Work Text:
It’s currently 2:48 a.m. on a Sunday morning.
Suguru collapsed into bed approximately fifty-three minutes ago after his shift at the bar (that seemed to literally go on forever) finally came to a close. As far as most weekend shifts go, this one was nothing out of the ordinary. Satoru, along with Shoko, Utahime, Yuki, and Choso, stopped by with the sole purpose of irritating him and pleading for free drinks. The latter is wholeheartedly his own fault for always complying, but still. Freeloading assholes.
Satoru, like clockwork after not even three drinks, began to whine about the blatant and apparently unforgivable lack of “hoe anthems” (who the fuck even says that???) at the bar. Clearly, either his pouting worked, or they got sick of his petulant moaning in record time, because it wasn’t long until they were saying their goodbyes and moving onto the club just down the road. That wasn’t before Satoru was batting his frosty little lashes at Suguru, asking him to pleasepleaseplease join them when he finishes. Suguru, much to Satoru’s disgust, declined. He absolutely had to get up early tomorrow and work on his thesis. Satoru could bat his eyelashes until it caused a gale force wind to lift Suguru off the ground and blow him away to a different continent, he wasn’t saying yes this time. Period.
So, there he was. Fidgeting under the covers, whilst his friends were no doubt twerking on strangers and playing up for dusty frat boys with expendable pockets. Suguru sighs and sticks his hand inside his boxers. Might as well.
He almost, almost types in pornhub.com into his browser, but then remembers his New Year’s resolution was to jerk it, like, more ethically. But with his hand around his dick, already half-hard, he’s definitely not in the position to begin searching for an OnlyFans to sign up to. So, he decides to use his imagination. And well, nothing good could ever come of that. Because immediately, his first thought is Satoru.
Fucking Satoru, with his sickeningly pretty face, eyes like the deep of the Arctic Ocean, but simultaneously pools of molten sapphire bleeding into aquamarine. Satoru, with his smart mouth, incredible arrogance, milky skin, legs that stretch for miles, perfect pillowy pink lips, fluffy fallen angel hair—
Satoru’s face fills his home screen and for a second, Suguru’s stomach falls out of his ass, until he realises it’s just his contact photo. Wait.
Satoru is calling him.
Suguru lets his dick fall from his hand and promptly slap against his stomach, flicking his now empty fingers across the screen to answer the call.
“‘Toru? Everything ok?”
There’s a rustling from the other side.
“Suuuuuu’gruuuuu! Hey.” He’s slurring his words. Suguru hopes he isn’t on his own, wherever he is.
“Hey. What’s up? Are you good?”
“Yehhhh, jus’ wanted to hear your voice.” He hiccups at the end of the sentence, then giggles.
“‘Toru, it’s like three in the morning. Are you at home?”
Suguru hears a gasp on the other end. “Oh. Shit. I’m sorry, did I wake you? I’m sorry S’gruuuuu.”
“Buddy, it’s ok. I was awake. Do you need me for anything?” He chews idly on his bottom lip. “Are you still out?”
There’s a momentary silence, followed by more rustling.
“I’m at home. And yeah, I think I might y’knowwww.”
Suguru begins to mentally map out how quickly he can make it to Satoru’s apartment. He could call a cab, but it might be difficult to find one at this time, especially with everyone trying to get home from the bars and clubs. He’s in the middle of working up a plan when Satoru speaks again, his voice a bit breathier than before.
“Whatcha doin’?”
Suguru looks down at his now softening cock, and grimaces. He must take too long to answer, because Satoru makes a noise. He can’t tell if it’s impatience, or—no. No, it’s just his stupid, sleep-deprived, horny caveman brain dreaming up scenarios that would never happen.
“Were you jerkin’ off?”
Suguru almost chokes on his own spit. Satoru must hear it, because he’s giggling again.
“No! What the fuck, Satoru?” Suguru lies.
“Whaaat? It would be okay if you were.” He lets out another chuckle to punctuate the statement, all sweet and inebriated. But then, it’s like he suddenly sobers up enough to be at least half-coherent. Because the next words are clear as fucking crystal. “I am.”
This time, Suguru does choke. Loudly. He can’t even cover this one up with a cough. It’s so embarrassing.
“S’gru, I’m sorry. I’m sorry if this is weird. I know I’m kinda wasted but I need—” he trails off, and honestly, Suguru is drifting in another plane of existence because he can hear Satoru touching himself.
“I need you to talk me through it. Make me come. Pleeeeease.”
Yeah. No. Suguru is light years away. He’s somewhere off the coast of Andromeda right now.
He must manage to find two rogue brain cells floating around in his cerebrum, because his mouth is moving again. Somehow. “Sorry, you want me to what?”
Suguru is three seconds away from blacking out when he hears a squelch, followed by Satoru fucking whimpering. Satoru just whimpered. Whilst on the phone to Suguru. He wants him to—
“Talk me through it. I know you can.” Satoru takes a shuddery breath. “I’ve heard it before. Fuck, it was so fucking hot, Suguru.”
Now is probably a good time to mention that Suguru has been in love with his best friend Satoru since he met him. The gangly little prick had just plopped himself down in front of him in the cafeteria. It was freshman year; Suguru had purposely chosen a table furthest from civilisation, and Satoru just had to waltz in and destroy his peace. He’s never wanted it any other way since. Stupid fuck.
“When the fuck have you heard me… do that?” Suguru manages to squeak out.
“When you—mmm” Suguru is going to die. He’s going to die. “Y’know, I have a key S’guru. Sometimes I come in and wait for you, sometimes you bring people back and I’m in the bathroom and you don’t realise and then—”
“Stop. Stop. Fuck.”
Suguru’s neurons are backfiring. His mouth is opening and closing but nothing is coming out. Oh god, he might throw up, actually. Satoru is just rambling on now between soft moans and the unmistakeable sound of his fist sliding over his fucking dick. Satoru is touching himself on the phone to Suguru. Nothing is real.
“Satoru, you’re drunk. You’ll regret this tomorrow.”
“No. No. Please I reallyfuckingneedthis. Please. Talk to me like you talk to them.”
Suguru is like, so fucking hard. He looks down at his dick, then at his phone. Is he really doing this?
“Call me back on FaceTime, I want to see.”
Shit. He’s doing this.
Within milliseconds, the call is ended and Suguru’s own (extremely flushed) face fills the screen. He turns off his camera and accepts the call, and silently thanks whoever is looking over him that it’s Satoru’s face that pops up, and not anything else.
“Heyyyyy, not fair. I wanna see—”
“Stop talking.”
Satoru’s mouth immediately halts, and Suguru can see the faintest whisper of blush tinge opalescent cheeks.
“You’re such a fucking brat, ‘Toru. Are you touching yourself?”
Satoru nods.
“Stop.”
Satoru whines, but does as instructed. So obedient, Suguru didn’t know he had it in him.
“So obedient, didn’t know you had it in you.” Suguru says, aloud. He’s about to backtrack when Satoru whimpers again, and oh. Oh. This is so fucking happening right now. How is this happening right now?
Suguru takes a steadying breath. He can do this. He’s done this plenty of times. Granted, never with Satoru. Oh fuck, he’s doing this with Satoru.
“I want you to listen very carefully and do everything I say. If I think you aren’t following instructions, I’ll end the call. Got it?”
Satoru nods again. He’s never been this quiet before. It’s astounding.
“Good boy.”
Satoru gasps. Well, it’s like, half a gasp, half a groan.
“If at any point you feel uncomfortable, or want to back out,” Suguru continues. “You tell me and we stop.”
“Yeah, yeah, ok consent King. I’m so fucking hard it hurts so please, please let me do something.” Satoru whines, and Suguru wants to reach through the phone and wrap his hand around Satoru’s pretty neck.
Suguru’s voice drops an octave, the words like ice on his tongue. “Stop. Talking.”
The way Satoru’s body tenses and shifts against the sheets tells him everything he needs to know about how it landed.
“I want you to touch yourself, but not where you want to. Your stomach, your thighs.” Suguru pauses to swallow. “Play with your nipples a bit, softly. Just a barely there touch. Can you do that?”
Satoru looks like he’s about to start complaining, but ultimately decides against it. Suguru watches as the camera jostles slightly, indicating that Satoru is, in fact, following instructions.
“‘Toru?”
“Yeah.” He pants out, then hisses. “My nipples are so sensitive holy fucking shi—”
“When I ask you to do something, I want verbal confirmation. Okay?” Suguru cuts in, and he sounds like… Batman. Or someone way sexier than Batman. Batman was a stupid fucking comparison.
“Fuck. Yes. I can—I can. Fuck. Suguru I’m dying here, can I please touch my dick?” Satoru’s hands are still roaming his body, Suguru gathers from the movement. It’s not enough to signify that he’s being disobedient, just soft, smooth motions.
Suguru smirks. “No. But you can play with your ass. Got lube, ‘Toru?”
Satoru’s eyes widen, and he blushes like a teenage girl. “I uh, yup. I have. But I, uh.” He just stops talking, stops moving. Suguru isn’t having that.
“Did I tell you to stop touching yourself?”
“I’mwearingabuttplug.”
Suguru must be hearing things. Suguru has gone insane. Yeah, that’s it. Gojo Satoru did not just say that he’s wearing a butt plug.
“I’ve uh, had it in all night.”
Yes. He did say that.
Suguru literally puts his entire fist into his mouth to stop the world’s most humiliating sound from escaping. Then he remembers he should be responding, so he takes it out. It’s covered in saliva now. Great.
“You’re fucking filthy, Satoru. You had it in at the bar when you were begging me to meet you later?” Satoru squeaks, so Suguru continues. “What were you thinking about, hm?”
Satoru blanches. “I was, um. I was thinking about you.” He pauses, perhaps for dramatic effect. “Fucking me.”
Definitely for dramatic effect.
“Play with it. Now. Push it in further.” Suguru barks, like a dog. He might be a dog. He’s panting like one.
Satoru complies, and bites down on his lip, stifling a moan.
“None of that. I want to hear you.”
With a sharp little gasp, Satoru lets out the prettiest, most desperate moan Suguru’s ever heard, followed immediately by the next. Suguru is jealous of the plug in Satoru’s ass; it’s getting everything he wants right now. Basking in every tremor, every whimper, every slow drag.
“Good,” Suguru says, and his voice is so unrecognisable, he barely knows it’s his own. It vibrates out of his chest and straight through the phone. “Now tell me how it feels. All of it. Don’t leave out a single detail.”
Satoru wrestles to sit up straighter, the sheets pooling at his hips. On the screen, his mouth is agape, lips glossy, eyes slitted. There’s a bead of sweat on his temple and his hair looks like it does after he’s taken a nap. Suguru won’t ever be able to look at him again after this.
“So fucking good.” Satoru pants. “D’you want to see?”
Fuck yeah, he wants to see. Is that even a question?
“Yeah, show me. You’re being so good, ‘Toru.”
Satoru props his phone up using the comforter as a stand, then wiggles back into position. Suguru is extra glad he didn’t turn his camera on, because he can see everything. The flushed almost-purple of Satoru’s cock, straining desperately against his stomach. The glass plug nestled neatly in his ass. The pale, trimmed hairs running from his belly button, framing his pubic mound. The sweat glistening on his abs.
“Fuck.” Shit. Abort, abort. Suguru absolutely cannot show signs of enjoyment, lest Satoru connects the dots and realises his best friend has been disgustingly in love with him this whole time.
He clears his throat. “Fuck yourself with it. Nice and slow.”
Satoru toys with the base, then pulls it out all the way, and pushes it back in. His head falls back against the pillow; each thrust with his hand punctuated by soft ah ah ahs.
Suguru is transfixed, watching the way Satoru’s greedy little hole swallows the plug. He registers loosely, that he’s now got his dick in his hand, pumping tight but lazy strokes. This might be the hottest thing he’s ever witnessed. He might come.
Satoru keens, and Suguru stares, mouth wide open, as a spurt of precome dribbles from Satoru’s cock. Suguru immediately halts, gritting his teeth and squeezing the base of his own cock, hard. The finish line is still miles away.
“S’guru. It’s—fuck. It’s not enough.” Satoru wails, body tensing.
“Do you want to use your fingers, baby?”
Satoru nods frantically, with such force it’s a miracle his head doesn’t fall off. “Yes, yes. Please. I’ll be good.”
Suguru rubs his thumb over his cockhead, hissing under his breath. “Yeah, fuck yourself on your fingers. But don’t touch your dick.”
Satoru wastes no time whipping the plug out and plunging three fingers into his ass, right off the bat. Suguru has to mute his mic to let out the drawn-out groan that’s been building behind his molars for the past ten minutes.
Satoru is a fucking mess. He must’ve found his prostate, and it must be sensitive, given the way his hips are kicking up. There’s a thin sheen of sweat covering his entire body. His hair, usually so fluffy, is stuck to his forehead. Suguru watches in awe at the way his plush bottom lip is tucked between his teeth, the way his brow is furrowed, eyes rolling back into his skull.
“So fucking good, S’guru. So good. Want you to come with me.” He just keeps chanting it over and over, like some kind of sick and twisted hymn.
Suguru’s mind and body has been taken over by higher beings. He’s lost all sense of composure, or restraint. He taps the mic icon again.
“I can do that, baby. You close?” Suguru doesn’t even care if Satoru can hear the slick sounds of his fist furiously sliding across his cock now. He doesn’t think about the aftermath, or how he’ll wake up in a cold sweat at the memory of doing this. Something he can’t come back from. He’s lost his damn marbles. They’ve scattered, rolling further and further from reach.
“SofuckingcloseohmygodSuguruuuu.”
At the exact moment that Satoru is shooting hot ropes across his stomach and chest, Suguru registers that Satoru hasn’t touched his cock once. He’s coming untouched.
And then Suguru is coming. Hard. And Loudly.
“Fuuuuuck.” Suguru groans. It just keeps coming (lol), it’s like it never ends. His body feels like it’s on fire, but, like, in a good way. His nerve endings are tingling to the point of overstimulation. He has come on his neck.
Satoru is babbling incoherent nonsense, but Suguru is underwater. Every sound is muffled, like he’s jerking off inside a fish tank. That would be weird.
What is weird, actually, is that he just watched his best friend come from fingering his ass. And he just came from watching his best friend come from fingering his ass.
Shit.
Oh fuck.
What the fuck has he just done.
.:.
Suguru hates mornings. He especially hates mornings after committing social suicide. Not that he’s ever had the issue of jerking off to his best friend fucking himself before. No, this one is a special, brain-dead type of unique.
He’s probably had maybe an hour of sleep, at best. But he refused drinking with his friends last night because he needed to finish his thesis. Being hungover this morning probably would have been a much better fate than whatever the fuck he decided to do instead. He should’ve just gone to the club.
So, he’s sat at his dining table, laptop open, a quadruple shot americano to his left, a half-empty pack of Marlboro Lights to his right. His eyes are burning. His stomach is growling, but the queasiness he’s felt since the moment he opened his eyes refuses to dissipate.
He’s checked his phone, like, a bajillion times. Nothing from Satoru. He’s probably blocked Suguru’s number and is in the market for a new best friend. He’s half expecting Shoko to storm through his front door and decapitate him any second now.
The latter is why he almost jumps out of his fucking skin when he hears a key turning in the lock.
Stuck between wanting to turn and face death head on, and shrinking away into the floorboards to perish quietly, Suguru does neither. He just stares forward, at the document he has open which houses a whole lot of nothing, considering he’s been sat there for three hours now.
“Hey, bud.”
It’s Satoru.
It’s fucking Satoru.
Here, in Suguru’s apartment. Smiling at him. Holding two smoothies in one of those unreasonably irritating dual cardboard cupholder things. Suguru hates those, especially when he’s driving. Why do they even give them out? Where is he going to put it inside his car, that will be moving, because it’s a fucking car? He already has fucking cupholders built into the fucking car—
“Yo, you good?” He holds the smoothies up in their enraging cardboard snug and kinda, jiggles them at Suguru. Like Suguru is a cat being enticed by one of those dangly feather toys. Suguru wishes he was a cat at this precise moment, because then he wouldn’t be thinking about Satoru’s butt plug again.
“Hi.” Suguru finally says. It almost comes out as a squeak, but he manages to hold it in. Just.
“I got you the one with kale and shit. Know you gym bros go crazy for that. Gross.” He walks across to where Suguru is sitting and plops the smoothies down onto the table, then pats Suguru on the shoulder.
Suguru tenses, very visibly.
Satoru sits opposite Suguru, his head poking over the top of the laptop. “Alright, what’s up? You’re being weird.”
There are many things Suguru should say, should ask. But instead, he asks—“Why are you here?”
And it sounds shitty as fuck.
Satoru pulls the face, the one that makes Suguru want to jump off a building for ever upsetting Satoru. “Excuse me for wanting to bring you a disgusting treat to help fuel your mind, body, and soul whilst you’re studying, dude.”
Suguru sighs, rubs a hand down his face, and finally meets Satoru’s eyes. He doesn’t even look hungover, fucking bastard.
“I’m sorry. I’m just tired, and this thesis is pissing me off.”
Satoru grins. “Rough night?”
There it is.
Dying now would be wonderful. Fantastic.
“Satoru—”
The chair screeches as Satoru abruptly stands, walks over, and thrusts the green smoothie into Suguru’s hands.
“You’re gunna sit and drink your smoothie, and listen to me.”
Suguru’s dick stirs in his joggers. Not the time not the time not the time.
Satoru is still standing in front of Suguru, looming over him like a biblically accurate angel. Suguru turns, brings the straw to his lips, and inclines his head whilst he takes a sip.
Satoru swallows, focusing way too damn much on the straw in Suguru’s mouth for his liking.
“So, hear me out. And if you don’t want to, that’s cool. I won’t hold it against you. But uh…” He pauses, takes a deep breath. “I want you to fuck me. Please.”
Suguru is standing before his brain catches up with the motion.
“Say less.”
He bends and pushes his shoulder into Satoru’s stomach, and then he’s lifting him. Into a fireman’s lift. The least sexy way to carry someone, like, ever.
“Jesus Christ, Suguru.” Satoru chokes out as he’s thrown down onto Suguru’s bed.
Suguru pushes him back towards the headboard, settling on top of him, his weight held up by his arms at the sides of Satoru’s head.
“Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to fuck the arrogance out of you?” Suguru breathes against his neck, stopping to lick a stripe up from the column to where his ear meets his jaw.
Satoru laughs breathlessly, tilting his chin up to give Suguru better access. “Not possible, my guy.”
Suguru sinks his teeth gently into the delicate skin just under Satoru’s ear, savouring the shiver that runs through him. “Sure. Tell me that again when you’re crying on my cock, my guy.”
He can feel Satoru’s pulse jumping, frantic beneath his tongue. Suguru is lost in the taste of Satoru’s skin—salty, with a faint hint of coconut shampoo. Suguru’s coconut shampoo, that costs more than he’s willing to admit, but it’s fine because it smells so much better on Satoru.
Satoru’s hands are fisted in the sheets, barely restrained, like he’s holding himself back from grabbing Suguru and pulling him in. Suguru wants to see him lose his composure, wants to see him split apart at the seams.
“Hands above your head,” Suguru softens his tone a fraction more than he usually would. Satoru complies instantly. It’s addicting, watching him surrender like this. Satoru is a stubborn bastard; he doesn’t like to be told what to do and he certainly would never hand over control on a silver platter like this. But yet here he is, giving himself over like he’s been waiting for this. Maybe he has.
His wrists cross above his head, exposing the full length of his throat, ribs angling sharply beneath his shirt. Satoru’s always been a creature of appetite and abandon, but right now, he’s letting Suguru pilot this bitch, and it’s fucking intoxicating.
Shifting up to straddle Satoru’s hips, Suguru takes a moment to drink in the sight. Satoru’s pale skin flushed in splotches from the base of his neck down to his bare stomach, his hair a bright, ridiculous halo against the pillow. Every muscle is straining, and Suguru knows it isn’t fear. Satoru trusts him, maybe more than he should, and it’s written in neon across his face.
Satoru’s pupils are blown, almost pulsing with the rhythm of his heartbeat. Suguru forgets what he’s supposed to be doing, too lost in the act of staring gormlessly into his best friend’s eyes. Are they still best friends? Do best friends do whatever the fuck this is? Probably not.
“Sick foreplay. I think I might come soon.” Satoru smirks.
Suguru decides to respond without words. He runs his hands down the inside of Satoru’s exposed biceps, feeling the tremor there, then glides further to the sensitive skin at the crook of his arms. Satoru shudders, twisting his hips up in an attempt to grind against Suguru, but Suguru plants a hand firmly on Satoru’s sternum to hold him still. His palm fits perfectly, covering the frantic jump of Satoru’s heart.
Suguru bites back a laugh. “Nah. Stay put. You might come.”
Satoru rolls his eyes and huffs. It’s so hot. He should do that more, it really turns Suguru on when he acts like a spoilt brat. (Sarcasm)
Suguru grabs a fistful of Satoru’s shirt and yanks it upwards. Satoru follows once it’s removed, mirroring the same actions, but like, more violently. Like he can’t stand the thought of Suguru still wearing a shirt for a second longer.
Suguru pushes Satoru back down against the mattress, dipping to crush his mouth against Satoru’s. He devours the little noises Satoru makes, the ones that start low in his chest and vibrate against Suguru’s teeth. He kisses Satoru until they’re both breathless, until Satoru’s hands are flexing with the effort of not grabbing him, and Suguru pulls away just enough to look down at what he’s done.
Satoru’s lips are already swollen, slick and parted, his chest heaving with shallow breaths. Suguru shifts his weight so his cock presses hard against Satoru’s stomach, and he’s rewarded with a gasp and a twist of Satoru’s hips.
Suguru’s not sure how many lines they’ve crossed now, or where the next one is. He drags his palm down the sharp incline of Satoru’s ribs, past the plane of his stomach, and cups the bulge straining against Satoru’s boxers. He’s not going to be gentle. Not after last night, not after years of being baited and adored by this beautiful, infuriating creature.
Satoru arches up, and their chests touch. The skin-on-skin contact sends a buzz through Suguru that could never be replicated by a shot of vodka, or a particularly decent brand of pre-workout. He wants to say something lascivious, wants to make Satoru pay with embarrassment for every time he’s left Suguru flustered, but all that escapes his throat is a groan.
Suguru was planning on taking his time, planning to edge Satoru until he cried. That’ll have to wait for another day. His fingers find the waistband of Satoru’s joggers, shoving them down past his hips. Satoru is just watching intently, like he’s waiting for Suguru to perform some kind of party trick. Suguru’s got a trick for him, alright.
He lowers himself down so he’s eye to… dick. There’s a wet patch forming in Satoru’s boxers already, but instead of feeling smug, Suguru is just really fucking horny. He mouths over the spot, drinking up all the noises Satoru is making. A hand creeps into Suguru’s hair, gripping with the strength of a baby chimpanzee.
It takes, like, zero seconds for Suguru to decide that Satoru is not allowed to touch him yet. He peels Satoru’s hand away from his hair, pinning it back to the mattress. Satoru’s whine is so dramatic and so precious that Suguru almost changes his mind. Almost.
He noses under the waistband of the boxers, breathing in the faintest trace of laundry detergent. Satoru’s cock is flushed a deep, bruised pink, the skin shiny and—god he just wants it in his mouth. Suguru doesn’t even try to be polite about it, he drags the boxers down with his teeth, not caring that they leave a damp trail across Satoru’s thigh.
Satoru’s legs are trembling. Not even subtly. He’s a mess, and Suguru hasn’t even touched him.
He runs his tongue flat up the underside and Satoru shudders so hard his teeth clack together. Suguru grins and flicks his tongue over the slit, slowly, collecting a bead of precome and letting it melt on his tongue. Satoru’s whole body jolts.
“Fuckfuckfuck. Wait,” Satoru gasps, writhing and shoving helplessly at Suguru’s shoulders, but Suguru just presses harder, flattening Satoru to the bed like he’s trying to fuse them through the mattress.
“You’re the one who asked for this, remember? Sick foreplay.”
He sucks Satoru in, not even giving him time to adjust—just swallowing him down in one go, lips stretched wide and tongue pressing at all the right places. Satoru won’t last, Suguru knows it, he can feel it in the way Satoru’s thighs lock around his head, in the panicked little shivers that start at Satoru’s toes and roll up his entire body. Satoru is so fucking sensitive, always has been, and Suguru’s not even trying to draw this out. He doubles down, hollowing his cheeks, and Satoru is yanking desperately at Suguru’s hair, not to pull him closer but to save himself.
“Wait—waitwaitwait,” Satoru pleads, the words all one frantic syllable, “Suguru, I’m, I’m gonna—fuck, wait—”
Suguru ignores him. He pins Satoru’s hips with one arm, his own forearm flexing with the effort. Satoru’s hands scramble for purchase on the pillow, then his own face, then back to Suguru’s hair, like he’s drowning. The noises he’s making are sending Suguru straight to hell. There’s no restraint, just straight up hooting and hollering, and it’s the best thing Suguru has ever heard.
He’s not even been at it for two minutes before Satoru’s fingers knot tight in Suguru’s hair, yanking hard. “Please—fuck—let go, I can’t, I’m gonna, I’m—” The words break apart into a keening gasp. Satoru tries to wrench his hips away, but Suguru just pins him harder, swallowing him down, and Satoru comes so hard he folds in half around Suguru’s shoulders.
Even then, Suguru doesn’t let up. He lets Satoru ride out his orgasm, sucking and working his tongue until Satoru’s legs lock around his ears. Suguru only stops when Satoru’s entire body goes slack, his cock twitching on Suguru’s tongue, jaw hanging open as if every synapse has fried at once.
Satoru’s voice is nothing more than a hiccuped whine, “Suguru—fucking—can’t—give me a sec, ah—”
But Suguru isn’t feeling charitable. He’s wanted this for too long, imagined it behind closed doors and in the echo chambers of his obsessions. He grins up at Satoru, mouth slick. “What? You thought you were only coming once?”
Satoru’s expression is pure betrayal and pure delight at the same time. “No—no, don’t—” But there’s no conviction. He’s already leaking again.
Suguru’s hand snakes underneath Satoru, and he prods a finger at his hole, which almost sends Satoru to the ceiling.
“Loose enough to go without prep from all the whoreing you did for me last night?” Suguru purrs, his eyes flitting over the way Satoru’s dick jumps when he’s being berated.
Suguru’s joggers are off the next second, as if he was wearing those tearaway pants that male strippers love. He fumbles around in his bedside drawer for lube and slicks himself up in what can only be described as haste. He’s not even bothering with the pro forma show of patience anymore, just brute forcing through his own self-control, because Satoru is writhing underneath him, legs shaking in a way that would be comical if it weren’t so fucking hot.
Suguru lines up and pushes in, and Satoru’s body is more than accommodating. Satoru lets out a strangled noise, but it’s drowned under the wet slap of their bodies colliding.
Suguru doesn’t bother waiting; he bottoms out in one brutal thrust that seems to force all the air from Satoru’s lungs. It scrapes something primal in Suguru’s chest, the way Satoru’s back bows, the way his hands scramble for something to latch onto, still refusing to grab onto Suguru but so obviously needing to. Satoru wants to be wrecked and Suguru wants to do the wrecking, and it’s a miracle they didn’t do this years ago.
Suguru fucks him deep and hard, no rhythm, just instinct and the sound of Satoru’s filthy, delighted whimpers. He pins Satoru’s wrists together above his head with one hand, the other gripping Satoru’s hip in a bruising hold. At every thrust, Satoru’s eyes roll back and his cock jerks up against his belly, untouched but already leaking. So desperate.
“You’re taking it so well,” Suguru grinds out, voice barely more than a snarl against Satoru’s ear. “Did you practice just for me?”
Satoru lets out a breathless laugh, but it comes out as more of a sob. “Maybe I just wanted to be a good slut for you.”
Suguru legitimately snaps. He releases his hold from Satoru’s hip to grab at his jaw. Satoru’s mouth is already wide open, so all Suguru has to do is lean forward and spit straight into it. Satoru closes his mouth to swallow, then sticks his tongue out. Irritated by how turned on he is by something he made happen, Suguru retaliates by changing the angle of his thrusts, knowing exactly how this will end.
Satoru’s entire body is shaking, every muscle tensed, and Suguru watches his cock twitch and spill onto his own stomach with every thrust. He’s not even touching himself, but it doesn’t matter—he’s so fucking sensitive, so greedy for it, that he comes untouched, screaming Suguru’s name as if it’s the only word he remembers.
Suguru laughs, harsh and delighted, and grinds in deeper, fucking Satoru through his orgasm, not stopping until Satoru’s whimpers go high and thin and his hands claw at the sheets for mercy.
Satoru being Satoru, a sore loser, can’t handle the number of losses he’s been dealt. In one last attempt to regain the upper hand, he wraps his arms around Suguru’s back, pulls him forward, and latches his mouth around Suguru’s nipple. The one with the piercing. It’s as if, somehow, for some reason that completely evades Suguru, Satoru knows his only weakness. The warmth of Satoru’s tongue lapping over the metal bar was more than enough, but Satoru tightens around him at the exact same time.
“Fuck—shit.” Suguru’s hips stutter, and the last thing he sees before his vision whites out is Satoru’s stupid fucking smile. Then he’s coming so hard he collapses down onto Satoru’s chest.
“Satoru.” Suguru huffs. “I was going to pull out, you nasty little heathen.”
Satoru brushes a stray hair from Suguru’s face and sighs. “It’s fine. I wanted you to come inside me anyway. Wanna feel it drip out for days.”
Suguru groans, burying his head into the crook of Satoru’s neck. Satoru just giggles and runs his hands along Suguru’s back. It’s almost domestic, the way they’re huddled together. It leads Suguru’s mind down a dangerous path, about how he could have this forever. How he could wake up to Satoru, and call him his. How he’s never told Satoru how he feels and—oh shit oh fuck oh god.
He’s panicking.
Satoru doesn’t know Suguru is in fucking love with him. This might not mean anything to Satoru.
Suguru shoots up like a NASA launched rocket and makes for the bathroom. He needs to make sure Satoru is clean and comfortable for this conversation. He might want to leave, like, immediately, and no one wants to do that still covered in come.
He returns with a washcloth and passes it to Satoru. Usually Suguru would do the honours, but his hands are shaking too much.
When Satoru is done, Suguru slides beside him and just stares at him. He’s supposed to be talking. Satoru must think he’s having an orgasm induced stroke. If those exist.
“Did I break you?” Satoru smiles. He should stop smiling. Suguru will make him stop smiling momentarily.
Suguru sighs, and it sounds pathetic. “‘Toru, I have to tell you something. And—and I completely understand if you want to leave and never speak to me again after.”
Satoru looks like he’s going to make a joke that will end in him getting hit, but he sees the look on Suguru’s face that’s clearly saying I’m not joking and evidently decides against it.
“Ok, speak your mind. The floor is yours.”
Suguru squeezes his eyes shut and allows himself to breathe one last time. He’ll die after this. They can bury him next to his childhood dog.
“Satoru, I’m in love with you, and I’m sorry. I feel like I’ve taken advantage of whatever this is. I should have never let this happen, not before telling you. That was so unbelievably shitty of me.”
Satoru just tilts his head, as if he’s letting the words roll from one side of his brain to the other. Then he laughs. He laughs. It bubbles up out of him like Suguru’s told the most hilarious joke he’s ever heard. Suguru’s kinda pissed, actually.
Satoru wipes his eyes, and Suguru’s own eyes are twitching.
“Oh yeah. I know. Same, bro.” Then he raises his fucking hand, waiting for Suguru to high-five him.
Suguru stares. At his hand. Waits for it to grow extra fingers and a mouth that gapes wide enough to swallow him whole. It doesn’t.
“What?” Suguru’s voice sounds far away, but also too close.
“I love you too. Like, wanna fuck you, want to marry you, want you to get me pregnant. Not bro love, like you’re my soul mate.” He does jazz hands when he says soul mate. It’s zesty as fuck.
He doesn’t dwell on that for too long, because Satoru just told him he loves him back. “You love me?”
Satoru snorts. “Duh. Everyone else knows. Especially Shoko.” He places a hand on Suguru’s thigh. “We have keys for each other’s apartments. We go grocery shopping together. You make me dinner whilst I sit all pretty on your counter.” He presses a kiss to Suguru’s cheek. “We cuddle.”
Suguru is collapsing in onto himself like an imploding star. He’s matter being ejected out to the farthest corners of space. He’s sailing on a boat made of styrofoam in the middle of the Bermuda Triangle.
But then Satoru takes Suguru’s face into his hands, so gently, like he’s made of glass. Lips as soft as petals grace his, dewy as morning grass. It all melts away, the fear, the panic, the confusion. Suguru kisses him back, sweeter than nectar.
Suguru’s mind is a Möbius strip, cycling through every moment he’d missed Satoru’s obvious flirting, every time Satoru “accidentally” touched his hand for too long, every private joke that was not about anything except this inevitable, dazzling collapse.
When they finally part, Satoru is lying sideways, hair making soft blue shadows over his cheek. He sighs, tries to worm a leg between Suguru’s. “You wanna get breakfast? From somewhere that doesn’t require us to put on pants?”
Suguru makes a face. “I’m not walking into the Family Mart like this. You have nut in your hair.”
Satoru preens and finger combs at the already stiffening strands. “Yours?”
“You’re the physics major; you tell me how my come got from your ass to your hair.” Suguru says it deadpan, but Satoru’s delight is pyrotechnic. “Give me five minutes.”
“Four,” says Satoru, already rolling over to pull his joggers back on.
Suguru is met with a wall of Satoru when he re-enters the room, slamming into it with the force of a natural disaster. Satoru himself is a natural disaster.
“You gunna make things official, or do I have to? Doesn’t seem like a bottom thing.” Satoru pouts.
Suguru smacks his ass, and Satoru lets out an obscenely over-exaggerated moan, just to piss him off.
“You want to be my boyfriend, ‘Toru?”
Satoru peppers his face with kisses, then meets his eyes. “Is a frog’s ass watertight?”
Suguru rolls his eyes, hard. “Is that a yes in stupid idiot Satoru speak?”
“Obviously. Now hurry up, I came so hard I think I lost like, half of my body weight.”