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Whatever Satoru wants, he gets.
“I’ll make him mine,” Satoru slurs, shoving a picture of the love of his life into Sukuna’s face.
Wine sloshes in the glass he cradles in his other hand, almost spilling over the rim and onto his white dress shirt, his suit jacket slung over the back of his chair. Under the table, his foot bumps into his briefcase, knocking it over onto its side. Sukuna had invited him out to his partner’s fancy five-star restaurant to unwind and catch up over drinks, but instead of relaxing, Satoru has been rambling about his crush on the porn star he discovered last month.
He’s drunk, Sukuna is tipsy, and neither of them are slowing down any time soon. The noisiness of the restaurant makes it hard to hear what each other says, the bright lights sparkling in Satoru’s blurry vision. Between his drunkenness and his astigmatism, it’s impossible to see.
It’s not often that Satoru drinks, given what a lightweight he is, but he needs alcohol and his best friend to help him make the bad decision he wants to make.
“Lemme’ see him,” Sukuna demands, grabbing for his phone. Satoru lets him take it, his hands far steadier than Satoru’s are at the moment. He squints at it, his brows pulling together, then looks back up at Satoru with a puzzled expression. “This is a picture of feet.”
Satoru snatches his phone back. “It’s all I have of him.”
“If he’s hiding his face, it’s probably ‘cause he’s ugly.”
“It wouldn’t matter to me if he was,” Satoru insists. His love for the actor goes deeper than that.
“Ask him out then, and stop thirsting after his foot pics.”
Satoru groans, slumping back in his seat. “Every video has at least a dozen people in the comments asking him out. I have to think of something better than that.”
He’s brainstormed some options. Sending gifts and handwritten love letters to his mailing address, paying a private detective to track him down, outing himself as a perv by asking him out live on television. But Natsu has plenty of generous subscribers plying him with their wealth and words, and all of Satoru’s other options would make him seem like a massive creep, not someone he would want to date.
Sukuna hums, leaning back in his chair and stroking a hand over his chin. “Let’s see…”
“Whatever you can think of, I’ve probably thought of it already.”
During a late-night search for porn to jerk off to, he’d seen Natsu’s delicate ankles, tall arches, and painted toes in a video thumbnail as he’d scrolled down Pornhub’s homepage, and it had been love at first sight. He’s never been a foot guy, but he’s also never seen pretty feet before, much less on a man. And so he’d clicked on it with his cock in hand, unsure of what to expect, but eager to find out.
In the video, Natsu had sat on the edge of a chair and massaged a dildo with his feet for ten minutes and twenty-three seconds. All Satoru could see from him had been from the knees down; waxed shins and elegant feet, and toes that drummed and curled against the hardwood floor. The occasional hand, with nails painted a matte black to match his toes and a pair of beaded friendship bracelets around his wrist, would enter the screen to pour more lube onto the dildo and add to the wet mess pooling under his feet.
It had been something of an awakening for him. He’d come harder than he ever has in his life to the novelty and eroticism of watching Natsu grind his heel into the dildo’s shaft, circle his toes around the tip, and press his feet together to stroke it in the gap between them. He’d tried seeking out other foot content in the following month, but none of it had gotten him going the same way Natsu’s video did.
Because none of the other videos he tried watching had Natsu’s sultry voice narrating all of his actions, and praising the viewer, praising Satoru, for being so patient with him. For waiting to come until he said he could. When he finally did, Satoru had streaked his keyboard and computer screen with white, his cum landing on the image of Natsu’s feet.
He’s never been this excited over porn before. He’s never been this attracted to a person, either. Sex has always felt like a chore to him, and so has human connection, but with Natsu, it doesn’t. It’s as appealing as it is frightening, the thought of being with him. Not to meet some physical need, but because he wants to be. He wants to meet him, to learn more about him, to be able to call him his.
“You should track him down,” Sukuna suggests.
Satoru shakes his head. “I already thought of that. It’d be too weird.” And he doesn’t want Natsu to think he’s a weird guy.
“It’s not weird. It’s romantic.” Sukuna’s brusque tone and sleazy smirk tells him that he’s not being serious. He’s helping Satoru because he’s bored, not because he cares about his love life. He doesn’t care whether his advice helps or harms him.
But that word, romantic, gets him thinking. Hiring someone to track him down would be creepy because it’s using his money to infringe on the privacy he clearly wants. However, in tracking him down himself, there’s a certain amount of effort involved. Effort is romantic. It’s proving his dedication, and his willingness to pursue him, not just his desire for him. And if he makes a good impression…
It could lead to something more. He’ll arrange a natural meeting, then sweep him off his feet.
“Ah, that’s a good idea, actually,” Satoru admits.
Sukuna laughs at him. “Really, you think so?”
Nodding, Satoru clumsily gets up from his chair. “Yeah. I gotta’ go now.”
He grabs his jacket off the seat and slips it on, upside-down at first before he realizes his mistake and corrects it, then grabs his briefcase. He’s still got half a steak left and wine left in his glass, but now that Sukuna’s helped him come up with an approach, he doesn’t have time to waste. Natsu could meet someone else tomorrow, and he’d miss his chance.
“You haven’t paid your bill,” Sukuna drawls, watching him fumble to put himself back together again.
Satoru gives him a one-handed wave farewell. “You’ll see me at the office.”
Satoru calls a cab, leaving his own car in the restaurant parking lot, and heads back to his penthouse. He takes the elevator up all hundred and fifty floors, then stumbles out and into his apartment, the only one on his floor. He doesn’t even bother to get undressed before he goes straight for his home laptop. Satoru opens up Natsu’s OnlyFans page, of which he’s one of only a handful of top-level subscribers, and starts searching for clues in his videos that might lead him to wherever he can find him.
It’s a lot harder than his inebriated brain was expecting it would be.
There’s nothing there that Satoru can use to pin him down. Natsu films out of one room, which seems to be a home office that’s been converted into a filming studio. Its decor is nondescript, and gauzy white curtains block the view from the window, making it hard to determine his location from what’s outside of it. Natsu doesn’t talk about his personal life, either. Satoru’s combed through all of his videos, and he never mentions anything about where he works or which city he lives in. He talks about himself more in his nail painting videos, but it’s nothing too personal.
He’s about ready to give up and go to bed so he can resume his search in the morning once he’s sober when he finds his breakthrough. Satoru had forgotten about Natsu’s Wednesday posting schedule. While he’d been digging through his account’s backlog of content, he had uploaded another video. In its description, Satoru finds what he needs; a location and a date.
Please forgive the chipped polish today! I’m going to pick up an order of new winter colors tomorrow to share with you all! (●^◡^●)
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Tracking down the boutique beauty store in Tokyo where Suguru will be is easier than Satoru expected it would be when he set out to find it.
The brand is Natsu’s favorite, so it’s reasonable to assume that their store in Harajuku would be the place he was going. Satoru had gone to bed at one in the morning, and woken up at six with a raging hangover to drive from Kyoto to Tokyo to be at the store in time for its opening. He doesn’t know when Natsu is going to show up, only that it’s sometime between nine in the morning and eight in the evening that he’ll show. Natsu’s a morning person though, so it’s safer to be early.
It only takes him eight minutes of waiting outside in the cold to give in and go inside. He’d been trying not to, so he wouldn’t have to risk the girl running the cash register thinking he’s a loiterer, but the cafe across the street he’d planned on waiting in is closed for the day because of the snow that’s piled up overnight, and he didn’t dress warmly enough for the weather.
Inside, shelves of cosmetics and beauty supplies line the walls. Eyeshadow palettes, lipsticks, brushes, skincare products. It’s a small store, but it holds far more than its size suggested.
The cashier snaps to attention when he enters. “Welcome in, sir! How can I help you?”
Satoru gives her a charming smile, pushing his sunglasses up on his nose. “I’m just here to browse.”
“Well, let me know if you need anything.”
Satoru’s attention is grabbed by the wall of polishes on the opposite side of the store. It’s the largest section, which makes sense, given that it’s what the store specializes in. There are so many options, labeled with numbers and letters, in every possible shade he thinks Natsu could want. He’d buy him the whole wall of them if he didn’t know he’s picky with his color matching.
But if he’s going to get him one of them… he’s drawn towards the purples. There are about a hundred different selections, all packaged in little glass bottles with white caps and the store’s logo on the side. The most appealing shades to him are a deep, rich shade of amethyst, and one that’s lavender. Both would suit Natsu, he thinks, though the lavender might be too light for him. But Natsu likes pastels. He could purchase both for him, but that might come across as too much, given how high the prices are.
The bell rings on the door, but Satoru is so absorbed with deliberating between the bottles, he doesn’t look up to see who’s entered.
“I have an order to pick up…”
When they speak, Satoru stills. Because he recognizes that voice.
“Ah, what’s the confirmation code?”
“Here, let me show you…”
Satoru turns to look at Natsu for the first time, and he’s even more beautiful than Satoru had expected he would be.
His long, dark hair sits low in a bun, the hairs too short to be pulled back hanging in his face instead. He’s got a long blue scarf hanging tied tightly around his throat, and he wears a dark grey woolen coat, buttoned up to his neck. Its straight cut means Satoru can’t see his figure, but he can see the round curve of his ass, despite the loose fit of his pants. His earlobes are stretched, the gauges in them around two centimeters, and his lips, plump and pink, stretch into a kind smile that makes his cheeks dimple.
“Your order is ready! I’ll go grab it from the back.” The cashier leaves through the open door behind her.
Satoru doesn’t hesitate to take advantage of their moment alone. He puts back one of the bottles, and grips the other tightly in his hand as he approaches him.
Natsu glances at him from out of the corner of his eye first, his iris a warm shade of amber, then turns his whole face to look at him properly. His smile gets tighter as he looks at Satoru up and down, at his loafers and his slacks and his blazer, assessing him. He brings his gaze back up to meet Satoru’s eyes, hidden behind his sunglasses, and Satoru knows he can’t give him time to draw his own conclusions about him. He has to define himself if he wants to make a good first impression.
“This would be a good color for you,” Satoru suggests, offering the bottle to him.
Natsu’s lips part in surprise, pretty amber eyes widening. He takes the bottle from him, turning it over in his hand, then slips off a mitten so he can hold the bottle up to his nails. The blush and smile that spread across his cheeks tell Satoru that he’s pleased with his suggestion, and Satoru is, too. As he’d thought, the deep amethyst color matches him well, though it doesn’t quite fit with what he’s wearing.
“Ah… you’re right.” Natsu agrees, holding the bottle close to his chest.
It’s right then that the cashier returns from the storage room. “You made some good selections this time around,” she compliments.
Natsu sets the nail polish bottle on the counter. “I’ll be adding this one.”
The cashier rings it up for him. “That’ll be an extra four thousand.”
Natsu winces at the price, but Satoru grins. This is his chance.
“I’ll be paying,” Satoru rushes to volunteer, pulling out his black card.
Natsu turns to look at him again, and this time, his amber eyes sparkle in delight. He watches as Satoru slips his card into the card reader, and pays for almost twenty thousand yen’s worth of nail polish. The cashier wraps Satoru’s addition in tissue paper, then hands Natsu the little paper bag with a reminder to come again soon. “With your boyfriend next time,” she stage whispers.
“We’ll see,” Natsu says, his smile coy.
He slips an arm around Satoru’s elbow, and Satoru’s heart nearly leaps out of his chest. He lets Natsu drag him out of the store, his paper bag of polishes clutched in his hand. As soon as the both of them are outside though, he lets go, and steps out of reach again.
“Thank you for paying.” Natsu holds the bag in front of him with both hands. He looks down at his own footprints in the snow beneath them to avoid meeting Satoru’s gaze. “It was generous. You didn’t have to.”
“I was the one who suggested the extra shade,” Satoru reminds him, raising a hand to run it over the close shave on the back of his neck. “But if you want to return the favor, you could let me treat you to lunch.”
Natsu laughs, and the sound makes Satoru’s chest tighten. “And let you pay for me again?”
Satoru shrugs. “I have money, but nothing worth spending it on. Other than you.”
His words make Natsu’s cheeks redden again, the blush reaching his ears, and he’s certain he’s got him. But Natsu shakes his head. “I appreciate the offer, but I should be heading home.” He bows, then moves as if to leave, but Satoru can’t let that happen. “Thank you again—”
“Wait! I’m Satoru.”
Natsu stops mid-step. He glances back at him, brow raised. “Just Satoru?”
He doesn’t want him to know who his family is quite yet. “Yes. What’s your name?”
Natsu considers him, his gaze assessing. It has a weight to it now that it didn’t before; maybe he’s starting to catch on to Satoru’s desperation, or his unearned familiarity. But Satoru doesn't look away. He came here with a purpose, and though he’s stretching the interaction out for longer than its natural duration, he won't let Natsu go when he’s so close to having him. Whatever Satoru wants, he gets.
His perseverance pays off. “Suguru,” he answers.
Suguru. He can stop calling him Natsu in his head now, and he’ll try not to make the mistake of calling him by his other moniker to his face. He has his name now, which is more than any other man subscribed to him. And Satoru will have even more than that soon. He’ll take him out to lunch, and he’ll persuade him to come to his hotel with him, and he’ll get his number if he can.
Suguru hesitates. He pulls his phone from his pocket, and uses it to check the time. But whatever he’s worrying about the time for, he decides that he’s willing to humor Satoru for a little while longer. “…I guess I have a few hours to spare.”
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Lunch with Suguru goes about as well as Satoru hoped it would.
He keeps it light; an appetizer and a main dish. He’s not about to embarrass himself by drinking in front of him on the first date, but Suguru orders a lemon spritz with his cold soba, and tiramisu for dessert after, picking at his food as the two of them chat. Satoru pays for it all, and it’s when the two of them are heading out the door again that he takes another leap and asks him to come up to his hotel room.
Suguru agrees, though it’s been much longer than the few hours he’d been promised. It’s a struggle to remain nonchalant and keep from seeming too eager, leading Suguru to the room he’d booked for his quest. Suguru leans against his side in the elevator, and it takes all Satoru’s strength to not shove him against the wall and kiss him, touch him, to take him right there where anyone could walk in and see them.
It’s through willpower alone that Satoru manages to get Suguru back to the hotel room. He lingers by the door as Suguru walks in ahead of him and looks around, getting acquainted with the space. He sets his bag of polishes down on the counter in the private kitchen, peers into the bathroom, and comes to stand in front of the large, plush bed, much bigger than any single man would need.
“This place is big… how long are you staying in Tokyo again?” Suguru asks, shedding his coat and his mittens, and resting them over the back of an armchair.
Satoru gets his first look at his figure. He’s wearing a plain white button-down underneath it; the fabric hugs his pecs, and the way it’s tucked into his pants accentuates his narrow waist and wide hips. He’s an ass man, and the thought of pinning him down and sinking his teeth into the meat of Suguru’s cheeks is enough to get blood flowing down towards his—
“Satoru,” Suguru says, turning to face him, his expression amused. Ah, right. He’d been asked a question.
“For the rest of the week.” He had a meeting with an investor planned for the weekend anyway.
Coming a few days early doesn’t make much of a difference to his plans, except enabling him to meet Suguru. And he’ll stay for longer, if what’s budding between them turns into more. He’d move their center of operations here if that’s what he had to do.
“You must be someone important.”
He’s one of the richest men in Japan. He’s related to the Emperor. He runs an international corporation. Important is correct.
“Are you intimidated?” Satoru asks. He takes off his own coat, laying it over Suguru’s on the chair.
Suguru shakes his head. Sitting down on the edge of the bed, he slips his loafers off, then pushes himself back so he’s sitting in the center of the bed.
“I don’t know what I did to catch your attention,” Suguru admits, taking his hair out of his bun to let it fall over his shoulders, then laying back. His loose dark curls are contrasted against the crisp white covers on the pillows. “But it’s flattering.”
He reaches out a hand, beckoning him closer, and Satoru takes the invitation.
He crosses the room with long strides, and leaps onto the bed, straddling Suguru’s legs and cupping his face with his hands. Bending down, he presses their lips together hard enough that their teeth clack together, Suguru’s hands coming up to touch his chest through his shirt.
Their lips move together, and Satoru tugs at the gauges in Suguru’s ears to get him to open his mouth, licking into it. Reaching down, he runs a hand over Suguru’s chest, groping one of his plump pecs, before starting to unbutton his shirt, popping them all open one-handed.
With his shirt open and untucked, Satoru moves his mouth from Suguru’s lips to his jaw, then down his throat, then to his chest. He pushes Suguru’s shirt off his shoulders, and Suguru helps him take it off, tossing it onto the floor. He’s wearing the same beaded bracelets that he wears in his videos, and Satoru leaves them on, moving on to kissing down his stomach instead.
He mouths wetly over Suguru’s bulge through his pants, and Suguru gasps, pushing his hips up into Satoru’s mouth. He isn’t here for long, though; he unbuttons his slacks, then pulls them over his hips and down his legs as he moves down the bed, pulling them off and casting them aside too. Underneath them, Suguru’s wearing black silk boxers, which tent with his erection.
It’s only once his legs are bare that Satoru moves on to Suguru’s socks.
The fabric of them is woolen and thick, and they come up to his mid-calves, indenting them. Satoru runs his hands over the bony protrusions of Suguru’s ankles through them, digging his thumbs into his arches and pressing down into the soft part of them.
It strikes him then that he’s really here. That he’s doing this. After a month of longing, here he is.
He grips the hems of his socks, and rolls them down his legs, the fabric rolling over itself at his ankles. He pulls them over the balls of his heels, fingers brushing his soft skin, then over his toes. His feet pull free, and with them exposed, Satoru gets his first look at them in person.
He’s only about six inches shorter than Satoru is, but his feet are so much smaller. He moisturizes them, and the skin on the bottom of them is soft and smooth, with no cracks or blemishes. His toes are small and round, and painted a deep shade of maroon, the same color they were in the video from last night. Satoru wraps his fingers around one of his ankles, and it’s small enough that the tips almost touch,
Satoru pulls his foot against his mouth, pressing a long, wet kiss to his arch, and takes a deep inhale, smelling it. Despite having been in his shoes, it smells clean, though its scent does have the faint saltiness of sweat. Satoru’s erection presses painfully against the zipper of his slacks, and he unzips them to relieve the pressure on it, rubbing his bulge through his boxers.
“You have beautiful feet,” Satoru sighs.
He grabs his other ankle, too, and brings his feet together. Suguru’s blush deepens. Pressed toe to toe and heel to heel, the gap formed by his bridges is just large enough to fit a cock between them. Satoru releases one of them, and pulls his cock out from under his waistband— but Suguru yanks his foot from his grasp, and shoves it against his chest to stop him.
“What are you doing?” Suguru asks, his eyes wide with shock and horror.
Satoru fumbles for an explanation that won’t give away what he knows. He’d thought that this is what Suguru is into, but he hadn’t thought that maybe foot content was just something he produces, rather than something he likes. He hasn’t had an opportunity to ask.
“Ah, we can do something else if you want—”
“No,” Suguru blurts, “it’s alright, but I… you’re… is this something you’ve done before?”
Satoru shakes his head. “I haven’t,” though he’s been thinking about it for over a month now, “but your feet are the first I’ve wanted to do this with.”
Suguru doesn’t respond, and for a heart-stopping moment, Satoru thinks that maybe he got too overeager.
But then he nods, dragging his foot down his chest and stomach until he’s pressing his foot down on Satoru’s exposed length. “Then use them.”
Satoru hisses through his teeth at the contact, but with permission granted, he’s quick to take advantage of it. Holding Suguru’s foot in one hand and his cock in the other, Satoru rubs the tip of his cock against his toes, then thrusts his hips so it rubs along his foot. Precum smears along Suguru’s sole, and when he pulls back his foreskin and thrusts again, his sensitive head wet and glistening, the slide is easier with the added wetness. He has lube in the suitcase he brought but hasn’t unpacked yet, he recalls.
“Do you have lube with you?” Suguru asks, as if he’s reading his mind.
Satoru has to let go of him in order to get it. He’s reluctant to leave his side, but with the bottle in hand as he crawls back into bed, he’s glad that he did.
Suguru holds his feet up with his hands around the backs of his knees, and Satoru squirts lube onto his hand, then rubs it onto Suguru’s soles. He pours some over his own cock, brings Suguru’s feet back together again, and slips his tip into the hole that’s formed between them.
He thrusts wetly between Suguru’s feet, his cock sticking out on the other side of them, pulls back, and thrusts again. The knot in his stomach tightens. Suguru’s toes curl, crossing each other, and he rubs a thumb over Suguru’s painted nails as he starts to fuck his feet harder, breathing shakily. Suguru reaches between his legs to pull his own cock out of his boxers, about five inches and pretty, with waxed balls and a wet, pink tip. Lube drips down onto the bed sheets between them.
“Hah… it’s so tight,” Satoru breathes. Tighter than any hole he’s been in.
It’s not long before he’s coming, the knot in his stomach unraveling. He changes his grip on Suguru’s feet so he’s coming against his toes, a few pulses of cum missing them and landing on Suguru’s body. He drags the head along his toes, smearing his cum over them.
Satoru lets go of Suguru’s feet, and settles between his legs instead. He pushes Suguru’s thighs to the side and swats his hand away from his cock, taking it into his mouth instead. He’s inexperienced with sucking cock, but it doesn’t take much slurping at his tip and squeezing his shaft to have Suguru coming into his mouth with a high moan, thighs squeezing around Satoru’s head.
He pulls off, spitting Suguru’s cum onto the bed sheets, and sits back to admire his work. Suguru, panting and red-faced, lays with his cock softening against his belly and his toes and chest painted with Satoru’s spend, debauched. He tells himself he’ll take a picture of him next time to convince himself not to sneak a photo of him now. Photography can wait.
Standing, Satoru goes to get a wet washcloth, and comes back to start wiping Suguru down. He cleans his chest first, then his toes.
With his feet wiped clean, Satoru tosses the towel to the floor, and takes them into his hand. Suguru sighs as he massages them gently, digging his thumbs into the arches and between his toes. He doesn’t know where Suguru works, but he knows from reading through the comments Suguru responds to that it’s somewhere he’s on his feet a lot. He pays for massages like these, but Satoru can offer one for free.
“You’re good at this,” Suguru compliments.
Satoru grins. “I’m good at everything I do.”
Suguru hums, flexing his toes. “You’re one of my subscribers, right?” Suguru asks.
Satoru’s heart leaps into his throat, his hands stilling. He wants to deny it, but something tells him Suguru already knows the answer.
“…Yes. How did you know?”
“‘Satoru’ has commented on every one of my videos.”
“I see.” He supposes he should have chosen a fake name when he signed up.
“I think I should be scared that you managed to find me,” Suguru admits. Should be, but isn’t. Maybe Satoru still has a chance. He lets Suguru continue, holding his breath as he waits to see whether Suguru tells him to leave. “I’m not, though. You paid for my order without getting anything for yourself. That’s when I started to suspect that you already knew me, and 'Satoru' confirmed it. But I came here regardless.”
“You like me, then?” Satoru blurts, hopeful.
Suguru laughs at his enthusiasm. “We’ll see,” he says, but to Satoru, his answer sounds like a yes. “You know me, but I don’t know you.”
That, he can change. “I’m Gojo Satoru and I was born on the seventh of December! I like Digimon and your feet, and I’m the CEO of a—”
Suguru cuts him off there. “You’re a what?”