Archive of Our Own

Suguru knows that whatever Satoru’s about to ask him isn’t just going to be some simple favor. 

He came back from class with an extra pack of candy, struggling to suppress a smile and the ease of any college student on a Friday night. When he found Suguru at the kitchen table working, he slid right into the seat beside him, saddling up too close and passing the piece of chocolate to the side of Suguru’s laptop. 

Being Satoru’s best friend and roommate has many benefits, but his risky weekend ideas always come with spiky ends for Suguru to prick his giving hands on. Still, Suguru gives in again and again. It’s hard not to when it’s Satoru who’s asking, being so pretty when he softens his sparkling eyes and grins down at his lap as he asks slightly nervously. As if Suguru would ever say no.

“Oh,” Satoru leans in, pretending to be interested in what Suguru is typing. As a theoretical physics major, Satoru has zero background for the philosophy classes Suguru takes, but he likes to act like he’s the expert anyway. “Kant again, huh?”

Suguru clicks out of the document and sighs, sitting back and looking Satoru dead on. “What is it, Satoru?”

He shrugs and makes a face, glancing at Suguru’s half-closed laptop. “Shoko wants us to go with her and Utahime to one of the parties on the strip,” he says, sounding more apprehensive than he should. The strip is the row of residential buildings on campus, just a block down from the apartment he and Satoru share. They go almost every weekend, and Suguru never needs to be convinced to come along.

“But?” Suguru pushes, his brow creasing slightly as Satoru rolls his eyes.

“Ugh,” he groans, rubbing his face dramatically with his hands. He runs his nails up through his scalp and then shakes it out, schooling his face into something more normal than the distinct paleness it had a second ago. “This girl Hana is going to be there,” Satoru continues, “And she’s a family friend—not my friend by any means, and my parents once tried to arrange me with her. I refused even though she really liked me, and I don’t want to go alone if she’s there with her new boyfriend.” 

Satoru ends his sentence with a twinge of disgust—like he’s offended at this girl’s newfound partner. Even if he wasn’t interested, Suguru knows Satoru never likes to be bested in anything. If he has the chance to rub his power in someone’s face, he’ll do it. 

However, Suguru’s still not seeing a way to win.

“I’m confused, Satoru. We always go together to parties. Why are you making a big deal out of asking me?”

A strangled sound fusses in Satoru’s throat as he looks about ready to bite off his tongue. He makes a face. “Because I want to piss her off,” he insists. “The whole ordeal ended with us on bad terms and, well, it would make everyone really mad—and me very happy—if they think I’m with another guy.”

Suguru’s mouth goes dry as Satoru spits out the end of his sentence. They come out in a hurried jumble that Suguru chooses to interpret as discomfort, but he’s too busy focusing on the tinge of pink on his own cheeks and the very thought of the plan itself.

“You want me to be your boyfriend?” He asks, staring at Satoru like he’s grown a second head. 

Satoru’s blush pales as he holds his hands up in defense. “Just for the night! We can, I don’t know, be gross in front of her and shit just to rub it in her face. I really don’t like her.”

A warmth grows in Suguru’s stomach, but sours into something rotten as he lets it brew. This sounds like a dream come true, all placed in his lap with no need for effort. To have Satoru act like he wants him, to get to be in public with Satoru together, and to do whatever he needs to do to convince this girl, Hana, to think Suguru is someone important to Satoru.

Being best friends with Satoru means that Suguru already knows he’s special to him, but it’s not so obvious to anyone else. Suguru feels as though if he were just able to touch Satoru a little more, to exist beside him in every corner of their life, that he would be content with whatever else happens to him. Whenever they’re out, Suguru fights the compulsions to brush the crumbs off Satoru's cheek, guide him through a crowded street, and sit closely beside him in a restaurant booth. All of those small details of a relationship are what start to draw the line between friends and something more. Suguru’s never been able to straddle that line until right now.

He’s scared, though, that once he gets a taste, he won’t be able to stop until he overdoses and destroys everything they've built between them. It will lead to Satoru being cruel in a way he doesn't even understand, and Suguru’s not sure if he can act like he’s not in pain. He already winces and shies away whenever Satoru mentions romance in the slightest. A direct silence to whatever symphony Satoru creates in Suguru’s head might just stagger Suguru’s heartbeat to a stop.

He frowns and looks away. “I don’t know, Satoru—”

Firm hands grab his arm and tug. “Please,” he begs. “Suguru, please, I need you—” He sighs pitifully, and Suguru feels dizzy. His pessimistic thoughts are immediately quelled with the new image of how Satoru looks when he begs. Shaking Suguru and looking him right in the eyes, he urges, “You have to do this for me. It’s a best friend’s duty.”

Satoru’s face falls close to Suguru’s as his jerking and demanding ends with him nearly falling out of his chair and onto Suguru. All Suguru can see is bright blue eyes with crystalized lashes that plead to him in a language he doesn’t want anyone else to learn. “I…” he struggles, savoring the warmth of Satoru’s palms on his bare skin. “Fine, Satoru.” 

“You’re the best!” Satoru cheers, letting go of Suguru to throw his arms up in the air in victory. He jumps to his feet, eyes already darting across the room to where his bedroom is. “Put that shit away and start getting ready. My boyfriend and I have to look our best.” With that, he walks away, nearly skipping as he makes it to his room and spins around to shoot one last smile at Suguru before disappearing to change. 

The newly silent dining area brings with it the recurring dread in Suguru’s chest. He feels the worry in his bones, staring at Satoru’s closed door for too long as he realizes what he’s just gotten himself into.

A pit grows in his stomach. Not one of nerves but of guilt. He’ll enjoy tonight far too much, knowing that he’s tainting something as golden as their friendship with things that Satoru doesn’t want. It’s wicked to agree to this when Satoru doesn't know what he’s getting himself into, only coming up with the idea in some silly attempt at revenge. 

Perhaps Suguru should’ve never said yes, but if it’s Satoru asking, he will always comply.

The strip is too awake for almost twelve at night, dorm halls and houses still alight and ready to start off the weekend. Suguru walks in pace with Shoko as Satoru and Utahime bicker about two sidewalk blocks ahead of them. There is no urgency in Suguru’s steps as he dreads the situation he’s gotten himself into once they enter the designated house.

Satoru hasn’t mentioned their act since he asked, since he’s probably not too fond of the idea. Handfuls of people approach Satoru at every party, always ready to drag him away, and tonight he isn’t allowed to indulge in any of them. Suguru is a looming pole that Satoru has to stand beside, constantly shadowing his every move throughout the night.

They do, however, look the part. One tiny bit of pride Suguru keeps with him is that when he and Satoru are out somewhere, they look good together. Anyone will believe it, and Satoru’s outrageous, drunk acting will be further assurance. It’s part of the reason why Suguru feels as if they're meant to fit side by side. If every other puzzle piece sinks so perfectly into place, Suguru can't help but wish that he could just push a little further.

They eventually reach the house of the party Shoko wants to go to. These types of things usually get shut down by around two in the morning, since on-campus housing always gets campus security called on them when weekend quiet hours finally go into effect. That’s probably why Shoko picked it. She prefers to let the night drag on, letting the intoxication build up as she nurses a pack of cigarettes, and ending it off by stumbling home with her arm wrapped around Utahime.

Suguru only wishes Satoru were that calm when they go out. By the time all four of them are through the front door, Suguru’s already being dragged by his sleeve towards the drinks. He waves a haphazard goodbye to their friends as Satoru pulls him further into the chaos of a college party.

Almost instantly, Suguru recognizes a difference in how they’re treating each other. Satoru is laying it on thick, leaning his side against Suguru as they wait for a drink, leaning down to whisper what he has to say in Suguru’s ear rather than raising his voice, and clasping Suguru’s hand in his own when a rowdy group pushes through the room. It's obvious to anyone who’s looking that they’re more than friends, and Suguru’s too dazed by the attention to taste the bitterness that comes with it all.

He takes a shot while Satoru convinces a man to hand over one of his personal sodas for Satoru to mix with his liquor. As the burn scrapes the back of his throat, Suguru takes one more look at Satoru as he makes a face at the taste of his soda concoction and decides to just let the night guide him.

Satoru wrinkles his nose, the soft lighting of the kitchen easing the masculinity of his features into a quiet, more private gentleness that Suguru wants to savor. No one should be able to look as beautiful as Satoru does, and the entire world can see it, not just Suguru. If, for one night, Suguru can claim to have not just a handsome boyfriend, but Satoru Gojo as his own, so what if it leaves him feeling empty by the morning?

“Alcohol is disgusting,” Satoru groans. “I wish there was an easier way to get drunk.” He presses the plastic cup to his bottom lip but doesn’t take another sip. Suguru’s forced to stand and stare as the rosy pink of his mouth gets pressed down by the rim, wishes it were his fingers tugging instead. 

He motions for the man running the drinks to pour him another shot, turning back to Satoru just in time to watch his face scrunch up from a second sip. Suguru knocks back his shot and shakes his head through the burn. “You’re ridiculous,” he chuckles, handing his tiny cup back to the guy to have it tossed.

Satoru shoots him a funny grin when a large group shoves through the room and nudges them closer together. Satoru’s cup is pressed against his chest as Suguru has to look up slighting to meet his eyes now. Satoru smiles as if Suguru isn’t completely stiff, prolonging his movements to delay having to step back again. They share a bathroom, but Suguru’s never smelt Satoru’s soap and shampoo so closely before. It always smells different on the person than in the bottle, and Suguru prefers this version much more.

They shuffle further apart so Satoru can pinch his nose and chug the rest of his cup. Suguru doesn’t want to know how much carbonation and alcohol must burn together, but he’s more focused on how Satoru’s throat moves and contracts as he swallows. A stray drop slips past the side of his mouth and drips down his jaw. 

If Suguru were a crazier man, he would lean in and lick it off his sparkling skin. Just to taste Satoru once would satiate him forever. When a second drop follows the first, Suguru indulges slightly and slides his hand around the side of Satoru’s neck to wipe them away with his thumb. 

Satoru takes the empty cup away from his lips, still swallowing his last gulp as he laughs, warming and flushed from Suguru’s touch. It’s so believable that Suguru wonders who’s watching right now to have Satoru acting like this. 

“Dancing,” Satoru insists, pulling Suguru towards the door. “Right now. Hana’s probably in there.”

Right. Hana, the girl who liked Satoru, and, while she might not anymore, there’s a whole house full of people who do. Suguru is no different from all of these people, only trailing after Satoru with heart eyes long enough to see that he doesn’t have an interest in any of them.

Worming through the crowded house, Satoru doesn’t stop to look for anyone like Suguru does. He’s waiting to find a rich, pretty girl glaring from a large friend group, but the only people who seem to be even glancing their way are the strangers they’re winding through. Satoru certainly doesn’t seem worried about looking for his ex, though that bodes well in Suguru’s favor. 

The large living room has been gutted of any furniture in order to make as much space as possible to dance, and even that isn’t enough. The crowd isn’t even the biggest Suguru’s seen before, but he’s immediately tugged close by Satoru to avoid being lost to the masses. Dim lighting and deafening music shake all of his newly tipsy senses, causing him to rely on Satoru to keep him from tripping or running into someone smaller and taking them out. 

As Satoru turns around to face him, Suguru’s vision tunnels. He’s every color the lights flicker to, doused in electric blue and then sweltering red. He’s grabbing Suguru’s arm and tugging them around him as his frosted eyelashes shadow his eyes to make their glow just a little more addictive. Suguru can’t breathe in the heat of the room, packed beside bodies of strangers, while he’s pulled closer to the only man he’s ever wanted.

And Satoru is acting like he wants him, too. In the jumble of finding a space for themselves in the room, Satoru wraps his arms around Suguru’s shoulders and pushes himself against Suguru at any possible opportunity. He’s clinging to him when people move past, letting Suguru catch him if he stumbles, and whispering every thought he has right into Suguru’s ear.

His breath is hot against Suguru’s jaw as he exhales and mutters, “You can touch me too, you know.” His arms leave Suguru’s neck in order to take Suguru’s hands and wrap them around himself. As the song changes to a deeper, louder beat, Suguru watches as a wicked idea passes through Satoru’s mind, and he directs Suguru’s hands lower.

“Satoru—” Suguru flinches his hands away, heat burning his ears as he recognizes what he just touched as Satoru’s ass. He’s dying to do it again, but that familiar guilt is creeping up the back of his neck. Satoru thinks this is all for an act, but Suguru’s taking advantage of that to satisfy some sick fantasy that he has definitely dreamed about.

“Suguru, Suguru,” he urges, grabbing hold of his retreating arms again. “Suguru, just do it. Hold me here—it’ll make it believable or whatever. Touch me like you want me.” 

The flickering lights are making Suguru dizzy as the words leave Satoru’s lips. He watches him lick them and smile sweetly. There’s a line he’s teetering over between keeping up the act and giving into drunk mischief that has Suguru terrified. 

“That’s how we pull this off,” Satoru adds, laughing as Suguru complies and holds him where he wants him. 

It’s dangerous, but Satoru doesn’t know why. Suguru just wants so much that he’ll never get to have it, and right now it’s all being handed to him. Just for the night, and he’s drunk on more than just alcohol. As much as he knows this is all a horrible idea—that it’ll just make him sick with regret and heartache in the morning, he’s unable to deny what Satoru wants to do at the moment.

They dance like they know every inch of each other. On a daily basis, Satoru takes what he wants without asking, and this is no different. Time is lost to Suguru as he lets the room go blurry in favor of staring at every piece of the man in front of him. He’s going crazy over how much of him he can hold, indulging in whatever Satoru leads him to grab. He holds him by his hips, his ass, and tugs him close whenever he wants, pressing himself against Satoru and leading him to dance while close enough to watch the sweat glisten on the side of his face. 

It’s hot in the dance room and even hotter when Satoru leans his head back and laughs at something Suguru says. His skin, ruffled white undercut, and face flushed with alcohol is a masterpiece that Suguru could sit and stare at forever. They’re supposed to be performing for someone else, but Suguru would lose his mind if he fully processed that other people are looking at Satoru right now. 

They’re watching him smile, spin, and lean against Suguru with a mischief that’s just for him. He’s testing risky waters when he stumbles in close to Suguru’s face, eyes falling lower than Suguru’s gaze to bat through snowy lashes. They’ve been to countless parties over the years, but Suguru’s pride skyrockets as he tries and fails to remember a time when Satoru danced with someone else like this.

If this is what Satoru wants—to really play into the bit—Suguru will give it to him. Sometimes, Suguru think’s Satoru’s too impish for his own good, and if he’s able to teach him a lesson about how his extravagance can snowball, Suguru will do it. He’ll give anything to wipe that wicked grin off of Satoru’s face and have him pleading, begging for Suguru to stop being so mean. He’d destroy that pretty smile to a whimpering mess, only whining for Suguru as he takes and takes—

“I want another drink,” Satoru says, snapping Suguru out of his dangerous fantasies. 

Suguru complies, because it’s Satoru who keeps his hands on him as much as he can while they filter back through the house to the kitchen again. Satoru gets the same drink as before, and Suguru watches him chug it before asking for another shot himself. As he knocks it back, he can feel Satoru’s eyes on him like burning sunspots, almost convinced they'll leave permanent marks on his skin. 

Satoru grabs and tugs him back to the living room by one of his belt loops. His fingers wander on the expanse of his waistband, clearly too curious for their own good, and with the buzz of his third shot, Suguru isn’t doing anything to stop him. 

Back in the other room, Suguru starts to try and take note of anyone who might be looking at them. He’s not ashamed to admit he’s curious to see this girl Satoru is trying to upset, perhaps some of his pride assuming that he’s better looking than her—better suited for Satoru than her. Looking around, Suguru is unable to find anyone who seems as though they could fit with Satoru like Suguru does. His drunken pride swells as he lets that sink in, subconsciously pulling Satoru closer.

Suguru also doesn’t find any girl who fits the image he has in his head of Hana. No prissy, rich girl, studded with perfection, who’s come to a typical college row party. Come to think of it, no one in here looks very elitist at all, at least to the extent of a family like the Gojo’s. Even if someone here was to that standard, Suguru doesn’t see a single one of them looking at Satoru with any kind of malice.

It’s a strange thing, that girl being at this sort of party. The strip isn’t typically a place that richer students of their university frequent. Satoru’s an oddball of the wealthy crowd, always seeing it as a way to rebel just to be normal. This girl can’t be just as defiant; otherwise, Suguru has no idea how they didn’t get along. Hana doesn’t make sense to Suguru, but he tells himself there must just be something he’s missing that the alcohol isn’t letting him figure out.

Suguru’s too focused on looking around the room to see that a girl has approached them. She doesn’t look the part of a Gojo family friend, dressed too sparingly and with too many piercings, and Suguru clocks the confusion in Satoru’s face as she says something to him.

The music is so loud he can’t hear what she says, but she’s brushed off by Satoru, who looks coy and, when she doesn’t walk away, Satoru reaches forward and wraps his arms tightly around Suguru’s waist just to shoot a look back at the girl.

She finally leaves with a frown and heads over to a group of people who, Suguru just noticed, have been watching them during the whole interaction.

Satoru huffs and rubs his cheek against Suguru’s shoulder, wrapping his arms around him tightly.

“Someone you know?”

“No,” Satoru rolls his eyes. “She just wanted to dance.”

Something in Suguru cracks as he says, “You could say yes, I don’t mind. We don’t need to cling to each other all night.” He says it because he feels like he has to, even with the more-than-tipsy vigor running through his veins. Satoru isn’t his, and it’s incredibly selfish to claim dominion over him even if they’re just pretending.

He feels Satoru stiffen against him. He leans back, furrowing his brow as he says, “That’s stupid. You’re my boyfriend.” A firm finger pokes Suguru in the chest and lingers. With the fuzzy feeling in his head, Suguru isn’t in any position to make Satoru move or take back what he just said. 

Two more people come up to Satoru. It’s inevitable, and Suguru knows this. Part of him is annoyed, seeing as he’s so close to Satoru that perhaps these people should take a hint and leave them alone, but there’s nothing to be done. 

Both times, Suguru was filled with something hot that invaded under his skin, watching as Satoru pushed them away and then instinctively moved closer to him instead. The second person came while they were still dancing, smoothly moving up beside Satoru and lightly touching his arm to get his attention. Suguru burned with the desire to push them away himself, but Satoru was quick enough to scoot away, passing them a denying look as he let Suguru grab him lightly around the waist.

The third person walked up to them as they took a break on the side of the room. He was taller than Suguru and seemed meaner. He swept in with too much confidence for someone standing beside Satoru, believing that he had that much of a chance to tug Satoru away. And Satoru, seemingly fed up with all of the people trying to pry at him, shut him down faster than the first two. For a moment, Suguru feared the interaction would turn sour, watching as the guy shrugged Satoru off roughly and pushed his way back through the crowd.

However, Satoru turns back to Suguru, unaffected, with wide, watchful eyes. As Suguru stares at the stranger's head disappearing into the chaos, he can feel Satoru scan the side of his face up and down. His electric gaze traces across his cheekbone, down his jaw, and sizzles across his neck. 

“He wasn’t very nice,” Satoru huffs, hunching slightly to rest his cheek against Suguru’s shoulder. He’s warm and soft even through Suguru’s shirt, and Suguru can’t fight the urge to smooth his hand through his pale hair. With all of Satoru’s expensive shampoos, the softness is uncanny.

Suguru thinks of what it would feel like through his fingertips, what would happen if he gripped it just a little bit harder than normal. If he tugged, what kind of reaction would he get? Pain? Pleasure? He imagines Satoru’s brow would tense, and maybe his lips would part just slightly as a sound escaped them. Perhaps Satoru could finally have his height knocked down, reduced to his knees as Suguru grips that hair and directs him right where he wants him. Or he could wrap his fingers through the strands as he shoves Satoru’s whining face into a bed, or couch, holding him down and muffling the pathetic sounds Suguru would fuck out of him as he props his hips up, legs having given out from just how long Suguru’s been teasing his—

Suguru clears his throat and presses his lips together. “I saw that.”

The moment is thankfully interrupted as Shoko finds them through the crowd. Her easy-going nature is such a sobering presence compared to Satoru’s dizzying routine. She drags them outside with a promise to Suguru for a cigarette, and Satoru follows behind loyally. Suguru’s lost to the whim of the back of her head, trusting that it’ll lead her to somewhere that he can catch his breath and learn to control himself. 

They end up on the large back porch. The now muffled music from inside still shakes Suguru’s gut, but it’s as if they’ve entered another world. Utahime’s saved a spot with two chairs by the corner, and Suguru’s settled the second he’s got one of Shoko’s cigarettes pressed between his lips and is silently listening to Satoru’s drunken gossip. He leans against the outside of the house, eyes shutting as the smoke fills his lungs and a sense of calm washes over him. 

After a few minutes, Utahime has to use the restroom, and Satoru, ready to bother her the whole way, insists he needs the toilet as well. He leaves Suguru happily, nearly skipping in his step as he begins to nag Utahime on their way back inside. Suguru’s glad to watch him walk away, but instantly is sad to lose his presence. As hectic as Satoru is, Suguru wouldn’t rather be anywhere without him.

It’s such a strange push and pull. Suguru dreads every moment of this night, fearing how it’s going to torture him and test his self-control. Anxiety laces his every breath, caught between wanting to respect Satoru and needing to blame everything on the alcohol in the morning. However, he’s high on the thrill. There’s a reason he and Satoru are so close—they genuinely like each other. Suguru wouldn’t choose anyone else to be around, tasting sugar on his tongue with every second he’s close to Satoru. This is his hell, purely, as Suguru’s experiencing the time of his life only to, inevitably, be dragged back down to earth and tormented in some way.

Shoko’s a few feet away, leaning against the railing of the porch as she watches some rowdy guys tousle for the last bottle of a pack of beer. For about thirty seconds, Suguru’s essentially alone for the first time in hours. 

Calm, simple footsteps approach Suguru from the other side of the porch. Suguru doesn’t look over, suspecting a clueless drunkard or someone asking if he’s spotted their friend anywhere. He’s busy taking a drag and closing his eyes through the exhale.

“Bum me a light?”

Suguru turns, brow furrowing towards the man now beside him. He’s slightly shorter, with dark hair cut messily just a few inches short of his shoulders, and dressed in purposefully distressed clothes. He’s holding out his own cigarette and smiling up at Suguru with an expression he can't quite read.

Since Suguru’s not an asshole, he nods, fishing around in his pocket for his lighter as the man puts his cigarette in his mouth. The alcohol lulls him, causing Suguru to stare back head-on as the man leans in, dipping the tip of his cigarette into the flames as he makes direct eye contact with Suguru. 

The moment passes for a beat too long and, as the man leans back, Suguru lets out an uneasy laugh, offering an awkward smile as the stranger inhales deeply and relaxes into it. As the smoke dissipates into the air, Suguru can smell its menthol and grimace. He never smokes anything with the flavor because Satoru hates the scent so much. Over time, it’s caused Suguru his own distaste for that type of cigarette.

The man clears his throat, leaning against the wall with Suguru. He wrinkles his nose, staring out into the backyard as he says, “I never like these parties much. Too much chaos inside.”

Suguru hums, nodding slowly as he follows the man’s gaze to the rowdy crowd by the firepit on the lawn. He can’t deny that rambunctious drunkards are a hassle, but he disagrees with the statement as a whole. Without the chaos, Suguru wouldn’t be able to blend his desire for Satoru into the mess. In a wild house like this, Suguru’s not nearly the craziest guest, and the nature of the evening has Satoru acting more daring than he’s ever been before. 

As Suguru presses his cigarette back to his lips, the man tilts his head, looking up at Suguru from his place just a foot away. “It’s much nicer to have a quiet break somewhere else.” He smiles, his shadowed eyes warming with a false kindness. 

“Yes,” Suguru agrees. Because he’s got to be nice. “My ears are ringing.”

“Tell me about it,” he laughs, beginning a tangent that’s bound to hurt Suguru’s head. “Meeting anyone new is so difficult in there. I’m glad I found someone else out here who I can spend some time with away from the noise.”

Suguru has no idea how this guy has survived a party without a friend to stick with, but he won’t press. 

“I’m Ren, by the way,” he offers, twisting again to look up at Suguru. Suguru isn’t trying too hard to look back at him, instead glancing over at Shoko to see if she’s noticing his newfound conversation. Unluckily for Suguru, she’s not paying attention. “We actually have Professor Mori’s class together. I sit behind you, by the shitty AC unit.”

Ah, Suguru’s 400-level philosophy class that he focuses so deeply during that he hasn't remembered a face all semester. He’s never paid attention to his classmates, except for the one who stumbled in late and loudly into his freshman gen-ed, only to plop right next to Suguru by chance. Satoru, however, is the only exception Suguru will ever make.

“Geto,” he offers in return.

Somewhere else, the back door whines as it’s swung back open. “Suguru?”

The screen door smacks shut, and Satoru’s wedging himself between bodies and railing to stand right beside Suguru. 

For a moment, Suguru’s lost in the view of Satoru’s hair, now damp from being fixed in the mirror, and a new shine on his lips. As Utahime appears in the crowd and walks back over to Shoko, Suguru’s sick with the thrill of realizing Satoru’s put on some of her lip gloss. 

The sight is ripped away from him as Satoru turns and asks, “Who are you?” to Suguru’s new acquaintance.

“I’m Ogawa Ren,” he smiles thinly. “You’re—”

“Gojo Satoru—yes, Gojo,” Satoru insists, annunciating his family name as the mark of royalty that it is. It’s always such a shock to see him use it as a tool instead of pretending it’s a useless hunk of trash to be tossed aside. 

The name has some sort of effect, causing Ogawa’s eyes to widen. He nods and offers a crooked chuckle. He scratches the back of his neck, shrugging, “Oh, I was going to ask, aren't you the guy I always see outside our philosophy class?"

Satoru straightens and, in doing so, stands closer to Suguru so their arms are touching. With how the night has been going, Suguru’s unsurprised to feel Satoru’s hand gently on his arm. “Yeah, I am,” he jeers. His head tilts to the side to feign innocence as he asks, “You have a class with Suguru? He’s never mentioned an Ogawa before.”

The comment blanches Ogawa and has Suguru’s head blanking on being able to predict where this is going. Satoru’s glowing with energy that’s dulling Ogawa’s every blip on confidence as he counters, “Well, we haven’t worked together on anything—”

“You just like to watch Suguru and see who he leaves with?” Satoru questions. “If you’re smart enough to be in a class with him, shouldn’t you be smart enough to know not to hit on him when he already has a boyfriend?”

Suguru’s mouth goes dry as Satoru laces their fingers together at his side. His longer, thinner fingers fit perfectly in between Suguru’s own thicker ones, gripping tightly as his rudeness settles into the atmosphere. His lies are simmering through the air in a way that Suguru wants to remember forever. 

Ogawa shuffles and clears his throat, holding his cigarette awkwardly like a crutch. “Uh, um, I didn’t know—”

“I walk him home every day. I feel like it should be obvious to anyone who isn’t fucking stupid—”

Suguru jolts. “Satoru—”

“Fuck, I get it. I’ll go,” Ogawa snaps, scoffing as he shoots Satoru a look. He hardly looks at Suguru again as he grumbles, “Sorry, I guess.”

Suguru stands, slightly gaping, and watches Ogawa walk away as Satoru huffs and mutters a passing remark under his breath. He’s not nearly as sloppy as he should be in order to excuse his behavior as misdirected drunk rage. No, that version of Satoru was articulated—perfectly hostile to weaponize something Suguru never knew was sharp. 

Satoru does walk Suguru home from most of his classes. But only because his physics labs are in the building connected to the philosophy hall. Yes, he could take the extra five minutes of waiting to walk to the cafe and get his frappuccinos sooner, but Satoru always waits until they can get their coffee together. Every day, it’s a hike up three flights of stairs with bumping elbows and Satoru dramatically falling against Suguru as they heave their way to the last landing. 

They’re touchy with each other. Suguru knows this, knows that most friendships aren't as invasive, intimate, and attentive, but it’s never felt out of the ordinary to him. This is just how they flow and as he replays what Satoru said in his head, it does make romance the obvious assumption.

But that’s not—they’re not. Such a fact drills itself in Suguru’s chest each day because he wants more, but because of that blurring line, he’s been able to survive with crumbs.

“Do you want to dance again?” Satoru asks innocently. “It’s kind of cold out here.”

Suguru could argue that, while it is chilly outside, it’s equally, if not hotter, inside. He could also sideline the offer in order to snap at Satoru for whatever just happened, but he, instead, purses his lips and nods, enjoying the replay of Satoru’s mean eyes and snappy behavior in his head. He’s never seen him get so defensive and, clearly, jealous. 

They end up back inside the house and shoved into the living room before Suguru can recollect how they got there. 

He is properly drunk now, lost in the motions of the ever-changing, flickering lights and the satisfying effect as they flash and illuminate Satoru’s face. He’s a collage of tousled hair, smooth skin, and smiles all for Suguru, an image made in a heaven that Suguru’s own imagination could’ve never achieved. He’s in a place never thought possible, close enough to grab Satoru however he wants and direct him how he likes. 

Satoru’s handing over control, trusting Suguru to let them dance and be together, with hands dragging over clothes and testing the feeling of skin on skin. Everyone around them turns into blurry faces and forgotten names. Suguru can’t even believe that he’s in public right now, too lost in each ounce of attention Satoru is pouring into him.

He’s drunk. Not in the sense that he’s out of control, but in a way that he can wash away typical intelligence. Nothing can discourage him, even when a tiny voice in his head is screaming for him to let Satoru go, push him away, and stop what he’s about to do.

Suguru presses his lips against Satoru’s, kissing him gently and slowly as he cups each side of Satoru’s face. He runs his thumbs over the softness of his cheekbones and exhales heavily into the feeling of Satoru’s mouth on his.

Any second now, Satoru should push him away, so Suguru’s dazed when, instead, Satoru leans in and eases his lips. He lets Suguru taste sweet, sticky lip gloss and digs his nails into where he holds Suguru’s arms. Any motion of dancing is stalled, frozen in time as they’re both stunned by Suguru’s daring stupidity.

He just needed a peck—just needed something quickly that he could excuse as a mistake, but Satoru won’t allow it. Satoru’s mouth is a magnet, drawing Suguru closer with a heated softness he’d pay to be addicted to. This isn’t anything subtle, with Satoru’s hands around Suguru’s neck, lacing up into the messy strands of his bun, and Suguru’s lost to the feeling of everything he’s being given. He couldn’t stop if he tried, no matter how much the logical part of his brain is telling him he’s ruining his life.

The world could burn as long as Suguru could stay right here, palms searing with the feeling of Satoru’s skin underneath them. He has no idea how his hands ended up teasing the hem of Satoru’s shirt, but he’s gone far past just skimming his fingers against his hip. Suguru can’t help but grab at his waist, his ribs, and squeeze as Suguru’s lips smack and part further to let his tongue tease into his mouth.

He tastes like a breath mint and, as Suguru recognises it as the flavor Utahime must've shared with him, he begins to wonder if Satoru planned for this. If he was scheming in the bathroom just to figure out a way to get Suguru to kiss him.

The idea makes Suguru dizzy, pushing away any uneasiness as he believes the conspiracy fully, too drunk to try to deny the obvious signs that Satoru wants to be doing this.

A light breath slips past Satoru’s lips as Suguru shifts his hands lower and towards his ass. Their mouths have moved past small kisses to downright devouring each other, every smack and tug of their lips filling Suguru’s head with a fever he’ll never try to cure. His chest is alight, and his core is burning, body too reliant on instinct to let common sense or dignity stop him now.

Suguru enjoys his last moments on earth before risking a squeeze at Satoru’s ass, and the reward is a soft, heaving moan groaning against his own lips. Satoru’s flushed and kissing him harder to play it off, but Suguru can’t help but search for that sound again, fully grabbing Satoru by the hips to grip his ass and grind their hips together.

Satoru gasps, leaning into Suguru with his body. His tongue dips into Suguru’s mouth for another hungry kiss before he’s leaning away, and Suguru's drunken lips attempt to chase him down. “Suguru—Suguru.”

A cold sweat sobers Suguru’s bones as he freezes and stares into Satoru’s eyes. He goes back and forth, right to left, searching for regret or disgust that might be present in his gaze, but they’re half-lidded and dizzy, too busy staring at Suguru’s mouth to look back into his blown pupils and offer reassurance.

“Can we—” Satoru sighs, seeming distraught. “Can we go somewhere else? I need some air.”

Suguru is ready to be led back outside and smacked, but he nods anyway. This is the doom he’s fated himself to, dutifully following Satoru as they weave hand-in-hand through the crowd.

They pass the back door, winding through the hallway and up the staircase. Suguru’s lost on how the second floor would have any fresher air than the rooms downstairs, but he’ll do anything right now to make Satoru not hate him. With every step and each second that passes, Suguru’s growing nauseous with worry. 

They reach a room Satoru picks on a whim, finding it ajar and tugging Suguru inside before slamming the door closed and locking it. They’re in some poor guy’s dorm room, surrounded by sports posters and an unmade bed, but it’s clean enough for Suguru to notice before he’s turning around to face Satoru.

“I—” I’m sorry, is what Suguru is about to say before Satoru’s on top of him, tackling him down onto the messy twin bed, and Suguru should worry about how sanitary this is. 

He should worry about being found. He should worry about what the hell he’s getting himself into when he knows this is much more meaningful to him than it is to Satoru’s horny, intoxicated brain. All of this is a maddening labyrinth of Suguru’s selfishness that Satoru’s been dragged into because of the shots he took downstairs. This is just a drunken decision to Satoru but, but Suguru, it’s all he’s ever dreamed of. Satoru has no idea what he’s starting, only relying on bodily needs and relaxed inhibitions, and Suguru’s guilty. 

No matter what, this is a doomed scenario, and it’s Suguru’s job to save them. He has to find some ounce of control.

He flips them, easing Satoru to lie down and dragging his lips down to kiss his neck. If Suguru tastes Satoru’s lips for one more second, he’ll never be able to restrain himself again. He’s one step away from confessing his infinite love and lust for Satoru that he’s got to find a crumb of self-preservation to save himself in the morning. So, he won’t kiss Satoru on the mouth. 

Satoru’s porcelain neck is no less satisfying, tasting like skin and sweat, and smelling like the cologne Suguru helped him pick out months ago. Satoru bought it because Suguru liked it, insisting that he needed his opinion when they went shopping. The thought thickens the desire in Suguru’s head now, and the scent makes him ever more possessive.

He licks up the heady flavor, revelling in how Satoru shivers underneath him and keen to press his body up into Suguru’s. He’s all hands and tugging arms, willing Suguru to rest his hips and chest onto him. He seems to enjoy the pressure, sighing as Suguru kisses and bites at his pulse point. 

Suguru burns with the need to turn that perfect, pale skin purple and bruised from his own rotten mouth. It’s an egotistic adrenaline rush to know that he, Geto Suguru, is the man chosen to defile the Gojo enterprise’s heir. He’s enough to reduce Satoru to a breathy mess underneath him in a stranger’s bed somewhere on a college housing strip. This shattered, intimate moment is a scene set in Suguru’s deepest desires, working him up to want more than just a taste of Satoru’s neck as he continues to writhe underneath him and groan at the pinch of Suguru’s teeth.

He licks up to tease just below Satoru’s ear, letting his heavy, heated breath smooth over his skin. Maybe he’s going crazy, but Suguru will forever swear that he hears a small whine come from Satoru’s lips as he huffs against his ear.

Soft hands rise from where they rest on Suguru’s shoulders and cup the sides of his face. Satoru pulls, trying to move Suguru back over to kiss him. The world crumbles as Suguru acts on instinct, trying to distract, and runs his hand down to rub against the front of Satoru’s pants. 

“Shit,” Satoru gasps, arching up to fit Suguru’s hand perfectly over his hardening cock. Suguru can feel the heat through his jeans, grinding the heel of his palm down just to watch Satoru fall apart again. Just from this, he’s a flushed, heaving mess, and Suguru wants more. He needs to remember this image forever.

Because Satoru is hot, flushed in the face with a pretty pink up to the tips of his ears. Common sense tells Suguru that part of it is due to the alcohol, but he’s too focused on what he’s done to Satoru. Smooth skin turned rose, and lips a hue too deep. It’s as if someone’s taken watercolors of Satoru’s paper white complexion, muddying his typical composure into a masterpiece of blush and arousal.

He’s hard under Suguru’s hand, muttering and breathing out pleas just for Suguru to hear. Suguru isn’t a jealous person by nature, but now, seeing just how much Satoru can fall apart, he's sure that if anyone else got to see Satoru like this, he would lose his mind. No one is closer to Satoru than Suguru is—this can only be for Suguru. No one deserves it like he does.

He won’t stop now, so, while continuing to palm Satoru through the front of his pants, Suguru goes back to kissing his neck. He’s rejuvenated by the taste of his sweat that’s too sweet to be human. Satoru is too good to be true, even more so as his head tips back and a soundless moan leaves his throat. Suguru bites down on his pulse point, watching the imprints of his teeth resonate along with the purple marks he’s left.

With his other hand, Suguru tugs down the collar of Satoru’s shirt, vision tunneled with the need to kiss Satoru everywhere he can. Suguru’s lips meet the fabric of the button-up that’s holding him back, and before he can think of the repercussions, his fingers are undoing the front of Saturo’s shirt. 

Satoru, previously reduced to a mess of uselessly enjoying himself, jolts into action the second he feels what Suguru’s doing, ripping his hands off of Suguru in order to undo his shirt faster. Soon enough, the black fabric is pushed aside, and Satoru’s chest is exposed. Suguru falls, lips meeting the center of his collar bones and kissing down. 

His skin is heated here too, so pink that it causes Suguru to think nastily about just how flushed another part of Satoru’s body might be right now. His dick, still hard and needy under Suguru’s hand, throbs as Suguru drags his teeth over a nipple. Satoru’s hands are back to helplessly grabbing, now trying to hold back the expanse of Suguru’s hair as he tugs on it with every nip of Suguru’s teeth.

Suguru’s kissing, biting, licking, and reducing Satoru to a state only he should get to look at. He wonders just how aghast Satoru’s ex downstairs would be if she saw just how much Satoru wants Suguru more than her. Then again, if anyone were to walk in and see just how debauched Satoru is right now, Suguru might have to throw them out the nearest window.

All of this, even with the alcohol, comes down to how much Satoru trusts him. Suguru’s sure of it. Because, when Suguru thinks about it, he can’t imagine anyone else who’s allowed to get this close to Satoru. He has very high walls that only Suguru has been able to break down.

Suguru’s hands get curious and, after Satoru nearly bucks his hips up into his hand, his fingers end up higher, teasing the button and waistband of his jeans. He feels the bare skin of Satoru’s lower stomach, fingertips grazing over the slight texture of hair and skin more sensitive than normal. Satoru gasps, hips moving subconsciously, to push Suguru’s hand closer to reach down under his clothes. 

But Suguru shouldn’t. He can’t. Simple palming through clothes can be an excuse in the morning, but once his hand reaches under, it’s going to change everything. Suguru has already gone too far past what he’s sworn to never do—he doesn't want to implicate Satoru in something he doesn’t want. For Satoru, this is fun. For Suguru, this is everything. He should stop here, claim to hear Shoko looking for them, or say they’re shutting the party down—

“Suguru, please just—just do it.” Satoru moans, his name a heaving breath through the air. “I need you to.”

The button is undone, and the zipper nearly breaks with how fast Suguru pulls it down. Two sets of hands are drunk but determined, tugging down Satoru’s pants along with his boxers so they sit just low enough for his cock to spring out. As Suguru stares at the sight before him, his previous question answered, he’s grabbed by Satoru and redirected up to kiss him.

Suguru dodges, letting Satoru’s hands guide him instead to bite another mark in her neck. He exhales heavily and whispers, “Do you really need it, Satoru?” His voice is gravelly and teasing, just because he can’t imagine living after tonight. He’ll feed into it as much as he wants, knowing this is his only chance.

Satoru groans and rolls his eyes, fed up and breathless as he grabs Suguru’s hand himself and guides it to wrap around his cock. Suguru’s seen Satoru naked a million times, knows exactly how he looks, but he’s never been close enough to touch. Now, seeing Satoru fit perfectly within the grasp of his hand, it’s even better than he imagined. 

Suguru savors it, rubbing his thumb over the tip to smear precum and tease his slit. He’s got Satoru whining and pleading without the air in his lungs to form full sentences for Suguru to keep going, just like that, yes, Suguru, oh my God. Just as Satoru heaves, chest rising to say something coherent, Suguru squeezes just a bit to pump his hand, and, once again, Satoru’s pathetic and wasted.

It brings a twisted heat to Suguru’s own core. He’s been hard this whole time, but now he's savoring it with every rub of his pants against his cock. Watching Satoru, doing this to Satoru, is part of his wildest fantasies. Selfishly, Suguru wants something too, but he’ll never ask Satoru for that. If this is all he ever gets, he’ll take it happily.

He uses the excess of precum to stroke and pump Satoru slowly, tightly, and continually, and the alcohol in his blood has him forgetting everything else in the world but the scent of Satoru’s skin and the feeling of him heavy in his hand. Satoru grabs him anywhere he can, head pressed back into the pillows as he drags his nails over the back of Suguru’s shirt, up to grip his hair, and then down to helplessly grab Suguru’s wrist to make him stroke him faster.

“I’m—” Satoru swallows, biting his lip as Suguru rubs over his tip again to watch him whine. Somehow, Satoru finds himself long enough to plead, “Please, don’t stop, Suguru—oh. I’m gonna cum.”

Suguru has to fight every urge to tease him, to hold off on letting him finish. Over the years, Suguru has imagined doing everything to Satoru to get him as desperate as he can, writhing and begging with tears in his eyes. But in those fantasies, they’re sober, and everything Suguru feels is mutual. Right now, he’s just someone Satoru needs to get off. This is a drunken decision that friends make, and Suguru’s just lucky.

He does as Satoru wants, pumping faster, squeezing his cock just a bit tighter, and watching Satoru fall apart as he sucks the delicate skin of his neck into his mouth and rolls it through his teeth. Satoru cums, moaning deeply so it mixes with the bass from the music downstairs, and clings to Suguru like he’s the last thing on earth.

A rush fills Suguru’s head as he watches Satoru spill all over himself, feeling it coat his hand as well as stain his boxers and get dangerously close to his other clothes. He moves before he thinks, bringing his hand up and tasting the cum dripping over his fingertips. He groans around his fingers, head falling and forehead pressing against Satoru’s sternum as his breaths continue to steady from the high Suguru worked him up to. 

They lie there, Suguru propped up on elbows so as not to crush Satoru, and Satoru taking deep breaths as he stares up at the ceiling with stars in his eyes. The party reforms around them, music and cloudy voices seeping through the walls, and it’s almost enough to sober Suguru.

He’s in a stranger’s bedroom with Satour’s pants pulled down below his ass and the taste of him on his tongue. They’re too drunk, and Suguru can never take this back. He doesn’t want to take any of it back, but he knows he’ll never forget how happy he is right now. He’ll be in withdrawal from this bliss forever.

Satoru nudges him in the hip, making Suguru lift up on his knees. “You’re…” he begins, looking down at Suguru’s bulging jeans and swallowing. “You, Suguru.”

No. He’s supposed to say no. He’s taking too much, and soon enough, it’s all going to fall through his fingertips. Even drunk, Suguru knows that this has to have some sort of limit. He tried to draw the line earlier, but he failed. He can’t do that again.

He shifts to sit up, leaning away as he thinks it’s probably time to go back downstairs. “It’s fine, Satoru. You don’t—”

“Do you not want me to?”

Satoru sits up too, his brows knit together, and his lips are a bit downturned. Suguru’s only seen this look in his eyes when Suguru won’t share his food or give up his favorite spot on the couch. 

His mouth is dry, and Suguru can’t find a single excuse good enough to beat what he really, really wants. He would please Satoru a thousand times before even thinking of asking for something in return. He just couldn’t be so selfish, especially knowing that Satoru doesn’t understand just how emotional this all is for Suguru.

But what if…

Suguru can just blame it on the alcohol.

“I want you to.”

What Suguru isn’t ready for is for Satoru to slide off the bed and fall to his knees in front of him. Looking up at Suguru with long white lashes and shattered blue eyes, Satoru inches forward to sit between his spread legs. He stares back up at Suguru for a moment, letting them revel in the implication of it all, before his eyes fall to the tent in Suguru’s pants.

“But—Satoru, you don’t have to.”

“Please,” he rushes, “Please, Suguru, I want to.”

He is unmoving, looking up at Suguru as he waits for permission. Suguru’s dazed mind takes it as he waiting for direction, and it makes his dick throb even more. He can’t wait for an answer, and Suguru can’t breathe as Satoru leans forward, pressing his face in between Suguru’s legs to press his face against Suguru’s clothed but hardened cock. He breathes, and the vibration sends a jolt up Suguru’s core.

Satoru whines, a plea building in his throat that comes out more like a helpless noise than any words. He kisses Suguru’s cock through the fabric, letting his wet tongue dampen the fabric around his zipper as he shamelessly tries to suck Suguru off through his clothes. “Suguru, I need to. We can’t—I’ve wanted to for so long.”

His voice against Suguru’s dick, moaning softly and rubbing as his lips move, makes Suguru hungry for so much more. He needs to be controlled, but he’s losing it the longer he sees Satoru’s platinum hair in between his legs. 

Maybe Satoru notices, maybe not, but Suguru's slow, controlled nod leads him to shift back and replace his mouth with his hands, undoing the buttons of Suguru’s pants and pulling down the zipper with a care Suguru’s never seen Satoru take with anything. He’s nervous, Suguru notices, and it makes him even more turned on to realize that, if he’s nervous, that means this is important to him.

Suguru watches with burning cheeks and even hotter desire as he lifts his hips and lets Satoru tug his pants down to his ankles. His boxers come with, letting his cock free, already hard and red, a deeper tone than Satoru’s at the tip. Suguru is bigger than Satoru, slightly in length but mostly in thickness. As he watches Satoru size him up, he can’t help but twitch at the idea of Satoru's soft pink lips stretching around him. 

Suguru wants to make him choke and cry—

He can see his jaw shifting, tongue moving behind his cheeks to gather the spit in his mouth. Suguru feels as though things are moving too fast for him to prepare himself for the feeling to come. Satoru’s all pink and flushed from the aftermath of his orgasm, filling his cheeks out with a dusty rose that looks so sweet. Suguru wants to bend down and take a bite.

Maybe he’s nervous, that’s why he’s staring and not starting. Suguru shouldn’t make him do this. He’s probably second-guessing everything, and Suguru needs to put an end to this before something bad happens to their friendship. His eyes flick back up to meet Suguru’s gaze, and that hazy, drunken blue shoots him right through the heart.

“Satoru, really—”

“You’re so hot, Suguru,” he sighs, licking his lips as he leans in to lick at his tip.

His tongue is warm and soft, slick with spit as it drags over Suguru’s foreskin. He kisses it too, smooths his lips down his length to mouth at the base. His saliva mixes with Suguru’s precum, all of it smearing across his mouth. Suguru thinks he’s focusing less on pleasing him and more on just tasting every inch of him.

Suguru groans, head tilting back as he puts a shaky hand to the top of Satoru’s head. He doesn’t grip and barely pushes, only letting himself guide Satoru to actually put him in his mouth. Satoru goes pliant—is willing—and lets Suguru direct him to wrap his lips around the tip.

It’s too much for Suguru, drunk and unable to take his eyes away. Satoru’s never looked more gorgeous, doing so much to torture Suguru as to whimper as he takes him down further. Suguru was right, he looks wonderful with his lips stretched out, the rosy blush now a deeper shade is smeared up to his ears from how worked up he is.

Just from sucking Suguru’s cock.

Suguru doesn’t know what he’s saying. He’s trying to be nice, muttering and hissing out incoherent praises and such. He doesn’t know how he’s being so gentle when everything in him wants to grip Satoru by the roots of his hair and shove him down until he chokes. 

Satoru’s tongue is flat in his mouth and is smoothing over Suguru’s cock with every suck and swallow. It would be even more insatiable if he were choking, shaking slightly, so his tongue spasms against his veins and sensitive skin. He’d be even prettier if he were crying and fuck—

This is horrible. Suguru is the worst person on the planet, and he’s never going to get what he wants. He’s selfish and wants more than just this—even though this is perfect—he just can’t help but take this inch and needs to start begging for the whole mile.

He leans in further, settling between Suguru’s legs like he belongs there. Suguru will make him belong there. He pulls off, taking a deep breath but neglecting to wipe the cum and spit from his cheek. Suguru slides his hand down the side of Satoru’s face to hold him. He’s stuck with a moment of tenderness as Satoru looks back up at him, slow mannerisms leading him to slightly pout, staring up at Suguru with wide eyes and those long, frosty lashes. 

It’s a second of sweetness before his gaze darkens again. Suguru sees him do what he did before: gather the spit in his mouth, but this time he’s stuck in shock as Satoru doesn’t sink back down, but lets the spit drip from his lips and land on the tip of his dick.

The droplet slides down as Satoru leans back in. He moans around Suguru’s cock, and it’s got Suguru’s eyes rolling to the back of his head.

“Fuck,” he gasps, “Satoru.”

That’s all the encouragement Satoru needs to start to work for it. He’s all smacking lips and hollow cheeks, whining and sucking like he’s the one who’ll cum from this blowjob. And it’s beautiful. Suguru will never forget this, even with the alcohol in his system.

“Satoru, baby,” he groans, the grip on his hair tightening, causing Satoru to moan around his dick as Suguru finishes. He cums hard, thighs slightly shaking with the force of it as Satoru keeps his lips around him. He swallows enough until he can’t anymore, leaning back to let it dribble over his lips.

His head tells him to move Satoru, to try not to inconvenience him with his cum, but Satoru won't budge, and Suguru’s too stuck on the fact that it’s all over his face. It’s the same shade as his hair and complexion, shining against his skin like it’s meant to be there. 

Satoru’s all smiles, clearly pleased with himself and smug. He’s lost that desperation and is back to being a dick with an attitude, looking up at Suguru with wicked eyes as he rubs his thumb against his chin, collecting the cum on his skin just to stick it back into his mouth.

Suguru has to fight every urge to drag him back up to the bed and wipe that look off his face in exchange for that whining, pleading mess he had just minutes ago.

What does he do now? Suguru can’t do what he wants, so he’s got to say something. Offer Satoru a tissue? This was all just supposed to be an act, but even behind closed doors, they went further than Satoru ever let on. Suguru can’t even think of moving, let alone starting to fix the problems he’s just created.

But fate moves things along for him. Shouting erupts from downstairs, and it’s the familiar bustle of campus police coming to bust the party. 

He and Satoru jump up into a classic routine of rushing to grab their things. They zip up their pants, Satoru rubs his face off with a shirt of the poor stranger who owns this room, and they’re running downstairs hand in hand before the police even get to the backyard.

Satoru’s already calling Shoko, trying to figure out where she and Utahime are, and Suguru’s thrown for a loop by how much this has just evolved into any other night. He’s out on the street in a crowd of students that the police are trying to shoo away. The cool air hits him with sobriety, and the orange streetlights shine down through the darkness onto their faces. They find themselves one house down, standing by their bushes and trying to ignore the dog barking behind the living room window.

Suguru’s silent, standing there as Satoru talks on the phone and attempting to figure out where a very drunk Shoko and Utahime ran to. He’s watching him pinch his brow, muttering something snarky under his breath as Suguru can, barely, hear Shoko’s whiny excuses on the other end.

Satoru’s handsome like this, too. It’s different, but no less stunning. All of his height, his authority, packed into a sudden seriousness as his brow is furrowed and he’s asking, “Who the hell is Jess and why are you with her?” But he’s still holding Suguru’s hand. Their fingers are interlaced, and Satoru’s holding on rather tightly as he keeps getting cut off by Shoko—who Suguru can now hear since she’s shouting—and Suguru’s come to one conclusion.

He’s so utterly fucked.

The coffee machine sputters to a start in the quiet, cold kitchen. Suguru stands there, slightly cold from no shirt on and his pyjama pants brushing the tops of his frozen toes. There are two ibuprofen pills in his pocket that he’s already snagged from the bathroom. They’re only waiting to be swallowed with the fancy dark roast that Satoru gifted him, hopefully to kill the headache pounding in his skull.

He’s hurting, nauseous, and ready to cry. His face still feels gross since he neglected to wash it last night, and his hair is knotted, tossed up into a bun that lolls sadly to the left.

Why, why, why did he—

Suguru groans, hiding his face in his hands as the coffee pot fills up and the clock on the stove passes another minute. Behind him, the windows of the living room allow warming rays of sunlight onto his back, but Suguru’s still shivering. Shaking and ready to collapse.

From the second he woke up, he’s been on the verge of overturning his already empty stomach into the toilet. And it’s not because of his hangover. It’s what he did that’s so sickening, and it’s consistently drilling anxiety into his chest. He’s just stuck, unable to go back in time and smack himself in the face until he’s sober enough to maybe—maybe—find some common sense.

This is it. He’s ruined everything. He doesn’t know if he can ever look Satoru in the eyes again after this. Perhaps he should start looking for another place to live. 

Footsteps bound down the hall, and Satoru’s popping into the kitchen before Suguru can swallow. He’s a rush of wind, already ripping open the fridge to pull out those strawberries he eats for breakfast every day.

One of the most infuriating things about Satoru is that he doesn’t get hungover. While Suguru feels like a truck of pain and emotion has hit him square in the chest, Satoru’s floating around like it’s the best day of his life.

“Good morning.” Satoru hums, setting the glass bowl of strawberries onto the counter as he nudges the fridge closed with his hip. “Want one?”

Suguru shakes his head, rubs his eyes as his brow tenses. His head really fucking hurts now, brought on by the new stress of being this close to Satoru in their too-small kitchen. He can feel the heat of his body, instantly reminding him of the warmth of last night. The stranger's bedroom, their discarded clothes, the way Satoru blushed, how his tongue felt on his—

“Everything okay?”

Satoru drapes himself across Suguru’s back, so suddenly and softly. His chin rests on his shoulder, nose brushing the back of his ear. This closeness is normal, especially in the morning, with how clingy Satoru gets when he’s sleepy. It’s fine and the same as it always is, and maybe that’s what sets Suguru off.

He jerks, twisting around as Satoru recoils, his face pinched in confusion. “No,” he snaps, squeezing past him and out of the kitchen. 

Satoru must spin around to watch him go, uttering, “What?” as Suguru storms away, but neglecting to chase after him. Suguru doesn’t know where he’s going once he’s out of the kitchen, but the adrenaline takes him to his room where he shuts the door. 

Somehow, for some reason, he’s dressed and out of the house in the next ten minutes, hair brushed and shoes pulled on in the entry as the rest of the common space appears empty. Satoru must’ve gone back to his room too, clearly understanding now just how awful Suguru really is. 

Good. It’s easier this way, Suguru thinks. He’ll go out and start looking for another apartment, make a dating app profile, and delete the numbers of all his friends all his phone. He can be done with all of it in two seconds, and he won’t have to worry about this stupid love he has for Satoru. 

Suguru sits numbly in the library, taking up a table meant for a study group and clicking around blindly in his email, deleting all of the unimportant ones. He’s pressing unsubscribe to another club he’s never attended when a magazine smacks him hard in the back of the head.

“Ah!” he jolts, whipping around to look up at who just hit him. “Shoko—”

“You’re so fucking stupid,” she hisses, trying to keep her voice down despite the few people around already looking up from their work. She shoves the side of Suguru’s chair for good measure, then pulls out the one beside him to sit close and continue, “I’m going to wring your neck if you don’t say something to stop me in the next ten seconds.”

Suguru has reached the pearly gates, and here is God to send him to hell. She knows. Of course she does. Satoru probably spent the past four hours that Suguru’s used to hide, telling Shoko all the ways Suguru’s a creep. He’s awful and selfish and maybe looking for ways to make it up to Satoru because, since more of the day has passed, his idea of disappearing has become less and less ideal. 

“Please,” he sighs, rubbing his face in his hands. “Just do it.”

“Geto,” she grits through her teeth. He grabs him by the sleeve, shaking him until he lowers his hands and looks her in the eyes. “I don’t know what planet you are from, but why the hell did you do that to him?”

“I—”

She won’t let him finish. “He comes to me in tears this morning because you brushed him off after last night and, shit, I know you’re an asshole, but—what the fuck?”

Something crumbles inside Suguru, and he pauses, the world seeming tilted. “He…” He blinks. “He did what?”

She’s moving too fast—talking about this subject on a level that Suguru’s not quite reaching yet. And she’s fuming, but not saying what Suguru’s prepared himself for. 

“Why are you so confused? What is the problem here?”

She’s not backtracking. Not clarifying. Suguru stares at her, trying to piece together a reality where Satoru was crying and doing it all in front of Shoko because Suguru was short with him this morning. What about last night? Shouldn’t Satoru be upset about everything that Suguru did?

Suguru gets out one question, plucked out of thousands he has. “He was crying?”

She huffs, reeling to hit him again. “How much of an idiot are you?” She demands. “Didn’t I just say that?”

“Why was he crying?”

Her face contorts, and she shakes her head. The conversation’s getting away from both of them, clearly, and neither was expecting this. Suguru’s about to snap back at her for dancing around the elephant in the room instead of just saying it. If she just says what he thinks she’s implying, Suguru might stop planning on running away. 

“Do I have to spell everything out for you?”

“Yes,” he pleads, “Please do.”

She obviously said it rhetorically, but Suguru is waiting patiently. So, she sighs, sitting back in her seat, and begins to count on her fingers. “You spend every living moment with this man. You have been best friends—but too close—for years. He asks you out to a party and you agree. You go, get drunk, and fool around.”

Okay, Suguru is following.

“Then,” she continues, pointing a more accusatory finger into his shoulder, “The next morning, the devil decides to possess you, and you shut him down like you fucking hate his guts. And now you’ve run away, and I had to come find you after listening to Gojo cry and wallow because he thinks he’s an idiot for ever thinking you liked him.”

Suguru feels like he’s going to pass out. This can’t be real. 

“He didn’t ask me out; we were faking for that girl.”

Shoko wrinkles her nose and scoffs. “What girl?”

Suguru opens his mouth, the name on his tongue. He stares at Shoko, mouth dry as the gears turn in his head. The weight of her words hits him like a truck. This can't be real, and there's no way he's this stupid. Because...yeah. What girl? Not once that entire night had Satoru taken his eyes off him, had even seemed to think about anything beyond Suguru. She was never there, and Suguru had been led upstairs before he could even connect the dots.

Suguru closes his mouth. 

“Hello?” Shoko demands, making way too much noise for a university library. “Earth to Geto. What the hell are you talking about?”

It feels like she’s tapping on glass, separated from him while he’s lost inside his head. There’s no way. There’s no fucking way. Suguru can feel the immature flutter in his chest, the nausea that comes with it, and, as well, an overwhelming sense of excitement. Shoko’s talking to him, but he can’t hear her. The entirety of his college life is replaying in his head, and, in every second of it, Satoru is there.

Twelve hours ago, Suguru realized how truly fucked his feelings for Satoru were. It’s been half a day of agony, believing that it was all for nothing. 

“I have to go.”

Shoko grumbles, “Yeah, get the hell out of here before I kill you.”

Suguru takes the entire walk back to their apartment to think. 

It’s what he’s good at, and the thing that screws him every time. As he passes by academic buildings, across streets, and by old dorm buildings, he can’t help but get lost in his head, puzzling through everything he should say to Satoru when he gets home.

There is so much he wants to say. The little voice in the back of his head sickens him to think that, maybe, he’s misinterpreted what Shoko was saying and, when he gets there, he’ll just make things worse. But the more confident—more hopeful part of him is already picking which things he should say to Satoru now to convey how he really feels.

He walks past their old dorm building from sophomore year and remembers how excited they were to get a room in one of the nicer buildings on campus. After meeting as freshmen, by the end of that year, they had already resigned to living together until they graduated. Suguru was already dazed by the way Satoru looked at him and laughed with him. He can still place the heated feeling he got when they moved in together, after spending a summer apart, and Satoru was just as attached to his hip as he wanted him to be. 

Then, he ends up walking by the science building where they met. He can see the window of the classroom as he goes by, looking at the reflection of the clouds shining off the glass. He doesn’t need to see it to know the desks are absolutely the same, and that one in the middle on the right will always have Satoru and Suguru embedded in its history. A semester of tolerating each other to never wanting to leave that class. Suguru’s sure that, even though they both passed with a hundred percent, the professor loathed them for how obnoxious they were together.

He goes by the dining hall too, knowing that, while they hardly ever eat there anymore since getting an apartment with its own kitchen, every now and then, Satoru will drag him there when the one good dessert is on the menu at dinner. It’s a cheesecake with a sweet, crumbly crust that Satoru always gets stuck to the sides of his mouth. He whines for Suguru to get him a napkin every time and when he does, he’s jealous of what that shitty paper gets to touch that he can’t.

There is nowhere on this campus that Suguru goes that Satoru is not attached to in some way. Even in the classroom where Satoru isn’t with him, he can remember when they walked around campus at the beginning of each semester to make sure they could find their rooms. Satoru has poked his head in each place that Suguru goes, and he’ll never leave.

There has never been a single day of college that Suguru has not known Satoru. It feels wrong to think of his life beforehand, when he had no idea he existed. Suguru knows that he takes Satoru with him wherever he goes. They have grown together since they were eighteen, and Suguru has no idea where he ends and Satoru begins. Every stranger who meets Suguru, and who does not know Satoru, then meets Satoru through him, as Suguru has taken every piece of Satoru with him. He doesn’t remember who he was before they met, and he doesn’t want to. 

How he treated Satoru earlier bores through him, and he can’t even begin to imagine how heartbroken he would be if the roles were reversed. Suguru can not think about Satoru crying over him or else his walk will turn into him standing in the middle of the road. He should’ve realized things sooner this morning rather than imploding and running away. 

He has to convince himself that it’s going to be okay. As he crosses through the final intersection and sees their apartment building come into view, Suguru assures himself that, even if he was rude earlier, their friendship can withstand that. He knows Satoru will see he’s truly sorry, truly just so stupid, and they will end the night happy. 

He wants to learn how Satoru kisses when sober. He wants to spend the rest of the night with him, preferably going out somewhere to dinner and then spending the evening on the couch like they always do. Today can be like any other day, just slightly deeper, and Suguru will make sure of it.

What he’s planned on saying is repeating over and over again in his head as he walks up the stairwell of their building. He opted out of the elevator, deciding to punish himself a bit. He’s going to apologize. He’s going to tell Satoru how much he enjoyed last night. He’s going to tell him that he loves him. 

It’s fine. Everything will be fine. 

Their apartment door sits down the hall like it’s a courtroom, and he’s awaiting his trial. Suguru fumbles with his keys and feels the sweat start to prickle at the back of his neck. He can hardly remember correctly what Shoko said in the library. Did he even hear her correctly? What if he’s about to break his own heart? Maybe… maybe Satoru hooked up with some other guy last night when Suguru wasn’t looking, and that’s who he was crying over. What if he’s in there with him right now because that guy was faster to get home?

The apartment is empty when Suguru steps inside. The kitchen and living room lights are shut off, the afternoon sun trickling in through the curtains. Suguru thinks he’s alone at first, and his plans start to fall through the floor until he hears the faint sound of videos playing coming from Satoru’s bedroom down the hall. 

He pulls his shoes off, leaving his bag and jacket on the hooks before heading right for the sound. Satoru’s door is shut at the end of the hall, and on a normal day, Suguru would go in without announcement.

But he stops at the closed door. He can hear Satoru pause whatever he’s watching on his phone for a brief moment, the muffled noise going silent. He waits to hear the sound of footsteps, already stepping back from the door so as not to seem too close when Satoru opens it.

Satoru unpauses his video, and that is it. Suguru stares at the wood grain of his door in shock for only a moment before he remembers how used to this he is. Satoru’s pettiness, when provoked, can be more lethal than a gun. 

He knocks again. The sound doesn’t even stop. There are no footsteps, either. Suguru waits another ten seconds before grabbing the handle and opening the door for himself. Satoru knows he’s out here. He just wants to act like an ass.

He’s lying on his side, lounging atop his covers in a thin white shirt that has a collar so stretched out that one shoulder is peeking out. His phone covers most of his face, but Suguru can tell he’s making a point as to not look at him, opting to keep scrolling through his TikToks instead. And he’s wearing a pair of soft, blue shorts that Suguru has never seen before, if he could even consider them shorts. With one leg hiked up, Suguru struggles not to look at his ass peeking out from under the fabric. It joins to his strong thigh, the line of muscle defined through it and revealing his pale, long legs that, while Suguru has seen a million times, are much too distracting.

Satoru keeps his attention on everything but Suguru, pretending as if he isn’t even there as Suguru walks over. There is a small space at the corner of the bed where Suguru sits. The action makes Satoru curl up the leg that’s closest to him. Suguru tries to ignore how much skin he can see once both of his legs are bent, ankles hooked together, and feet rubbing against the top of his expensive comforter.

He’s pouting slightly. Suguru can see it in his face, recognizing some of it from last night when he was kneeling on the floor. His brow is furrowed and focused on what he’s watching, crystal eyes sparkling from the shine of his screen. He’s ethereal like this, all casual and smooth in his comfortable clothes and lying in his bed. Suguru’s seen this scene over and over again, having lived with him for years. He loves it every time.

Suguru purses his lips, running his hand through his hairline to brush his bangs out of his way as he brings up the courage to start speaking.

“I shouldn’t have acted that way this morning,” he begins. “I’m sorry, Satoru.”

He swallows, just not noticing that Satoru’s shirt, despite how large it is, has ridden up over his stomach just where the shorts end. His lower stomach peeks out, the lines of his abs and slight pale hairs visible. Suguru knows what those shorts are covering, and there's only about a foot of space keeping him from it.

Suguru feels his face burn. He continues, forcing himself to look at the lamp on Satoru’s nightstand. “Nothing that we did yesterday was something I regret. I really like you, Satoru, and you’re my best friend. I would’ve never done anything with you if I really didn’t mean it.”

He watches Satoru’s face, awaiting his response. He has more to say, of course, but it really relies on them having a conversation. It’s as if Suguru’s just talking to a really handsome brick wall right now. He’d really like it if Satoru dropped the attitude and acted like an adult. Suguru’s been planning to have a mature, reciprocal conversation since he left the library, wanting to apologise and end on good terms. Whatever this is, it doesn’t help at all.

“Satoru?”

Is he fucking kidding?

“Satoru,” he says more firmly, putting his hand on Satoru’s ankle.

Satoru jerks his leg away, shaking Suguru off faster than any verbal response. Suguru withdraws, not trying to anger him further, but not even knowing what to do. 

“Satoru,” he says for the third time. “Baby, come on.”

His eyes finally break away from the screen for a moment, glancing down at Suguru. Suguru sees the slightest twitch in his blank expression—nothing kind—before Satoru just looks back at his phone and scrolls to another video.

Suguru scoffs, shifting to sit more on the bed. “I didn’t mean to snap at you this morning, really. I had a headache, my stomach hurt, and it was early.”

He moves, finally, setting his phone down by his pillows and sitting up. He’s leaned back, propping himself up with his hands as he turns to face Suguru. He stares him directly in the eyes, whole body facing him. Suguru can’t help but glance down to between his thighs for a second, only to be met with just how tight the shorts really are, and then tries to play it off. If Satoru picks up on it, he doesn't show it. He’s silent. Fucking silent, and staring at Suguru like he’s bored. Hair all tousled from lying in bed, face smooth and unresponsive. Those eyes that looked up at him last night with near tears are now so unflinching that Suguru feels like he’s going insane.

“I’ve been very stupid,” Suguru says, voice rising a bit as Satoru’s treatment gets more and more rude. “And I realize that. Everything we did last night meant something to me, Satoru, and I was just scared you didn’t feel the same.”

He doesn’t move. Only blinks once. Suguru can’t stand the juxtaposition of his body displayed for him—clearly trying to distract him, and his deliberate silence.

“Satoru, I need you to say something.”

Instead, he sighs, rolling his eyes and lying back down on his other side. His back to Suguru now, and his body is arched. Suguru feels the heat of his face turn more into a simmer of anger. 

“Hey,” he demands, crawling up the bed and grabbing Satoru’s shoulder to make him look up at him. Satoru rolls over far enough to shove at Suguru, smacking away his arms. Suguru pushes back, trying to fight his rough knuckles. “Satoru, what the hell—”

“Kiss me, you fuck,” Satoru snaps, both his wrists in Suguru’s grasp. “I don’t want to talk.”

Suguru stares down at him, mouth caught still open as he was about to say something else—maybe another apology. Satoru stares up at him with fire in those blue eyes, more irritated than Suguru typically sees him. His wrists are caught in just one of Suguru’s hands, and Suguru realizes, all at once, how mad at Satoru he really is and how much he loves him.

He grabs Satoru by the jaw, leaning down to kiss him. Satoru moans against his lips the second Suguru licks behind his teeth. His body relaxes against the mattress, arms not even caring to fight as Suguru holds them still. His tongue against Suguru’s is smooth, reminiscent of last night when he dragged it up Suguru’s cock and then put him in his mouth.

The memory makes Suguru’s dick twitch and, as the feeling only grows the deeper they kiss, Suguru realises just how he’s going to have Satoru repay him for this behavior.

They settle against each other, Suguru letting go of Satoru’s wrists and grabbing him by the hips to pull him further underneath him. He keeps kissing Satoru as if he’s going to eat him, and the darker parts of his desire say he should, enjoying the way Satoru’s nails scrape against his scalp when he bites a bit too hard on his bottom lip. 

Just like Suguru thought, he tastes even better sober. Because this is genuine. It’s real and unmuddled by anxiety. And Suguru knows Satoru isn’t mad because Suguru snapped at him. He’s mad because he’s just not getting what he wants. Just like Suguru thought when he knocked on the door, Satoru is just being petty.

Because Suguru’s cracked the code. Satoru just acts. And then, he expects everyone else to bend to his will of what he wants without needing to ask. He took Suguru to the party to act like they were together instead of having to actually risk rejection. He planned the whole thing, dragging him to dance, taking that trip to the bathroom to pretty himself, and lying about needing air just to go upstairs. After that, he strutted into the kitchen this morning, expecting Suguru to fully understand him and enjoy a seamless transition from friends to whatever the hell this is. And, when Suguru misunderstood, he turned into a brat. 

Suguru knows Satoru like the back of his hand. He’s dealt with this pattern since they were eighteen, and he’s starting to get a little sick of it. While it’s exactly how Satoru is, he could do with a little less of it when he asks. 

He keeps kissing him as he grinds his hips down into Satoru’s, his hard cock brushing his own. Satoru moans into his mouth, the sound mixing with the huff Suguru lets out at the sensation. Desire and heat have filled the air, and he’s inhaling it like a drug, mind shut off from anything serious and well thought out. To hell with the conversation he planned on the way here. 

Suguru doesn’t know who starts it, but they’re soon both pulling off their shirts. When Satoru is gone, Suguru’s mouth goes dry at the sight of all the marks he left last night still lingering. While he tried to be gentle in his drunken state, clearly, he didn’t do too well.

He finds none of that caution strong enough to listen to now, though, leaning down to bite hard at Satoru’s chest. The muscle fights against his jaw, tasting like sweat and bodywash, while Satoru drags his hands over Suguru’s now bare shoulders. Suguru pulls back enough to revel in the sight of his teeth indented in his skin. Pale ivory disrupted by harsh red, irritated skin that Suguru knows must sting. 

Satoru sighs, trying to hide another moan as Suguru then moves to his nipple. He nips at it, letting his teeth catch right at the ridge of bud, so Satoru jolts and groans, legs twitching where they lie on either side of Suguru and nails digging into his shoulder blades. 

He sucks on it one last time before moving to the other side of his chest and doing the same thing. His eyes flick up to see the flutter of Satoru’s eyelashes and the raw skin he’s bitten into on his lips. So worked up just from this. Suguru should’ve known the girl was made up just based on how flustered Satoru gets from a little bit of teeth. 

He pulls back up to kiss Satoru again, directing his hands to help keep his hair from falling over their faces, whispering, good, Satoru as he does so. Satoru bucks his hips up into Suguru’s again, rubbing their bulges together again, and oh, Suguru’s just remembered those fucking shorts Satoru’s wearing.

He can’t ruin them, no matter how desperate he is to just rip them off, he wants to see Satoru in them again. So, instead, he tries to work Satoru up by deliberately not taking them off. He teases his fingers around the waistband while they kiss, creeps his fingers underneath the loose fabric on the inside of his thigh, and then withdraws each time Satoru’s pushing back against his hand for more.

Seeing Satoru frustrated is almost better than seeing him beg. It’s an exchange. Suguru’s got to push him to the edge of desperation in order to get a please. This is just the start of how mean he can get. Suguru’s been wanting to make him pay for his attitude since they met. Satoru has a lot to make up for. 

He gives up on urging on Suguru’s testy hands, pushing at his shoulders with one hand as the other reaches down to try and tug off Suguru’s sweatpants. “Yours, Suguru,” he says, “Come on. I don’t want to wait any more.”

Suguru holds back a laugh, giving Satoru a false sense of control as he shifts back to pull his pants off but keep his boxers on. Satoru, even though a little displeased, doesn’t push his luck and welcomes Suguru back on top of him with eager arms. He pulls Suguru down for another deep, biting kiss that has more dominance than Suguru should allow.

It only lasts a moment before Satoru lets go of Suguru to pull at his own shorts. He leaves no room for decency, pulling both the shorts and the tiny pair of underwear he had on underneath. His long legs bend and twist to pull them off without having to move from under Suguru, and, to be just a little nice, Suguru helps him pull them off his ankles and tosses them somewhere onto the floor.

Suguru takes in the sight of his hard, wanting cock, already thinking of all the things he could do to him right now before Satoru’s crawling away. Suguru watches him twist over the edge of his bed and rip open the first drawer of his bedside table.

His back muscles shift and dip in the low lighting, broad shoulders twisting as he fumbles through the drawer. Suguru rubs his hand over his thigh, reaching up to his ass to squeeze it hard. His nails dig into Satoru’s skin enough to leave divots, and Satoru drops whatever he’s grabbed back in the drawer, groaning as he picks it back up and turns back over.

The bottle of lube hits Suguru square in the chest. He doesn’t have time to tease Satoru about how it’s half empty before Satoru’s trying to get him to open it.

Suguru pushes away his eager hands, ignoring his impatient huffs as he placates Satoru enough to get him to sit back. “Flip over.”

His mouth drops open. “But—”

“Now, Satoru,” He orders, uncapping the bottle with his thumb as his other hand pats Satoru’s thigh encouragingly. He hums in approval, and Satoru listens. 

Suguru guides him to lie with his face in the pillow and moves on the bed to have his hips across his lap. Satoru’s cock rubs against Suguru’s thigh,s and Suguru has to hold him down steady by the small of his back to keep him from moaning. The pressure makes Satoru arch more, legs spread enough that Suguru can see his hole.

“Was that so hard?” Suguru taunts, a smile pinching the corners of his mouth as he squeezes Satoru’s ass again, letting go just to watch the fat and muscle bounce back from the push of his fingers. 

Satoru sighs, shaking his head against his pillow and trying to sneakily grind his hips again. Suguru holds him down harder, pulling apart his cheeks to dribble lube over his hole.

That makes Satoru jump, muttering, “It’s cold,” into the pillow in a tone that makes Suguru think, maybe, he’s supposed to feel bad for him.

“You’re fine,” Suguru assures him, capping the bottle and placing it somewhere close by. He runs his finger through the lube and then rubs his finger around Satoru’s hole gently. He feels Satoru relax against him, only trying to push back against his finger subtly and have Suguru put it in. 

Suguru clenches his jaw, pushing at Satoru’s rim just light enough not to breach it. Satoru whines under him, hands clenched into the pillow his head lies on. Suguru loves this whole sight of him, from the flushed face he’s hiding, to his back all tense, and down to his ass that’s already reddened from Suguru’s teasing. 

“You just want to lie here like a princess, as if you didn’t do anything wrong, and have me take care of you, huh, Satoru?” He asks, the amusement failing to be hidden in his tone. He can see how Satoru tightened at his words, the blush reaching his ears and juxtaposing his white, messy hair. 

“Suguru—” Satoru chokes, cut off as Suguru pushes his finger inside. 

“I’m sorry, Satoru, I’m a little confused.” Suguru can’t begin to describe how hot, how tight, Satoru feels around just one of his fingers. He pushes all the way down to his knuckle, not caring if it burns Satoru to stretch this much this fast. “You lie to me, make up a fake girl—”

He crooks his finger, rubbing it against his walls as testing every inch of him. “Suguru, ah,” Satoru gasps.

“And act like I’m your boyfriend the whole night. Then, when I’m confused—because how am I supposed to know what you want if you don’t tell me—you go silent and start rolling around like a whore to get me to kiss you?”

His whines are muffled into the pillow, forehead pressed down hard into it as he takes Suguru’s finger. His mouth parts in a nearly silent gasp as Suguru teases another around his entrance, whispering, “Yes, yes, yes, Suguru.” 

If it’s what he wants, Suguru will give it to him. He takes his one finger out, ignoring the complaining noise Satoru makes at the loss, before pushing back in with two. Satoru writhes, hands grasping at nothing worth the purchase as Suguru forces him to stretch. 

“And then, you tried to push me away. Like you could ever get me off of you.” Suguru jests, scissoring and crooking his fingers inside of him. The inside of him is just as soft and perfect as the outside, hot and wrapped tight around Suguru’s fingers in a way that he thinks will drive him insane when he finally fucks Satoru. “You don’t want me anywhere else, do you, Satoru?”

Satoru lets out a garbled sound that, maybe, is a response, but Suguru doesn’t accept it. Just to be mean, he adds a third finger, his other hand still firm on Satoru’s back to keep him from moving as much as he can.

“Answer me, sweetheart,” Suguru says, slowing his fingers. “Tell me.”

His whole upper body shivers. “No, don’t go.” He pushes himself up enough to be heard clearly. Suguru rewards him with speeding up his fingers, reaching deeper. “I’ve been waiting for you to fucking—fuck, Suguru—”

“Been waiting for what, Satoru?” Suguru moves, letting Satoru prop his own hips up with his knees as he drapes himself over Satoru’s back to whisper right in his ear. He abuses the spot he’s found inside of him, listening to every pathetic, desperate cry that falls from Satoru’s lips. “Use your words,” he whispers, his lips just brushing Satoru’s ear. “Tell me.”

“Suguru,” he wails. “I’m gonna cum, Suguru.” He’s thrashing now, fighting against Suguru’s who’s pinned him down. 

Suguru halts everything, keeping his fingers in but shifting them away from his prostate. Satoru’s hole clenches around him, and it makes Suguru’s dick pulse in his boxers. He knows Satoru can feel him hard against his back, but it should only be a warning of how big Suguru is, and how mean he can be with it.

Satoru nearly screams. “No, no, you—” He’s pushing himself up onto his elbows, turning his head back. “Don’t stop.”

Suguru smiles back at him. His free hand comes up to wrap around his neck, smoothing over the skin he stained last night. “You were so good at begging yesterday. What happened?” He makes sure to hold Satoru by the jaw so he has to twist his head to look up at him. “Don’t you want to be good, Satoru, baby?”

His eyes are shattered already, and Suguru hasn’t even made him cry yet. His bottom lip quivers, though, and he gasps, “Yes. Yes, I want it.”

“You want to be good,” Suguru corrects.

“I want to be good.” He says, eyes fluttering shut and face wincing as Suguru starts to move his fingers again. “Please.”

“Good boy,” Suguru hums in approval and speeds up his fingers. He’s bathed in the sounds of Satoru’s moans as he tilts his head to the other side and starts to nip and kiss at his neck. He works his three fingers deep, curling them to rub at Satoru’s nerves and have him crying out, just to pull them out a bit and push them back in again. 

Now that Suguru’s given him the key to getting what he wants, all of Satoru’s self-respect has been forgotten and replaced by his begging. He’s groaning and pleading, a chorus of please, please, Suguru, shit, ah—Suguru in a cadence that Suguru couldn’t come up with in his wildest dreams. When drunk, Satoru’s moans were slurred and unserious. These pleas he musters up are raw and real. Suguru feels intoxicated by them alone.

Satoru gets more and more incoherent as he gets closer to his orgasm. Suguru keeps a hard, steady pace, whispering to Satoru about how nice he’s being, that he’s so good for Suguru, so pretty and pliant, and Suguru just loves him.

He cums with a heavy groan into Suguru’s ear, head keened back in Suguru’s grasp while Suguru’s still holding him up. His eyes roll back, lashes fluttering, breath against Suguru’s cheek as he curses and thanks Suguru. He leaks onto the blankets below him and whines as Suguru fingers him through it, twisting at the pinch of overstimulation. 

“You’re so perfect, Satoru,” Suguru breathes, because it’s the only thing he can say that somehow comes close to how he feels inside. Having Satoru fall apart in his arms, all snowy white and flushed rose, is ecstasy. He kisses up and down Satoru’s neck, licking over the bite mark he’d just made as he slowly pulls his fingers out. 

Satoru makes a sound at the loss, but Suguru’s already sitting back to pull off his boxers and find the bottle of lube in the sheets. Satoru’s eyes snap open at the click of the bottle opening again, pupils dilating as they look back and focus on Suguru’s cock, hard and already dripping. 

“Gonna fuck you now, okay, baby?” Suguru hushes, squeezing lube into his hand to coat his dick. The contact is nice, finally some stimulation after watching Satoru look perfect and ruined, but he won’t stroke himself for long.

Satoru moves. “Yeah, yes, okay,” he rushes, pushing his knees up further and pushing up to his elbows. And Suguru will never forget how he looks right now, still glowing from his orgasm, flushed and desperate for Suguru’s cock as he digs his knees into the mattress and arches. 

Suguru gets behind him, grabbing him by the hips to put him how he wants him and running his hands over his skin. He really is so soft here, and the perfect mix of fat and muscle that Suguru can really grab between his hands. “You’re so good when you want to be, Satoru,” he sighs, grabbing his dick to line his tip up with Satoru’s entrance. He can see Satoru grip the sheets beside him in anticipation as he presses his tip against his hole. “Why can’t you be like this all the time?”

He doesn’t let Satoru respond, pushing in so his mouth moans rather than comes up with some shitty excuse. The immediate feeling of his hot, slick hole sucking him in is enough to have him forgetting about going slow. He remembers how rude Satoru was when he came in, and suddenly, he doesn’t care that he’s snapping his hips forward, forcing his dick in as much as it can go on the first try.

It makes Satoru scream, his hands grabbing and slipping as he tries to brace himself. “Hurts, Suguru. It—oh!” He’s cursing at Suguru under his breath, in pain, but so overwhelmed that Suguru couldn’t get a coherent sentence out of him if he tried.

He pulls out a bit before fucking back into him. Slower this time to stretch him out. “I tried to be a gentleman, baby, really. But with you acting like such a brat—”  Satoru squeezes around him. “God, fuck, you are such a piece of shit.”

He whimpers, sniffling and crying, “Suguru.” Because it seems like his name is all that Satoru can remember. 

He starts to find a pace, hands grabbing Satoru’s hips to pull on them and push into him, slowly but firmly. He doesn’t want to really hurt him, only break him enough that he can be the only one to piece him back together. Satoru’s already losing the strength in his arms to hold himself up, face pressed back into the pillow to hide his screams from their neighbors. 

Suguru can’t get enough, stealing the mile when he knows he’s allowed the inch. Satoru trusts him more than anyone, crumpling beneath him with quivering thighs and begging, “Don’t stop, please, please—yes, god, Suguru.”

There is no common sense to it. Suguru’s focused on wrecking him, fucking him so hard and faster now, working up his pace so that Satoru hardly has time to breathe. The feeling of him wrapped around Suguru, clenching, slick, and constantly twitching as Suguru finds his prostate again. 

Suguru needs more control, reaching down to Satoru’s head and wrapping his fingers through his hair. He wants to hear him, tell him to be loud, and ask him who he belongs to. 

“Ah, oh, shit, I’m yours—your’s, I swear,” he cries, choking on his moans and weeping as Suguru pulls hard at the roots of his hair.

Because it has to be him. Suguru wouldn’t be able to live if anyone other than him got to do this to Satoru. The idea alone makes him jealous, and he can’t help but take it out on Satoru.

Satoru’s sniffling. He’s crying, failing to wipe the tears off his cheeks so they fall onto the pillow. His arms are useless, thrown up by his head and grabbing at the edge of his pillow, scratching at the headboard. He’s not even saying things anymore, reduced to whimpering and moaning with each thrust of Suguru’s cock. The bed cries with Satoru like it’s going to break, and Suguru, in a moment of clarity, thinks that they should probably sleep together in Suguru’s bed after they break this one. 

By chance, Suguru looks up from Satoru’s body and finds the mirror across the room by Satoru’s closet. He sees, all at once, Satoru arched and sobbing, and himself, slick with sweat and towering over him. He pulls out, watching from a distance how Satoru’s whole body keens and shivers as he pushes back in. 

Suguru’s going to cum soon if he doesn’t hold it off. He wants to work one more out of Satoru before he does, needing to feel how he squeezes his cock when he cums on it. He goes back to his previous pace, fucking Satoru like this is the only time he’ll ever be able to. His hand grabs and moves Satoru’s hips so he’ll bruise him, the hard smacks of his hips against his ass stinging and leaving Satoru’s cheeks reddened like they’re raw.

“You’re the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen, Satoru,” he groans, leaning over him to help wipe the tears off his face. “I can’t—fucking get enough of you. Ever.”

That draws another choked cry out of Satoru, his face fully flushed now. Suguru won’t stop. He can’t stop until Satoru’s cumming again.

Satoru breathes out words too weak for Suguru to understand, heaving in an uneasy breath and hiccuping. His lips are red and bleeding from how hard he's bitten them. Suguru has to stop himself from finishing just at the sight of him. He’s the prettiest thing Suguru’s ever seen and ever will see, there’s no doubt about that now.

“What, baby?” He softens, loosening his grip on his hair to pet the side of his face. “What do you need, Satoru?”

Satoru gasps as Suguru thrusts again, but slower, to allow him grace to speak. He’s too ruined to really enunciate it through, somewhere further in his mind than Suguru’s ever seen before. He whispers something about wanting, trying to push himself up on his hands, and twisting himself to face Suguru more.

“You want me to flip you over?” Suguru guesses, helping him with his weak arms.

He nods fast, movements more desperate to get what he wants. Suguru guides him, heart heavy with the love and care he takes to gently lie Satoru on his back. He’s done being mean now, already satisfied with the tears staining his eyes and the broken way he moans. Suguru makes sure he’s comfortable against the pillows, grabbing another to put under his hips before he’s pushing back in.

Satoru moans deep, head pressing back into his pillow as he wraps his arms around Suguru’s neck, pushing his hair out of the way so Suguru can lean down and kiss him. It doesn’t take Suguru long to find his prostate again, noticing how Satoru fails to kiss him back and whines into his mouth. 

He helps Satoru wrap his legs around his waist, pushing his thigh down further to open him up and fuck him deep. He tries his best to keep kissing him, but both of them are too lost in their pleasure to make a real effort. Mouths open and exhaling against each other, Suguru’s hungry lips looking for more of Satoru to consume as he fucks the focus from his eyes. 

He reaches between them, finding Satoru’s cock that’s still hard—been hard, and starts to stroke him. It hardly takes more than a few seconds of rubbing at his tip, thumbing the slit, before Satoru’s cumming around his cock. It spills all over his chest and Suguru’s hand, warm and pale just like Satoru, as if it’s meant to stain him forever. Suguru sees the whites of his eyes as he cums, his own pace stuttering as Satoru squeezes him so hard he doesn’t know if he can move.

Fresh tears break from Satoru’s eyes. He gasps and sobs, nails digging into Suguru’s back as he continues to fuck him through the overstimulation. “Suguru, I—” He chokes. “Fuck, I can’t.”

Suguru kisses his cheek, fucking him faster as he finds his peak. “Shh, baby,” he noses at his hairline, shushing him, “I know, I know. I’ve got you.”

Satoru cries and goes limp, letting Suguru take what’s left of him to finish. Any semblance of rhythm disappears from his thrusts as he bucks into Satoru wildly, chasing whatever stimulation he can get as he cums inside of him, dick pulsing as hot liquid fills up Satoru’s hole. Satoru’s hands grab wildly at his back, his shoulders, his neck, legs squirming at the sensation as he shivers and tells Suguru that he loves him. All broken and fucked out, through a voice raw from screaming, Suguru hears the three words that break him.

He collapses onto Satoru, his chest sticking to Suguru’s as sweat and cum smear along their stomachs. He exhales against Satoru’s neck, feeling hands run through and comb near the roots of his hair as he comes down from his high.

“Suguru,” Satoru says again. “I love you.”

Suguru finds the strength to push himself up. He stares down at Satoru, their eyes meeting and faces barely an inch apart. Out of all the things they just did, this feels more intimate than all of them. He breathes in the air that smells like them, like Satoru, like their home.

“I love you, too, Satoru,” he promises, bringing his hand up to brush away the messy hair along Satoru’s forehead. His eyes flicker down to Satoru’s mouth again and his hand moves to cup his cheek. He kisses him once, gently, letting Satoru relax into it and know it’s not out of desire, but affection.

Satoru’s eyelids flutter, and Suguru feels as the muscles in his arms relax. He kisses him softly on the forehead, then the cheek, whispering in his ear that it’s okay if he’s tired. Within a few moments, he’s lightly sleeping, still coherent enough to hum when Suguru tells him he’s cute but not alive enough to move. 

Suguru then takes his time to treat Satoru well. He gets up slowly, careful not to startle him with the sudden lack of body heat. Then he heads to the bathroom, fixing himself before finding a hand towel to wet and bringing it back to wipe Satoru down. He’s gentle, smoothing the old towel (they’ve had it since sophomore year) as best he can across Satoru’s chest. He cleans his thighs, lifting his legs to wipe between them. 

The whole time, Satoru’s mumbling things. His nose scrunches when Suguru wipes his waist, breathing out something about how it tickles. He moves when Suguru coaxes him to, with his eyes still shut and body fully given to Suguru.

When he’s done, Suguru knows Satoru’s sheets and blankets will need their own thorough cleaning. It’s no place to let Satoru stay and lie in the tacky texture of cum and eight-hundred-thread-count covers. 

It’s surprisingly easy to pick him up. He’s done it before, but that was when Satoru was awake and lifting off some of his weight. Now he’s limp, head pulled into Suguru’s collar as his arms curl into his chest. He’s probably cold, Suguru thinks, knowing how his feet always freeze quickly in the winter, even with socks on. When they reach Suguru’s bedroom, he lies him down gently and helps his sluggish limbs tuck themselves under the covers.

Suguru straightens and moves to walk again when a hand shoots out from the comforter, grabbing his own. “Where’re you going?” Satoru asks, eyes cracking open to peek up at him.

He moves his hand in Satoru’s, squeezing it once. “I need to put your sheets in the wash, angel.”

“Mm, no, just do it later.” He tugs at Suguru until one of his knees is pressed into the edge of the bed. “Come here.”

Suguru crumbles, humming in agreement as he crawls into bed with him. Though they’ve been naked for a while, there’s something about just lying here, holding Satoru, that feels like another level of intimacy. Suguru savors the way the heat of the back of Satoru’s neck warms his cheek as he presses against it, the edge of his undercut scratching his temple.

They lie still and half asleep for as long as Satoru wants. Suguru feels his breathing go in and out of a deeper state to awake and thoughtful. He enjoys the silence, the memories, and the excitement when he thinks of the future. He’d spend all night like this if it’s what Satoru wants.

After an indescribable amount of time, Satoru seems to have woken more. He rolls over, nose pushing against Suguru's collarbone, and jests, “You’re even meaner than I thought.”

Suguru chuckles, smoothing his lips over his forehead. “Too much for you, baby?”

“Hmm,” he sighs, leaning into Suguru’s neck. “Not at all.”

He reached up to stroke Satoru’s hair, scratching at his scalp. And, because he wants to make fun of Satoru a little—no matter how in love they are, Suguru will still make fun of him when he deems fit—he teases, “Worth lying and making up some fake girl?”

“Ugh,” Satoru whines, hands coming up to hide his face. “Shut up,” he defends, the words muffled behind his palms. “How else was I supposed to get you to push some boundaries? We’ve known each other for years, Suguru, and the first time we kissed was less than twenty-four hours ago.” 

He looks up at Suguru with an expression that should be accusatory, but Suguru doesn’t feel like he’s to blame. “How was I supposed to know you liked me back?”

Satoru scoffs. “I don’t know—maybe if you paid attention to anything?”

Yeah, well. He is kind of right. Most of Suguru’s hesitation was because he was stuck in his own head. Satoru’s been throwing himself at him and on him—literally and figuratively—since the middle of their freshman year. “God, fuck. I’m mean and dumb.”

“Haha,” Satoru pokes his chest. “Yes.”

“Shut up.” Suguru groans. “You know, Shoko nearly beat me to death in public earlier. She really is sick of us. I must’ve pushed her over the edge after what I did this morning.”

He shrugs, dragging his finger up the line of muscle in Suguru’s neck. Scratches his nail on his jaw. “Yeah, but I get it,” he smiles. “Too many emotions for such a catch like me, huh? You were just too overwhelmed with how good-looking and funny and talented I am.”

Suguru snorts. “I think what I love most about you is how humble you are, Satoru.”

“Really? What I love most about you is how you just fucked like a—“

“Jesus!” Suguru jumps, reaching up to cover his mouth. “Satoru, oh my god.”

Satoru erupts into laughter, pulling Suguru’s hand away but holding it to his chest, and he falls back against his pillow and giggles. He’s such a rush of pretty and handsome all at once that Suguru’s dizzy. “You just did it, but you can’t talk about it? God, and all the shit you said, too Suguru—you’re a nasty fuck.”

He keeps howling at his own words, clearly making up some distorted, hilarious caricature of Suguru in his head to make fun of. His face is flushed again, but softer now as it’s only from laughter. Suguru can’t get over the way his nose scrunches when he smiles and the small dimple on the left side of his face. 

Suguru pulls him in for another kiss, not knowing any good verbal comeback anymore. He doesn’t care, really. If it’s kissing Satoru or talking to him, as long as he gets to stay beside him forever.