid and that’s all that matters! Don’t tell me how much he gave you though, I already know I’ll get jealous.” She laughs.
Leaving the club goes by slower in Megumi’s head than it does in reality. He trudges through the carpet through each tip he hands out and more when he’s told he’ll have to come back sometime during the day to exchange his chips, which he has been informed totaled out to a whopping $130,000.
When Takaba told him he almost died on his feet. Never in his life had he ever heard of an amount earned even close to that. Takaba informs him to not tell anyone if he hasn’t already and buffers him with two security guards to escort him to his car instead of the usual one.
“Bye hun, love you. Text me when you get home.” Nobara waves, walking to her car with Todo to escort her.
“You too.” He watches her with a sigh, readjusting his duffle that’s slung over his shoulder before stepping out into the humid air.
“Fantasy.” The valet, Yuuji, says out loud to himself, looking over the shelf of key fobs hanging to look for this. “Oh, wait! You have a private car waiting for you?”
“Huh?”
“Uh, like a limo. Well, not an actual limo,” He laughs, scratching at his undercut. “But a private car.”
Megumi blinks, was it Sukuna’s doing? Takaba hadn’t said anything to him just now about it.
“Ok.”
On any other day the prospect of a mystery vehicle alleged to take him off property would have sent him running back into the manager’s office but his gut gave way to a whirl of hope that flows through his feet to step closer to the curb. Said car, a blacked out SUV pulls up and parks. Before Yuuji has the chance to open the back door for him to hop in, the driver, dressed in head to toe black tie attire steps out and rounds the hood to open the door.
“Be safe and have a great night. And don’t worry about your car, we’ll keep it until you come back and get it.” Yuuji puts his bag in first for him.
“Thanks, you too.”
The entire ride to, purportedly, the Ritz—which if it's the right Ritz, that would mean thee Ritz-Carlton, Megumi is wondering if any part of this is some sick joke to dangle a fighting chance of seeing Sukuna again. He looks down to his phone’s battery that is still at a feasible 60% and returns to look out the window for the remainder of the ride. Some hour or so later, they pull up the Ritz-Carlton Naples, through the porte cochère to park. The driver steps out again to open the door for Megumi, taking his bag from him to let him take only his body out from the seat.
“Mr. Ryomen has already informed the concierge of your impending arrival so please be sure to check in with them.”
He’s handed his duffle back “Thank you.”
At this hour, it isn’t only just the moon and the lamps that line the cobblestone drive to the massive building that shine bright, Megumi’s eyes dazzle with delight too. Facing its creme stucco exterior, walking through the sliding glass doors, past the expensive vases and hanging artwork—the chandelier of a million pearls—and up to the help desk, he feels like he’s floating.
The man at the desk doesn’t even bother to ask his name. He sees Megumi coming and holds out over the marbled counter a key card with a warm smile.
“Top floor, first and only door on the walk out. Enjoy your stay, Mrs. Ryomen.”
Mrs.
He takes the key card with a nod and tries not to scurry across the way into the elevator bay. Round buttons blink, the yellow glow hypnotic to a frantically racing heart and mind. It dings to the 14th floor, Megumi steps out into a grand foyer. At the end, just as the concierge said, stands a large double door.
The Presidential Suite.
Megumi slinks up to it, mind muddled with both want and confusion but he’s made it this far to think anything other than to go forward. He holds his key up to the door and walks in, softly edging forth one of the heavy doors as best as he can.
“Sukuna?” He calls out.
Keeping his steps light, he moves into the room into a small open foyer that looks into a living room. In the far end sits a flat screen between two sets of balcony doors. To his left there is a powder room, vacant and with the light off and to his right, a door.
He passes under the architrave, stepping into the soft cushioned back of a small yellow chair. Taking a breath he takes in the expanse of the room as he fully sees it now. Beyond the living room on the far left is another room, something of an office and of the main space, there are not one but two flat screens, both in view of the focal centered couch. It’s a true coastal palette of whites, blues and small splashes of colour. Past the French doors dusted with gold, the world voided black reflects an image of himself, standing dumbly on the hardwood.
“Sukuna?” He calls again. “It’s Fantasy.”
He hears the creek of wood and the turning of a knob come from behind him, but it’s muffled as if it came from a more distant room. He steps back into the large foyer and walks through a door that drops him into a box of doors that, connected to a hallway, feeds out to another set of balcony doors.
“Su—”
Stepping into the mouth of the hallway, he feels steam waft from a door on his immediate right. It’s a bathroom, or so he thinks. Placing his duffle down by his feet he holds his hand up to the smooth white wood, realizing then that it was slightly cracked open. He pushes on it gently, thinking of what to say or do if it was Sukuna on the other side and all the same if it weren’t.
Standing there before the sink made of marble and blurred in a nebula of vapor, is Sukuna. The expanse of his bare back, dripping wet with water, cuts an impressive shape; ripe with lines curved and swole muscle. His unblemished skin so deliciously tanned stands out against the starkly white towel wrapped around his waist.
It's clear his age is merely evident only in number.
Bambi in the headlights, Megumi is wide eyed and frozen for as long as he can bear it. When Sukuna turns his head over his shoulder to look at him, he feels white noise and hears satin. His brown eyes look him over once with a ponderous eye, starting from his feet up until they’re looking directly at one another. No longer in the obscure phosphorescence of the club, Megumi sees his face as clear as day. He knew he was handsome then but now Megumi almost can't believe his eyes.
His full beard, clean cut and close to the skin, is still just as dark—a beautiful hickory hue—but now Megumi can see its awash with grey; from the mustache all the way up to the sideburns that connect to his tousled hair. And that too is streaked in ashened silver from the hairline on back.
Blinded with beauty Megumi doesn’t think, only moves.
He glides from the door frame to Sukuna’s immediate space in just three strides, sinking slowly to his knees—wholly uncaring for how hard the tile floor is, even if the stage floor hadn’t long trained him to ignore that sort of ache, his desire for Sukuna was engulfing.
“You know why you brought me here so don’t try and back out now.” Megumi whispers.
Sukuna turns to face him, his crotch just above the line of Megumi’s brow. With nimble hands Megumi reaches forth, tucking his nails between Sukuna’s damp skin and the cotton to pull it undone. It falls to the floor in a smooth plunge, sliding down the length of Sukuna’s cock until it springs back up and because Megumi anticipated his dick would be as huge as it felt, Megumi’s face is out of range to be smacked by it; though he hopes Sukuna will beat him blue with it in other ways.
It's a florid colour that pulses alive with bulging veins, a massive length and girth that makes every orifice on Megumi’s body squeeze. He stifles a whine, a little excited to suck it down his throat and get fucked by it. Without letting Sukuna look anywhere but him, Megumi grabs him by the base to give the first few ginger pumps.
It’s hard to not jump his bones but he rides the slow build like a wave, especially when Sukuna remains unmoving and just lets him, and brings his tongue to the tip for a kitten’s swipe. Immediately he puckers his lips around it, transitioning from a kiss to moving forward to have it sit on his tongue.
Sukuna takes an open palmed hold to Megumi’s chin.
“I’m none too patient for this.”
Pulling off daintily, using his palm to spread his saliva around the shaft, Megumi tilts his head and licks his lips. “I’ll make it worth it.” He returns to the head, kissing it like it were Sukuna’s face—pulling back, nearly coming off it again to hum to the skin. “Promise.”
Megumi bats his lashes as Sukuna groans, smiling around him before pushing more into his waiting mouth. The saliva he kept kindled sloshes around, giving his tongue a grog of Sukuna’s musk he gladly uses to slurp more of the man, inch by inch, to inhale him like it was a competition for first place.
Keeping Sukuna on the webbed skin between his thumb and index finger with his palm pressed to the plane of his stomach, Megumi takes him in one swoop, brushing Sukuna’s slit against his uvula. He rocks his head side to side in a gentle shake, moaning pornographically not for the cinema of it but because Sukuna’s dick is just that yummy.
“Jesus Christ.”
Sukuna’s gritted statement knocks on the gate of Megumi’s pussy like a salesman and it takes just seconds into sucking him off that Megumi decides he might have to kill Sukuna’s wife for it.
He pulls back and off with a pop, bringing up his hand he hadn’t even realized he snuck past his sweats to rub at his clit, to jerk Sukuna with a mischievous giggle. Both palms wrap around Sukuna tighter than a lug nut, twisting in a counterclockwise motion with one and a clockwise motion with the other. Lifting himself up to the balls of his feet to take on an elevated kneeling position, he bends his spine to look even more pointedly up at Sukuna from so far down.
“You should cum on my face.” He barely gets out before biting his lip in another giggle.
Sukuna’s dick twitches irascibly in his grip and it beckons Megumi to get his mouth back on it; bobbing back and forth over the hearty veins, nearly slamming his nose right into Sukuna’s salt and peppered curls before expertly pulling away just in time.
And although Sukuna’s dick is heavy enough to break Megumi’s hand if he let it, he takes his odds and places his left hand behind Sukuna’s right thigh, just at the base of his hamstring as a means of kedge while keeping just one hand to hold him up and steady.
With the way he’s sat, in a low crouch over his shins—spread wide enough the thin slit of his pussy opens up, even if veiled by his panties and pants, he feels sticky and in equal measure turned on and frustrated. He wishes Sukuna could have two dicks; one for his mouth and the other for his pussy, both to bust him wide.
He pulls back with a gasp, hand barely able to encircle Sukuna entirely as he migrates his hold closer toward the head. A fat string of saliva connects them still and in a pool beneath his chin it soaks through his baby tee to the skin.
“Open your mouth.” Sukuna instructs, replacing Megumi’s hand with his own.
Megumi does so with weary eyes, putting both hands onto Sukuna’s thighs. From this angle Sukuna’s eyes hardly look open, though he can tell his iris looks to be completely overtaken by his pupils, now blown wide. He slides his pulsing head over the tip of Megumi’s tongue, testing the limit of his jaw before taking his other hand to the back of his head and slamming his dick down Megumi’s throat.
For all intents and purposes Megumi is grateful from how high up Sukuna's view is so he won’t see the tears that already start to bud at the corner of his eyes and how much his neck scrunches back to take the brute force of him. Sukuna’s groans and grunts bounce around the tile of the bathroom in a composed composition that, coupled with Megumi’s gagging, creates an obscene soundtrack.
“You love sucking dick, huh? Slut.”
Slowing to a near pause in his assault, Sukuna pushes Megumi’s hair from his face to gather it in his fist behind his head. It’s tender enough Megumi thinks he might have mercy but he jumps right back into fucking the absolute shit out of his mouth, punching the back of his throat like a hammer to a nail. All Megumi can do is keep still, holding his tongue straight and out to keep himself as open for him as possible.
It’s painful but a pain that quickly bleeds into pleasure, especially with how Sukuna sounds to be enjoying it. Sukuna pulls out with a hiss, tutting Megumi’s head back at a harsh angle for him to look up. With a wet gasp Megumi rocks back on his thighs, holding back a sharp exhale to stick out his tongue and watch Sukuna jerk himself to a finish. Fat ropes of cum paint Megumi like a canvas from crown to chest, with one particularly thick glob landing right on his cheek bone. Feeling it droop down the bone makes Megumi want to reach up and suck the rest up but he chooses to be good.
Not even considering his age, Megumi wholly believes Sukuna, like any man, will need a moment to recuperate if he was planning to fuck Megumi but much to his surprise, he’s still face to face with a hard cock.
“C’mere, baby.” Sukuna says, pulling Megumi to his feet; interrupting him as he laps up some of the cum that drips to his lip.
Nothing more than Daddy’s ragdoll, Megumi loosens up like jello, letting himself be malleable to where and how Sukuna wants him. He places him atop the counter in the space between the two vanities and wets a hand towel, telling him to clean himself off. Disposing of Sukuna’s cum so freely actually pains Megumi but he tells himself he’ll get more so he takes the towel with an appreciative hand. It’s at least warm, so it makes for an easy glide around his nose, cheekbones and chin to rid of the remnants. While he’s occupied with that, Sukuna starts to undress him, throwing his shoes and pants somewhere off to the foot of the bathtub. When he pulls off his panties he takes his thumb to Megumi’s pussy, rubbing around the slicked skin in slow circles.
“Are you on birth control?” He asks, leaning close to kiss his damp brow.
“Mhm.” Megumi nods, tipping his head back hoping for a kiss.
Sukuna obliges, holding the side of his neck with hardly any force.
Moaning softly in a low note, Megumi reaches for the shaft of Sukuna’s dick to guide it to his opening. Megumi has his eyes on Sukuna's after they pull away but his quickly drop to look down to watch the scene unfold with a pregnant pause—his breath held in lambent labor.
“I don’t have a condom.” He says—the fact definitive but it doesn’t seem too deterrent.
Megumi leans back, presenting his pussy like a flower in full bloom; spreading his slick around the pink skin solicitously. “It’s no fun with one anyway.”
Sukuna hums deep in his throat, tenderly reaching for Megumi’s knees to situate his feet to the counter, scrunching his body back like a coil. He’s unresponsive in words but moves to grab his cock then slips the tip just barely in only to pull it right back out.
A glimpse of heaven, Megumi nearly screams.
“Please, Daddy.”
He plows his dick through Megumi’s folds, spreading the glob of saliva he deposits along with the slick oozing out from him. Megumi watches Sukuna watch himself do this, the wonder of them being entranced with the other.
“It is pretty.” He presses and pinches his thumb to Megumi’s clit again with enough pressure Megumi’s body jerks up—the jump giving way to Sukuna’s subtle smirk. The large expanse of his thumb holds the bead in an inescapable pinion, rubbing it in practiced circles that Megumi thinks calls him into a coma.
“Very pretty.”
Teetering between the two actions in a tortuous tease, Megumi thinks, is cruel but it’s nothing compared to the moment Sukuna slaps his entire dick over Megumi stomach—the head reaching all the way up to the bottom of his sternum. Megumi is silenced for the sheer novelty of his size but also his mastery in making Megumi want .
Looking down at him together, he speaks with a smooth rumble. “But we shouldn’t.”
Internally, Megumi is tweaking and excessively leaking because never in his life has he needed it this bad. His hot shaft burns over Megumi like coal and he wants to push it away only to stick it in but he finds it difficult to do anything but whine. Licking his lips he stares and stares until finally, he brings his hand up to press into the slit of him with his thumb, spreading the precum around in a slick circle.
Desperate for it, Megumi pulls out all the stops with a lift of his leg, placing the sole of his foot to Sukuna’s collar; sliding it up until he hooks the back of his ankle over the farthest part of the slope of his shoulder.
“It can be our little secret.” He mewls, pushing himself as far back into the wall as possible. “And I can be so good for you. I can be your baby—your little toy.”
Sukuna takes a hold of Megumi’s ankle and takes half of a step back, deliberate with it so his cock slides closer to the clit of Megumi’s cunt. He teases the slit over, slower and slower, almost as if he actually considers for a moment backing out and Megumi feels a wave of panic because he wouldn’t know what he would do if he actually did.
“I’m yours, Daddy. You can fuck me all night and no one has to know.” He doubles down with a newfound conviction when he notices Sukuna has taken off his wedding ring.
Sukuna looks him in the eye when he slides in and together they scrunch their brow at Megumi’s tightness. He moves in palpations, with his hand moving to wrap around and hold Megumi’s leg to his chest and the other pushing his knee outward, it takes little to no time for him to bottom out.
“Oh my god.” Megumi moans, watching Sukuna come and go; already gathering cream.
Fucking in the bathroom is lovely for its lightning in that nothing goes unseen—not the sinew of Sukuna’s stomach beneath a thin layer of fat, nor the grey hairs that speckle his body from his pelvis to his arms, nor the grip Megumi’s cunt has on Sukuna.
He doesn’t say it but Megumi feels the request when Sukuna leans forward to pull Megumi off the counter and away, taking them out of the bathroom and to the small hallway that leads to the primary bedroom. Impaled on Sukuna like this and bouncing softly with each step, Megumi clings to his shoulders in a tremble; feeling more than full and honestly, aroused at the thought of waking up tomorrow with an ache.
Sukuna hauls him over to the bed where he places him down to the edge in a bend, keeping his hands placed on the underside of his thighs, he slides up to the back of his knees to open him up wide. He rolls himself up to stand at his full height before diving into giving Megumi deep strokes.
“Yes Daddy, yes!”
Megumi bends backward, grabbing at the duvet for some grip but it's to no avail. He lays still, quivering at each hit to his spinal cord or his throat—he can’t tell, right now they feel the same. To his own surprise he already starts to squirt over Sukuna, dousing the bed around him; so he closes his eyes and listens to the splash of his pussy to Sukuna’s skin and the space growing gooier and gooier.
Sukuna bends forward to hover over Megumi’s face, hooking his forearms under his knees—deepening the drive. “Look at you, baby—best pussy I’ve ever felt. You get this wet for others? Hm?”
“N-no. No.”
Their breath mingles, the closeness more than intimate. It confuses Megumi’s brain and even more so when Sukuna lets him kiss him passionately; the slide of their lips cornered chaos. Sukuna grabs Megumi’s thigh and maneuvers it to wrap around his waist and Megumi mimics him, wrapping the other around him tightly when he starts to move them up and onto the center of the bed.
His forearms cage Megumi’s head in a triangle as he kisses him and whispers into the skin of lips how good Megumi is already being all while still fucking him. Wet, Megumi sucks him in with ease and his walls bend in their form around him, making for the sweetest of slides.
“Please don’t stop, don’t—” It’s nonsensical and Megumi’s not even sure what he means but it may have something to do with how Sukuna’s starting to hold his throat.
In a growl Sukuna pulls out and pulls Megumi up to then fall back into the pillows together. He rights himself to lay flat on his back, hooking Megumi from over the waist to keep him on top of him. Megumi feels the sticky spend of his pussy latch onto some of Sukuna’s stomach hair but the sensation is forgotten once Sukuna moves him back down onto his dick.
Now in the position to ride Megumi sits with Sukuna fully inside, his breath tumbling out in a hazy spill. Sukuna’s thumbs knead into his stomach as he holds him and it brings Megumi forth in his arousal. He moves up into Megumi with ample thrusts until Megumi tips his head back and starts dropping his ass down in a bounce to meet Sukuna half way.
“Baby—fuck.”
Megumi’s giggle is pushed aside before he has the chance to let it out with Sukuna’s execution of his cervix. Looking down at this face Megumi memorizes the fine lines around his eyes, the scar, how lush his lips look and how even engulfed in the pillow, his hair looks beautiful. He holds still like a puppet suspended, getting wetter and wetter with Sukuna fucking up into him with ungodly precision and speed. If Megumi’s tits were any bigger his piercings might clack together.
“Ohhh, right there!”
That seems to spur Sukuna to fuck him even harder and Megumi can only beg for it to never stop. He slings his arms forward, pushing onto Sukuna’s chest with his palms but he isn’t even sure they are holding any of his weight.
“God, you’re beautiful.” Sukuna says and Megumi almost cries.
His uterus cries out too, the bruising nearing the feel of pain again but still so fully inundated with pleasure he whines for a kiss and more; even as he nearly chokes for air. Hot tears burn the whole of his eye and blur a corner of his vision but it doesn’t matter—nothing except how perfectly Sukuna is, matters.
He shuts his eyes, muttering to himself how he’s going to cum hard, how much he needs Sukuna’s seed and ultimately, how Daddy is the best. Megumi falls forward to hold onto Sukuna, whimpering loudly when he squishes their chests together. Sukuna takes Megumi’s ass into his palms and works his dick in and out, lifting and throwing Megumi down onto him—effectively doing any and all work while Megumi simply gushes out gallons of spend.
“Baby, you feel like heaven.” He turns to kiss his cheek, the tickle of his breath that ghosts across Megumi’s ear causing him to moan loudly. “I should come in you.”
Megumi finds it in him to move his torso up, hanging over Sukuna to help move his ass back onto Sukuna. He tosses a moan to the side and for some reason, follows it. On the right side of the wall sits a vanity with a mirror, a modest chiffonier, and in it—from this angle—he sees himself from his midsection down with Sukuna’s enormous dick moving in and out, coated in white.
“Daddy,” He says it almost like a question.
His moans grow more lewd with each movement back, the curve of Sukuna’s cock sliding perfectly into him it makes him think if it can be there it shouldn’t be anywhere.
“Yes, baby?” Sukuna speaks so low to him, the modulation of how he says ‘baby’ like honey to the tongue.
Megumi holds Sukuna’s bearded jaw in his hand—turning him slightly to meet for a kiss. He almost loses his train of thought, closing his eyes for but a second to accept that the best dick of his life is really coming from a 52 year old man. He scrunches his brow to stave off rolling his eyes so hard they fall out of his head and bites his tongue to keep from incessantly moaning.
Megumi’s jaw is suddenly held in Sukuna’s grip, not threatening but tight enough he opens his eyes to look into drowning pools of brown. “I asked you a question.”
Maintaining eye contact Megumi sobs, feeling himself almost as super human as Sukuna for how much he’s casually squirted on him since they’ve started.
“I want you to come in me, knock me up then keep me quiet. I can be quiet, Daddy, I can!”
Sukuna looks back and forth between his heavy lidded eyes, then to his lips.
“Please.”
At that Sukuna sits up, making Megumi squeak in surprise but true to his nature thus far, he gives Megumi little time to adjust. Megumi clings to him as Sukuna walks over to the balcony door, opening it and stepping out into the night where the ocean air kisses the skin of his backside. Turning to look over his shoulder, his hair flows wildly through another spruced spurt of wind.
“Turn around.” Sukuna instructs, lowering Megumi to the smooth concrete.
From every direction he looks but certainly when he turns around, the setting is the backdrop to a romance, where the sky, so deep and vast, twinkles above—a frozen ripple of a time. Megumi steps around the small table and chairs to make for the railing, looking over its curved picket body. Sukuna steps up behind, his leaden cock pressing up to Megumi’s ass; he holds the side of Megumi’s biceps, smoothing up and down from his elbow to shoulder and then down to his wrists. He leads them up to the top of the railing to spread out on either side of Megumi’s torso.
“It’s Megumi.” Megumi says in a whimper.
“Hm?”
Sukuna dips down to kiss Megumi’s neck in a ladder up to his ear in tandem with his hands, finding his hips to pull them back and out. In one motion he slides back home, starting off nice and slow in his thrusts—keeping Megumi’s heels side by side. He has his hands on his waist for a moment, letting one roam up his spine and into his hair.
“My name—it’s Megumi.”
Megumi looks out to the water, listening to the soft purl and crash of the waves as they kiss the shore. As gentle as Sukuna is pumping his pussy, he feels like he’s imitating a similar motion and if he reached out, he could kiss the water right back.
“Megumi,” Sukuna tests it out on his tongue. “It suits you.”
Visually, nothing but the white caps can be seen through the cast of moonlight and it’s utterly beautiful. It’s a view so stunning it morphs Megumi’s vision into a swirled pour painting, the hue of blue a thousand shapes deep. He lets his eyes fall shut when Sukuna fucks him like it’s love not lust he feels.
“I should bring you to my home in Monaco,” He coos, fondling one of his ass cheeks. “‘Fuck you on the balcony there.”
Megumi tries gently to pull away from Sukuna’s grip to lower himself in a bend, reaching with his palms to touch the terrace floor. Gracefully he spreads each leg apart, all without interrupting Sukuna’s thrusts that slow down for a moment in observance.
“Oh? You like the sound of that, sweetheart?”
It’s an exaggerated position where he starts to envision the Monaco idea vividly. He wants Sukuna to think of him as sexy, fun and interesting—to want to fuck him everywhere he has a house and those he doesn’t.
“Y-yes.”
Spread open like this, Megumi absolutely feels the slap of Sukuna’s heavy balls to his puffy cunt, the wrinkled skin kissing the sloppy curtain that holds to his shaft so dearly. He groans, putting his hand to the small of Megumi’s back to start picking up the pace and Megumi only continues to take it. He rattles off a string of moans, pearled for Sukuna to keep—though it’s only Sukuna out here to hear them. Sparing a fraction of a second to look around Megumi sees there’s no one else out or at least as far as he can tell. They are the only room on this floor.
Though, he supposes even if they weren’t most people who can afford these sorts of places aren’t fucking strippers at 5am oceanfront.
Sukuna grunts, wordlessly pulling Megumi up by the dip of his hip. It’s easy to comply, to perk back upright only to bend over the railing again. With some afreshed energy and budding love for Sukuna’s dick he fucks Sukuna back, laying his cheek to his crossed forearms.
“You fuck me so good.” Megumi says it softly, twisting somewhat to look behind him. He watches his hip recoil in sync with the sappy suction of his pussy.
“Yeah?”
“Mhm.” He nods weakly, his eyes brimming with feel-good tears the faster Sukuna starts drilling him.
Honestly, it was nothing short of astonishing. By Megumi’s experience, Sukuna’s stamina was greater than men three times his junior and that made Megumi wonder, what had he been like in his prime if this is him now.
He continues driving mercilessly and aptly into him Megumi feels it in his bladder and hard enough he feels spurts of their shared seed shoot down to his feet; some catching onto the heel of his ankle. Out of the blue Megumi squirts once, slumping into the railing with more of his weight but he manages to catch himself before hitting his head.
Sukuna suddenly stops, taking his palm to the spot just beneath Megumi’s right ass cheek; he crowds him in closer to bring his chest to Megumi’s back and bends to give his neck a wet kiss.
“Lift your leg for me—that’s it.” He holds and helps Megumi lift his knee to the thick metal, effectively doubling the exposure of his pussy.
“W-wait, I’m scared; I don’t want to fall.” Megumi stretches out his whines, pushing back into Sukuna’s chest and away from the railing.
One of Sukuna’s hands palms his throat while the other guides himself back in before, but not before sliding and slapping the tip around his turned out lips. He reassumes his hold at the joint of Megumi’s knee—serving as cushion between his bone and the railing. “You won’t go anywhere baby, I’ve got you. Promise.”
With a grip of death Megumi clutches onto the cold iron but immediately his worries wash away when Sukuna begins moving again. The drag and stretch out nothing but continuously delicious he tips his head back onto Sukuna, happily humming into the morning air. Sukuna nips at his ear, keeping his hands suctioned where they started as he holds him steady.
“You haven’t a clue how good you feel.” Sukuna grunts into his skin, the sweat of his upper lip pushing into Megumi’s earlobe.
Megumi’s whine is high pitched, a pathetic release of his spirit that crumbles backwards.
What he really wants is for Sukuna to keep fucking him like this, to stay here in Florida and fuck him every day. He didn’t care. He knew it made him a bad person but he was fine to take on the consequences.
He couldn’t give up on Sukuna easily now that he knew he existed.
“I’m coming—I’m coming!”
The exact moment Megumi utters the words, he starts to shake—squirting down onto his thighs and down in a hazardous stream that can hardly make its way past Sukuna’s massive girth. A moan, buried deep in his throat, stretches from the bottom until it pushes at the back of his lips to release out in an exasperated breath. It doesn’t stop though, even as his muscles tensely shake; his spend and whimpers continue on in a steady surge that drains his ability to keep in an upright position.
All Megumi can do is be moonstruck. It was a lot to bank on for a man he did not know half of anything about but his gut was telling him this man was something special he needed to seek out. The money was a nice bonus, truly, he wouldn’t mind being nothing but a cum rag for the man—a transactional relationship but what he really was wanting was something more.
“Sukuna.”
Sukuna’s grip pushes into Megumi’s hips hard enough now Megumi almost thinks he’s dug down to the bone, a feeling he’s swore he’s felt in a dream or another life. His pelvis too collides with his ass in an untapped acceleration, punching Megumi’s pussy so deep it turns him silent. It builds and builds, Megumi wants to say it, to plead that Sukuna comes in him but he’s not on birth control. The thought spurs him on, thinking of Sukuna filling him over and over again, day in and day out.
Both the chance and fantasy are ripped away from him the moment Sukuna’s pulls out in a blink. All too suddenly he feels thick ropes fall onto his back, all the way up to the middle of his spine and every inch of his ass, it has Megumi realizing this is what it means to be so close yet so far away.
“Shit.” Sukuna spits.
His groans are heavy and loud, so overpowering they deceive Megumi into thinking he’s still fucking him. He lifts his head to look out to the dark horizon, blinking in a flutter with how sweet his body feels but there’s a feeling of flight that finds him imagining the sea gives him the power to float.
Without warning Sukuna reaches around Megumi’s waist and lifts him up and back, bringing them both inside where he plops Megumi back down to the bed onto his stomach. The table side light is dimmed enough he doesn’t have to deal with that same burn of adjustment but it brings him back to earth for a moment where he just came from, who he is, what just happened—what’s going to happen.
He whimpers when he feels another warm but damp cloth start to clean him off.
“Sukuna—”
Sukuna leaves for a moment to pad over to the bathroom. Megumi drags his cheek across the cotton duvet to lift his head up, resting on his chin to watch Sukuna return with his phone in hand. He takes a seat on the edge of the bed beside Megumi, though still silent.
Rolling over to face his way, Megumi takes a finger down to his now cleaned and ballooning pussy. Sukuna taps away at the screen, his large back blocking the lamp light from Megumi’s view entirely.
“I won’t make you take a cab back tonight but I will request one later today—before midafternoon.” He finally says, placing the phone to the nightstand.
“Where?”
“Home, sweetheart.”
“Oh, right.” His thigh, no longer full of enough strength to be of use, has since fallen onto his hand; trapping it between himself. “Are you going back then too?”
He exhales through his nostrils in a sort of defeated way. “I am.”
Megumi looks up through his bangs and moves his free hand to reach for Sukuna’s arm. It’s psycho 101 to feel something close to if not love itself after the first fuck let alone first day of meeting someone but Megumi doesn’t care.
“Will I see you again?”
He’s not really sure why he asked, knowing full well the answer as well as how much he won’t like the answer but dreamers dream, even in the face of certain sorrow.
“We never met.”