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“Satoru.”
“Mmm.”
“Satoru.”
“What? I’m listening!”
Suguru shoots him an exasperated look, grasping his chin and forcibly shoving his face up so that he’s looking into his best friend’s eyes, instead of staring at his torso.
“You are not,” Suguru gently accuses, and like -
Okay, so maybe Satoru is a little bit distracted.
Just a bit.
But how could he not be?
On any given day, how could he possibly look away from A) the tanned, plush span of Suguru’s perfect, mouthwatering tits, and B) the trail of dark hair climbing up his stomach towards his navel? Like, it’s objectively a pretty damn good view, especially when one considers that his sweats are also sitting low on his hips and exposing the softer, slightly paler skin just below his hipbones, or the fact that Suguru has never skipped a day in the gym in his life, and has Satoru mentioned that he is just a man?
A weak, weak man who is completely fucking in love with his very oblivious, very hot best friend.
So yeah, maybe he wasn’t paying attention to whatever Suguru’s been prattling on about for the last ten minutes.
Maybe he’s gotten a little lost in the sauce.
But honestly, that’s kinda on Suguru.
Because what is he doing, just walking around their condo without a shirt on?
What else is Satoru supposed to do, but stare?
Suguru snorts, giving his cheek an affectionate pat.
“If I’d known all it would take to shut you up was to pierce my nipples and take my shirt off, I’d have done it years ago,” he teases.
Satoru wants to protest, to complain that he is neither shutting up nor ignoring him.
Instead, he swallows the spit pooling in his mouth and asks, “Can I touch them?”
Suguru makes a strangled noise, batting his hands away where they’re already starting to creep up his sides, fingers twitching around nothing.
“What the fuck,” he laughs.
That’s not an answer, Satoru thinks.
But when he says as much, Suguru just gives him a look that suggests he’s very much done entertaining Satoru for one afternoon, and walks over towards the kitchen to grab the water bottle he’d abandoned earlier.
“You can’t just go around asking to touch other people’s nipples, Satoru, Jesus.”
Satoru blinks. “I don’t go around asking to touch other people’s nipples.”
“You just said -”
“I asked to touch your nipples, which, like - it doesn’t count.”
Suguru’s expression goes very, very flat.
“Why,” he says. “Why wouldn’t my nipples count?”
“I’d let you touch my nipples,” Satoru offers, and like -
He would, obviously.
Mostly because what’s a little fondling between two best friends, and he’s more than a little infatuated with the idea of Suguru tugging on his nipples until he cries, but also because it’s not really a big deal, yeah?
Like, he just wants to touch them!
He just wants to poke the little pieces of jewelry, and maybe run the pads of his fingers around Suguru’s brown areolae; he wants to see if he can make them hard, and maybe also put them in his mouth -
Which, sure, isn’t something most friends do with each other.
Maybe for most people that’d be crossing some sort of line.
But he and Suguru have always been a little closer than your average set of best friends, consistently toeing a boundary that Shoko claims doesn’t actually exist; respectfully, nothing about their relationship can be labeled as “normal” and so maybe Satoru can be forgiven for failing to realize that that’s a weird thing to request of something you’re not dating.
Across the kitchen, Suguru’s gone quiet.
He sucks down the rest of his drink slowly as he stares at Satoru, like he’s buying time for himself to try and figure out how to respond to that.
And that’s fair, Satoru supposes. He can give him another couple of minutes.
It’s not every day that you’re propositioned to casually cross the bridge into nipple play with your best friend-slash-roommate-slash-actual fucking soulmate, after all, and so Satoru makes himself comfortable.
He plops down onto the couch, sprawls across the cushions like he owns it -
Which he does, actually, because he’d insisted on buying this one when it had come time to furnish their home, on scorning the less expensive (and much less cozy) black faux leather monstrosity that Suguru had wanted to purchase. He wiggles down into the little indentation his ass has carefully crafted over the past year and a half of cohabitation, never more satisfied with his own past decisions than he is now as he gets himself nice and snug, as he tugs the blanket off the back and wraps it around his torso to await his fate.
Suguru waits until he’s cocooned himself up like a caterpillar, or maybe a burrito, and then pads over to the living room, propping himself up against the back.
“You can’t touch them,” he finally says.
Satoru could cry.
He might actually, the sting of rejection something he’s not used to experiencing when it comes to Suguru. His lips wobble, his eyes sting -
“Because they’re still healing,” Suguru continues, “and if you play with them too much, they could get infected.”
Satoru gasps, offended. “Are you implying I’m dirty?”
“Everyone’s hands are dirty,” Suguru retorts.
“You take that back.”
Suguru rolls his eyes, grins. “Nuh-uh. I know where those hands have been.”
“In my pockets?”
“And in your mouth, and on your dick, and up your ass -”
“Oh, fuck you,” Satoru snaps, kicking out with his legs as Suguru snickers at him, unrepentant. “Fuck you, like, heaven forbid a guy actually gets off every now and again -”
Suguru chokes on his laughter, the sound that bubbles up out of his throat dark and rich as his face scrunches up with amusement.
“Every now and again? Satoru, you jerk off almost every night.”
“I do not -”
“You beat it every time you go to sleep, and sometimes in the mornings, too.” Suguru pauses, his eyes flicking up to the ceiling in thought. “I’m actually kinda surprised I’ve never gotten off work early and come home to find you, like, fucking yourself on the couch. Not gonna lie, seems like the kinda thing you’d do.”
It is the kind of thing Satoru would do.
It’s the kind of thing he has done, actually, more times than he can count, pretending it’s Suguru pressing his face down into the pillows as he fucks himself with the big, vibrating dildo he got himself for his birthday last year.
Not that Suguru needs to know that, obviously -
He’d probably die if he knew how thoroughly filthy this couch actually is, despite all of Satoru’s best attempts at cleaning up after himself, just as he’d probably yell at Satoru if he knew that he sometimes steals his shirts for the express purpose of tying them around his face so he could breathe in the scent of him as he came.
Like, they’re close friends, yeah.
But maybe no one is that close, fuck.
“…you hear that?” he asks.
He does, in fact, have a little shame - just a tad, albeit deeply buried, which is maybe why his voice gets kinda hesitant, why he glances up at Suguru like he’s afraid of what he might see on his friend’s face.
Suguru’s expression is just gently teasing though, not even the tiniest bit of judgment in his eyes as he leans down to pat Satoru’s knee, still pressing insistently into the trim, cut line of his abdominals.
“You’re not exactly quiet,” he points out.
Satoru blinks up at him rather owlishly. “I have needs.”
Suguru snorts, fond. “Needs,” he repeats.
“Big ones. Big needs, Suguru, I’m like - the neediest person you’ve ever met, like those plants we can never keep alive. I have very specific health requirements.”
Suguru arches a brow at that, lips quirking.
“Like touching my nipples?” he asks.
“Like touching your nipples,” Satoru agrees, nodding.
Suguru shakes his head, giving Satoru’s leg one more squeeze before he pulls away and grabs for a shirt. He gingerly pulls it over his head, making sure it falls gracefully over his chest and doesn’t snag on anything before he joins Satoru on the couch, sitting down by his feet so he can pull his thighs into his lap.
“Ask me again when they’re healed,” he says.
Satoru perks up at that. “Really?”
“Yeah, really,” Suguru sighs. “I’ll let you touch them.”
A delighted grin breaks out across Satoru’s face; he can’t help but wiggle around a little in sheer anticipation of this eventual treat, beaming up at Suguru as he asks, “How long until they’re healed?”
Suguru smirks, pinching at the sensitive skin of his inner thigh.
“Six months to a year,” he replies.
“What?!” Satoru gasps, dismayed. “For real?”
“Mm-hmm,” Suguru hums, looking for all the world like he hasn’t just ruined Satoru’s hopes and dreams, like he hasn’t just delivered the most devastating news since the cancellation of Satoru’s favorite anime a few months back.
“I’m going to cry,” he announces.
“You are not.”
“I’m going to go bury my head in my pillow and sob -”
Suguru thwacks him in the face with one of their throw pillows, presses it against his mouth with a snicker as Satoru starts to flail.
“Here,” he says, “have at it.”
Satoru spits out a wad of fabric and cat hair, disgusted.
“Oh, you bitch -”
Suguru clicks his tongue, admonishing. “I love you too, Satoru,” he teases, easily avoiding the half-eaten protein bar Satoru pulls from the bowels of the couch and tosses at his face in retaliation.
“Take that, you asshole!”
“Where did you even get that?” Suguru snorts, tossing another pillow in Satoru’s direction. “Was that in the couch? Seriously?”
Satoru catches it with one arm, the other still buried deep in the blankets as he rapidly tries to extricate himself.
“What, like you don’t have a super secret stash of snacks hidden in the couch?”
Suguru laughs, bright and happy.
“What the fuck, no? Because I’m not a squirrel?”
“Whatever, you keep those nasty ginger candies next to your bed -”
“They’re for an upset stomach,” Suguru protests.
“They taste like old ladies!”
“Mmm, familiar with that flavor, huh?”
Finally free from his constraints, Satoru launches himself across the coffee table, tackling Suguru to the ground. He wraps his arms around Suguru’s waist as they fall, making sure to tip them the right way so that his head smacks against the couch cushions instead of cracking like an egg against the floor, and when Suguru takes the opportunity to wrap a strong thigh around his calf, effectively pinning him into place with his head buried in his friend’s stomach -
“You’re such a loser,” Suguru laughs, panting.
Satoru grins up at him, nuzzles a little farther into the fabric of his shirt.
“I’m your loser,” he says, and oh -
How he wishes it were true.
But Suguru’s eyes still go kinda soft and fuzzy, one of his hands slinking down to give Satoru’s hair an affectionate ruffle; though it’s nothing more than friendly, it’s easy enough to pretend that the touch lingers a little longer than necessary, that his lips are parting in anticipation instead of simply because he needs to breathe.
And so he does, letting out a happy little sigh as Suguru scratches at his scalp, as he pets his cheekbone. He relishes it, really tries to linger in the moment -
“Can I touch them through your shirt?”
- until Suguru playfully shoves him off and pushes to his feet, the noise he makes half-disgusted but entirely fond.
“Not a chance.”
Surprisingly, Suguru hadn’t ever told Satoru that he was getting his nipples pierced.
He hadn’t mentioned it in the days leading up to the big event, hadn’t even asked Satoru if he wanted to come with him and hold his hand, which -
It’s kinda weird, yeah?
Because Satoru has gone with him to all of his other appointments.
Like, he’d been there when they were sixteen and Suguru had decided he wanted to start stretching his ears. He’d been there when he’d gone back at eighteen for the industrial on his left ear, for the cute little daith piercing and two helixes he’d gotten on his right. He’s tagged along for every other body modification Suguru has ever seen fit to want, to the extent that he knows the couple that owns the studio Suguru likes almost as well as Suguru does himself, and Suguru has returned the favor.
He’d held Satoru’s hand when he’d gotten his ears pierced, let him practically crush the bones in his palm when he’d gotten his navel done. He’d gone with him for Satoru’s first (and only, so far) tattoo, and let him bury his face in his lap when the pain from the shading got to be too much for him and he started feeling kinda dizzy.
It’s like, kind of their thing, if he’s being honest.
But Suguru doesn’t tell him about the nipple rings.
He doesn’t even mention it, and so one day when they were at the gym, when Satoru had spied them for the first time out in the wild, it had come as a bit of a shock.
He’d nearly dropped the barbell with all the weight he’d been squatting, had almost let it roll off his shoulders to bounce quite dangerously across the floor, which -
Wasn’t ideal, in hindsight.
Suguru and the gym manager alike had both yelled at him, had come over to his little area of the floor and told him to not be so careless, that he could have really hurt someone if they’d been walking by when he’d dropped the bar.
But like, again, Satoru doesn’t think he’s entirely to blame here!
Because what else was he supposed to have done when Suguru had lifted his shirt to wipe the sweat from his brow and Satoru had seen them? What was the protocol for when you looked over at your gym bro only to discover they had twin band-aids covering the shiny new bars piercing their nipples, little red ex’s marking the spot on a treasure map you desperately wanted to explore?
Like, he could have shouted.
He could have run over to where Suguru was deadlifting two hundred kilograms and ripped the shirt from his chest for a better look, and that -
Also wouldn’t have been ideal, sure.
Mostly because the gym they go to has a pretty strict no shirt, no shoes, no service policy, but also because that was a lot of weight, yeah?
Like, Suguru had really been in the zone there, had been close to maxing out; he’d been really going for it, and there was nothing he hated more than when Satoru accidentally interrupted his sets and he had to either start over or try to remember what his count was.
He probably wouldn’t have appreciated Satoru barging in like that.
Which is exactly why Satoru had waited until he was finished before he made a really embarrassing noise and wheezed, “Are you running a marathon?”
Suguru had looked at him like he’d suddenly grown a second head.
“What?” he’d demanded. “No. I hate cardio.”
Mmm. Didn’t everyone?
“Did you cut yourself shaving, then?” he’d asked.
“I - no?”
“Then why do you have band-aids on your nipples?”
Suguru had done something funny, then.
He’d looked away from Satoru, tugging at his bangs the way he did when he was nervous and didn’t want to show it -
And like, Suguru wasn’t really the type of guy to blush, because he was both really hard to fluster and a little too tan for it to show. He didn’t really turn into a tomato the way that Satoru did when he was even a little bit emotional.
But the tops of his ears had turned this dark, beautiful red color that kind of made Satoru want to squeal, that made him want to reach out and poke at his cheeks until his hands were irritably batted away.
He’d gasped, utterly delighted, and grabbed for Suguru’s hand instead.
“Did you - Suguru.”
He’d stepped closer, grinning.
“Did you get them pierced?”
Suguru had glanced back at him then, just for a moment - just long enough to see the way Satoru was staring at him all wide- and starry-eyed, to take in the way he was practically bouncing on his feet with excitement.
Then he was blowing out an amused exhale through his nose, shaking his head as he stepped back to rack his weights.
“Yeah, I did,” he’d admitted.
The noise Satoru had made had been strangled, weak.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he’d demanded. Then, stomping his foot a little, he’d added, “Why didn’t you take me with you?”
“Shop policy,” Suguru had said, adjusting one of the velcro bands on his gloves. “No guests allowed for, um. Intimate piercings.”
Satoru had laughed at that. “What? No.”
“That’s what Hoshi told me on the phone -”
“Kirara would’ve let me come back with you, what the fuck. Kirara loves me -”
“Hakari doesn’t, though, and he was the one who did them, so…”
Satoru had pouted at that, grumpily crossing his arms over his chest. “Kinji? You let Kinji pierce your nipples?” he’d demanded, shrill.
And maybe he’d said that a bit louder than was strictly necessary.
Maybe he’d let the last couple of words go up an octave and echo off the mats - because he was surprised, you know, or maybe because of the vicious pinch that Suguru gave to his side in a desperate attempt to ward him off.
Either way, he’d officially drawn the attention of every other person in the gym with that, and Suguru had huffed and puffed and dragged him from the floor like he was a disobedient toddler.
Which, again -
Hot.
Like, so hot, manhandle him more, please, toss him across the gym like one of those weighted sandbags the boxers used. He’d actually gotten a little chubbed up about it, had been super grateful he’d picked the basketball shorts out of his dresser that morning instead of the athletic tights he’d contemplated.
But instead of tugging off his shirt and showing Satoru his new piercings once they got to the safety of the locker rooms, Suguru had just lectured him about inside thoughts and home-only topics, tossing a towel in Satoru’s face for good measure when he was done, and like -
Yeah, okay.
Time and place, he understood.
Suguru was more private than he was, wasn’t quite so open with his thoughts and opinions - not because he really cared what other people thought, but because he didn’t think they had the right to know, and Satoru could respect that.
He does, which is why he’d waited until after they’d had lunch and gotten back to their place and showered before he’d dragged Suguru into the living room and interrogated him about the ordeal as he’d forcefully demanded he play Zelda with him.
There wasn’t much to tell, sadly.
It had apparently only taken ten minutes or so, the most irritating part of the whole ordeal the time it took Hakari to put on the clamps and make sure the piercings were even. The jewelry he’d chosen was simple, utilitarian; he hadn’t even had a chance to downsize the bars yet, so even though they were a couple weeks healed at this point, the swelling long since gone, he said they looked a little funny.
And like, maybe that’s why Suguru was so reticent to let him study them?
Like, maybe he was a little self-conscious about how they were healing.
Satoru wasn’t a stranger to the ins and outs of the process; he knew that there were sometimes crusties, that if you accidentally tugged at a piece of jewelry too hard they could get a little oozy, maybe a little bloody.
Not that that was really a deterrent.
He still kind of wants to shove his face in Suguru’s chest, press his tits together, and motorboat them until he can’t breathe, but like -
Gently.
He’d be careful.
He’d be so, so careful of Suguru’s new piercings, taking care to never bump or pull on them as he gladly suffocated himself in his best friend’s pillowy bosom.
Alas, that’s not something he really knows how to ask for.
It’s not something he feels he can demand, not when Suguru doesn’t seem to reciprocate the attraction Satoru feels for him.
Because even though Satoru wants him so badly he sometimes feels like he’s gonna die, like if he doesn’t get his hands on Suguru’s body, on his face, right this very instant, he’s gonna explode, he also doesn’t feel like he can cross that line? Like, he’s not willing to risk the best thing that’s ever happened to him falling apart; he doesn’t want to endanger the friendship he has with Suguru, doesn’t want to put that closeness in any kind of jeopardy, and so he just -
Deals with it.
He swallows down his feelings, and fucks himself stupid on the dildo he belovedly refers to as his disco stick, and tries very hard not to scream Suguru’s name as he does so.
Surprisingly, it’s not that difficult.
Like, don’t get him wrong -
He’d definitely prefer to be Suguru’s boyfriend, wants to be able to call Suguru his one and only in every possible sense of the phrase.
He wants to hold his hand, and kiss him, and see his face when he cums.
But Suguru doesn’t exactly date.
He hasn’t really brought anyone home since he and Satoru moved in together a couple years ago, hasn’t so much as mentioned a hookup, and the nipple piercings haven’t exactly changed that. Whenever they go out dancing with their friends, it’s always Satoru he ends up partnering with, glued to his back with his hands on his hips, and he doesn’t shy away from any of Satoru’s casual, friendly touches. If anything, he actually kinda leans into them, encouraging Satoru to throw an arm around his waist or clamber up onto his back for a ride back to their place, which -
Shit, maybe Suguru doesn’t want anyone that way?
Like, maybe that’s not something he’s interested in; maybe sex isn’t something he needs. For all that Suguru teases him about how often he jacks off, he’s never really had the same problem; he’s never once heard Suguru let out a breathless moan or a startled gasp through the thin wall separating their bedrooms, and he’s never really voiced any kind of need for a partner.
Instead, he’s always just insisted that he’s fine with the way things are, that he’s happy living life alongside Satoru. He wants for nothing, he says, and while Satoru’s never really given it a whole lot of thought before, because whatever Suguru says, he’ll believe, like, maybe he should have?
Maybe he should have read between the lines here?
Because shit, maybe Suguru doesn’t want anyone that way.
Maybe he thinks that he and Satoru already have some kind of arrangement, some kind of relationship that goes beyond friendship but isn’t exactly romantic, and like -
Oh, god.
Oh, fuck, are they queerplatonic life partners?!
Not that there’s anything wrong with that!
If that’s what Suguru wants, then that’s what Suguru will get - because Satoru is willing to be whatever Suguru needs him to be, wants to be his person in whatever way Suguru will have him.
They don’t need to be having sex in order to love each other.
But he kinda, also needs to know if that’s the case, if only so he can set his expectations and not inadvertently make Suguru uncomfortable when he asks him to touch his nipples.
Which is why he blurts the question out the next time they get the chance to sit down and watch a movie together. He’s so desperate to know that he doesn’t even wait for Suguru to chew the mouthful of noodles he’s just stuffed between his lips, and like, understandably - Suguru chokes.
He sputters, gasping for breath and aspirating soba as Satoru hands him a glass of water and hastily pats at his back.
“What the fuck, Satoru,” he finally says, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
Then, once he’s taken a couple of deep breaths, he asks, “Are you fucking serious?”
“So serious,” Satoru confirms, nodding. “Like, I really need to know.”
Suguru groans, digging his thumb into the space between his eyes.
“You know I’m not asexual, right?” he asks. “Or aromantic.”
Satoru blinks.
“I am sexually and romantically attracted to other people. I like having sex, and going on dates.”
His face scrunches up with confusion, lips parting as he makes a soft, bewildered noise.
“But you never bring anyone home,” he points out. “You don’t date.”
Suguru grimaces. “I - no. I’m not - dating anyone right now.”
“And I’ve never heard you jerking off.”
“That’s because some of us know how to be quiet.”
“Do you do it in the shower?”
“What?”
“Do you only masturbate when in you’re in the shower -”
“Jesus Christ. I don’t know, sometimes, but what does -”
“Because if you were doing it anywhere else, I’d hear it.”
Suguru abandons his quest to dig a hole through the center of his forehead in favor of slapping his entire palm over his face, dragging it down his nose, his mouth.
“Oh, my god,” he mutters. “You would not.”
“I would, too, Suguru - unless you’re, like, doing it at the gym? Is that allowed? …that doesn’t seem like something they’d allow,” he finally concludes.
“Yeah, that’s not okay,” Suguru agrees. “Which is why I fucking do it in my bedroom, like everyone else.”
“But, like - again, I’d’ve heard it.”
“And again, no, you wouldn’t have, fuck.”
“C’mon, I would, too! You know my hearing’s good!”
Setting his dinner aside with a huff, Suguru twists towards him on the couch, bringing his hands together entreatingly. He looks entirely done with the conversation, which is maybe Satoru’s first clue that he’s pushed too hard here.
“Satoru,” he says. “With all due respect -”
Satoru clicks his tongue, even as he can’t look away, can’t stop talking. “You know that invalidates everything you’re gonna say next, right?”
“- you cannot just ask people where and when they masturbate.”
“…I can’t?”
“You can’t. It’s rude.”
Satoru frowns, crosses his arms over his chest.
“But it’s you,” he protests. “I’m not, like, asking Utahime how often she flicks it -”
“Doesn’t matter. And also, thank god for that, because she’d probably murder you.”
Satoru huffs, put out. “Asking you’s still not okay?”
“It’s still not okay,” Suguru agrees.
Satoru’s eyes narrow in thought.
“Is this like the thing when I asked if I could touch your nipples?” he asks.
“It’s exactly like that,” Suguru confirms, very obviously uncomfortable, or maybe embarrassed, and that’s -
Hmm.
Frustrating.
Because Satoru doesn’t like being stymied like this; he’d been so sure that he’d cracked it, so certain that he’d finally discovered the reason for why Suguru had never responded to any of his flirty quips with anything other than fond amusement, why he’s never picked up on what Satoru is so obviously throwing down. He’d been so sure that he’d figured out why Suguru won’t let him touch his fucking nipples.
But if Suguru is sexually attracted to people, and he does like going on dates, then the only remaining explanation for why he and Suguru aren’t together, why they aren’t already fucking nasty on every flat surface in the house, is that Suguru doesn’t want him that way, that it upsets him or maybe even grosses him out, and that -
Oh.
Oh.
Fuck, that kinda stings.
It actually really fucking sucks, and the longer the idea sits with him, the longer he really sits here and contemplates this sudden revelation, the worse he feels. He actually gets a little misty-eyed about it.
But Satoru quickly blinks away the tears away, taking a deep breath as he forces himself to finally face the facts and confront the ugly reality that his unrequited crush on Suguru is exactly that -
Unrequited.
His feelings are not returned, not reciprocated, not wanted.
Shit.
It’s not the end of the world, though, he thinks, reeling his initial panic back and tamping down into something smaller, more manageable.
He’ll survive, he can do this.
Because he’s already weathered this stupidly big, hopeless attraction he has for his best friend for close to a decade now, yeah?
He’s dealt with it through the onslaught of teenage hormones, their wildly unstable college years, and his entrance into post-secondary education and life in escrow, and so what’s a few more years compared to that?
And some people might say that this is just him being dramatic - that he’ll eventually move on, find someone else to love.
He’ll settle.
Though he’s not exactly been doing a whole lot of casual dating these days either, too busy mooning after Suguru to make a profile on Hinge, he knows he’s still kind of a catch; he could find a hookup or two or five easily enough, if he wanted.
He might even like some of the people he meets.
But that’s the thing, he thinks.
He doesn’t want that.
The only person he’s ever really felt like he needed was Suguru -
And as it turns out, Suguru is one of the only people he’s ever met who doesn’t want him back.
That, Satoru knows, is called irony.
It’s supposed to be funny.
He still kinda just feels like crying, though, and maybe eating all of the ice cream and popsicles he has stashed in the freezer, so.
“Fuck,” he mutters, huffing out a mirthless laugh. “Yeah, okay. My bad.”
Then, because he doesn’t know what else to do with himself, he stabs his chopsticks into his soba, scoops out an absolutely unreasonable amount of noodles and shoves them into his mouth as he searches blindly for the remote to queue up their show.
“Duly noted,” he says, clicking through the last episodes they watched.
What comes out of his mouth sounds more like truly goated, and Suguru elbows him in the side as he reaches for his beer.
“Seriously? Don’t be a jerk,” he says.
Satoru whips his head to the side, a couple of noodles still hanging out of his mouth.
“Huh?”
“Don’t play dumb. And chew with your mouth closed.”
Satoru rolls his eyes and gulps, sticking his tongue out for good measure when he’s done. “There, better?”
“Much.”
“I’m not dumb, by the way.”
Suguru snorts. “That’s debatable.”
“Like, I understand what you’re trying to say. I hear you, loud and clear.”
“Do you?”
Satoru blinks, unprepared for the way the question catches him off-guard; Suguru’s soft, almost hesitant tone of voice hits him full in the face, the words heavy in a way these little conversations they have rarely are.
He’s staring at Satoru intently, almost like he’s searching for something, and that’s -
Well, it’s kinda confusing, and also a little unnerving, and Satoru swallows to ease the sudden dryness in his throat.
“I… yes?” he tries.
Then, wincing at the way Suguru just keeps staring at him, waiting for him to elaborate, he adds, “You don’t want to talk to me about those kinds of things, because it’s weird and invasive and not something friends do.”
“It’s not,” Suguru agrees. “It’s not really something friends do, even if they’re really close.”
The emphasis isn’t lost on Satoru -
But he’s also read between the lines one too many times tonight only to come to the wrong conclusion, and so if Suguru has something else on his mind, he’s gonna have to come out and say it.
He’s gonna have to give it to Satoru straight.
“Are we friends, Satoru? Are we just friends?”
Satoru doesn’t hesitate this time.
“Just friends? Of course not. We’re best friends,” he says, nodding. “Like, you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I love you, man.”
Suguru’s started to look a little pained, for some reason.
He’s gritting his teeth like this conversation is giving him a migraine, or maybe indigestion, and the fingers of his free hand are doing this weird thing where they clench and squeeze around nothing.
But Satoru barrels on, undeterred.
“Which is why I thought you might be into the whole queerplatonic thing, because we’ve got the platonic part down, and I’m queer -
“Satoru. I love you, too.”
Satoru perks up a bit, lips parting -
“But I don’t want to be queerplatonic with you.”
- only for his mouth to snap right back shut, his feelings a little hurt.
Because he knows that, yeah - Suguru’s made both his sexuality and his stance on relationships with Satoru pretty fucking clear.
But he doesn’t have to come out and say it like that, yeah?
That’s just rude, and so he takes a deep, shaky breath, looks away, and starts up the television program, letting the bright, flashing lights of the intro flash over him. He tries to get lost in the music, to focus on that instead of the way Suguru is trying to let him down not-so-gently.
Only, Suguru doesn’t seem to want to let it go?
Like, he sighs, sidles a little closer to Satoru on the couch.
He puts a hand on his arm, right above his elbow, and rubs his thumb into the fabric of his shirt, slinging his other arm over the back of the couch for Satoru to lean into, the same as he always does. He hooks his ankle around Satoru’s, bumps his socked foot into Satoru’s insole; he lets the warmth of his thigh press insistently against Satoru’s leg, and when he leans in close, hooking his chin over Satoru’s shoulder -
It’s too much.
It’s way too much for Satoru to handle tonight, and also not enough, and so he kinda, sorta panics and shoves him away, right before he shovels another clump of noodles into his mouth.
The look Suguru shoots him is bewildered.
“…Satoru?” he tries, hand still hovering in the air where Satoru had batted it away.
Taking a deep breath, Satoru turns back to him, a smile plastered on his face.
“C’mon, you’re missing the show!” he says, jerking his head towards the TV. “This is, like, a super important scene, I think.”
Suguru blinks at him, long and slow. He doesn’t so much as glance at the TV.
“Are you okay?” he asks, instead.
And, like, objectively?
No, Satoru is not okay.
He is perhaps the farthest thing from okay he’s ever been, a little embarrassed with himself for assuming and a lot heartbroken.
But he’s not about to just say that.
He’s not gonna ruin things any more than he already has, and so he just smiles and nods, says something silly about how Suguru hit a ticklish spot.
Suguru doesn’t really look like he believes him -
Probably because Satoru hasn’t ever shown any tendency towards ticklishness in his life.
But he lets Satoru have his way for once, not protesting when Satoru scoots a little farther down the couch and insists that Suguru let him eat his noodles in peace. He doesn’t comment on it when Satoru leaves half the food on his plate untouched, and when he ends up staying on the far end of the sofa the duration of the evening, clutching at a pillow like his life depends on it?
Well.
Suguru’s kind enough not to say anything about that, either.
Things change a bit, after that.
Satoru isn’t quite so open with his affection, isn’t quite so clingy.
He tries to give Suguru some room to breathe, tries not to stare at him every time he walks into a room without a shirt on. He doesn’t ask questions about the nipple rings.
He even tries to cut back on the amount of noise he makes when he jacks off, which -
Not that he’s really doing it all that much, anyway.
It’s kinda hard to cum when thinking about Suguru in any kind of romantic or sexual capacity these days mostly makes him sad, and when he tries to picture anyone else, his dick just wilts in his hands like a fucking flower, so.
Yeah.
He just doesn’t do it, except when the urge is so strong he can get himself off without even bothering to cook up a fantasy.
Even then, he just kinda half-asses it, rolling over onto his stomach and grinding his hips down into the mattress as he shoves a pillow in his mouth to muffle his sounds.
It’s that, he thinks, that ultimately spurs Suguru into action -
The pointed disinterest in it all, the very purposeful way he looks the other direction as he desperately tries to get over this stupid crush.
Suguru comes into the kitchen one morning while Satoru’s inhaling a bowl of cereal, wearing nothing but the tiny (tight, fuck) pair of boxers he’d worn to bed the night before. He’s got a smile on his face, his face still adorably puffy from how recently he’d woken up, and when he walks over to the table, gently ruffling Satoru’s hair, he laughs.
“Hey,” he murmurs, voice raspy with sleep. “Satoru.”
Wow.
Wow wow wow, what the fuck, no one’s voice deserves to sound that sexy in the morning, all gravelly and thick with sleep -
And yet it is, sending a little shiver down Satoru’s spine that he tries to hide by playing off as a chill, clutching the sleeves of his sweatshirt a little tighter around his wrists.
“Hey, hi, hello,” he says, slurping up another spoonful of soggy cinnamon toast crunch. “What’s up?”
Suguru shoots him an odd look.
“Does something have to be up for me to tell you good morning?”
Well, no.
But Suguru is about as much of a morning person as Oscar the Grouch. Most days, you can’t even talk to him until he’s had his two-point-three-four cups of coffee, and also a cigarette, and that’s saying nothing of how Satoru’s been kinda, sorta avoiding him these past few months.
So yeah, the warm greeting is a little odd.
Admitting it would be even odder though, and so he just shrugs and goes back to his breakfast.
Suguru clears his throat.
“You’re, uh… off work this week, right?” he asks. “Thought I saw that in your calendar.”
Satoru blinks, nods.
“Right.”
“Got any big plans?”
“Not really,” Satoru replies, shrugging. “It’s just a short break, and I need to get started on my lesson plans for next term. Figured I should probably get all caught up on that, so I’m actually prepared for a semester for once.”
Then, unable to resist glancing across the table as Suguru makes his coffee, grabs his cigarettes from the drawer by the fridge, he asks, “You? Working a lot this week?”
To his very great surprise, Suguru shakes his head.
“Nah,” he admits. “I took off, too.”
That gives Satoru pause.
Because Suguru doesn’t have a traditional nine-to-five, yeah?
He works as a personal trainer at a couple of the gyms in their area, giving kids lessons in martial arts and helping the adults of this particular prefecture lessons in how to bulk and cut. His income is largely dependent on how many clients he takes on in a given week, and while he’s not, like, hurting for money or anything, because he’s very good at what he does and Satoru insists on using the inheritance he’s gotten from his late parents for most of their shared living expenses (mostly because they’d hate the thought of him living with another man he’s so obviously down bad for, but also because it’s just a stupid amount of money for one person to burn through) for him to willingly give up an entire five day’s worth of shifts is, like, weird?
Satoru pauses, his spoon halfway to his mouth.
“What, really?” he asks.
Suguru nods, moving to prop the balcony door open so he can stand on the threshold as he smokes, his cigarette already sending pale blue smoke out into the morning air.
“Yeah,” he says, and like -
Incredible, really.
Super helpful, like, Satoru understands the secrets of the universe now.
With a little huff, he drops his spoon down into his bowl of leftover cereal milk, and asks, “Well, what’s the occasion? Are you okay, do you need a break?”
Suguru’s expression softens a bit at that.
Because they’re both aware of how Suguru has struggled with his mental health in the past; they’re both very much cognizant of the fact that he sometimes pushes himself too hard, that he’s often more critical of himself than he has any need to be.
It makes him anxious, upset.
It makes Satoru anxious and upset - not because it’s happening, but because he always feels so very unable to help.
Which is why he tries to check in with Suguru every now and then, to make sure he’s taking enough breaks, enough time to relax and simply be. It’s why Suguru takes medication, and goes to therapy, and sometimes sleeps in Satoru’s bed, curled up around him like he’s an emotional support animal, and like -
He kinda is.
He’s kinda taken it upon himself to always be that person for Suguru, and so even though he’s still kind of hurt, his feelings shoved down somewhere in his heart he tries very hard to avoid, he still has to ask, has to make sure Suguru’s okay.
“It’s nothing like that,” Suguru finally says, and Satoru breathes a quiet sigh of relief.
It’s short-lived, though, because then he adds, “It’s nothing bad. I just knew you were off, and it’s been a while since I took a break, so… I guess I just wanted to spend some time with you. Is that not allowed?”
And Satoru kind of freezes up, panicking a little.
He goes very, very still as Suguru’s lips curl up into a smile, his eyes warm and soft as he watches the blush on Satoru’s cheeks blaze with the intensity of one of the red dwarf stars he’s always talking about.
“It’s allowed,” he says finally.
Suguru snorts. “Wow,” he says. “Don’t sound enthusiastic, or anything.”
“I’m enthusiastic,” Satoru disagrees, giving him two thumbs up and his cheesiest grin, a saucy little wink that feels ridiculous even to him. “This is me, being enthusiastic.”
“Uh-huh.”
Slumping back into his chair, Satoru adds, “I’m just - surprised, I guess?”
Suguru hums, waves a hand for him to elaborate.
“Like, you don’t normally take time off like this unless you really need it.”
“Right.”
“And we already hang out plenty!”
Suguru’s smile turns wry, a little knowing - and maybe a little sad, if Satoru’s really being honest with himself.
Which is mostly his fault, sure.
But it’s also kind of necessary, and so he braces for impact when Suguru opens his mouth, his voice a little chastising, and says, “Satoru. We haven’t hung out very much in months.”
“…I know.”
“Do you not -” Suguru swallows, thick. “Do you not want to spend time with me anymore?”
“Of course I want to spend time with you,” Satoru says quickly. “That’s, like, my favorite thing to do. You’re my favorite.”
Suguru relaxes a bit. He nods, like he understands -
“But I’ve already got most of my week planned out, you know, so I don’t know if I’ll have the time. I’ll have to see if I can pencil you in.”
- only for his scowl to return a moment later, Suguru suddenly glaring at him through the puff of smoke he hastily exhales.
“Pencil me in?” he repeats.
Satoru nods. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Suguru flicks the cigarette with his thumb, takes a drink of coffee.
He studies Satoru intently as he processes Satoru’s latest attempt to politely put some distance between them, eyes narrowed like there’s something he’s trying to figure out. Satoru can practically see the wheels turning behind his dark eyes, can see him working through the math problem in his head, and since he doesn’t particularly like being seen like that, he clears his throat, picks up his bowl, and heads to the sink to clean it out.
“Satoru.”
The voice is a lot closer than Satoru expects.
He twists, startling when he finds Suguru standing right behind him, strong arms caging him in. The noise he lets out is entirely embarrassing, less a squeak and more of a squawk as Suguru presses in close, their legs tangling together.
Fuck, he’s so warm.
He’s warm, and firm, and he smells so, so good despite the lingering traces of smoke on his bare skin, something like sleep, and laundry, and pure, plain Suguru.
Satoru swallows, and wills his traitorous dick to keep calm and carry on.
“Yes?” he croaks.
“Don’t brush me off like this. Don’t pull away.”
“I’m not -”
“You are,” Suguru interjects. “And I think I know why.”
Satoru goes a little pale, his mouth snapping shut.
Because fuck, is this it? Is this when Suguru finally confronts him about his behavior?
He finds himself staring down at the floor, unable to meet Suguru’s gaze as he waits for the hammer to fall, for Suguru to try and tell him that it’s okay, that even if Satoru’s stupidly, madly in love with him, they can still be friends.
He’s nice like that.
For all that Suguru doesn’t return his feelings, he does have an attachment to Satoru, and so Satoru can admit that it’s probably been pretty foolish for him to attempt to cut back without cutting him off.
That’s the only way they could ever be rid of each other, he thinks -
Cold turkey, a clean break.
Otherwise, they’d end up right back where they are now, their lives completely entangled and enmeshed and codependent in a way that Shoko insists is very, very unhealthy and borderline pathological.
It works for them, though.
It’s always worked, which is why he knows he’s going to give in as soon as Suguru begs him to stay, no matter how much it hurts.
He takes a deep breath, tries to prepare himself as best as he can -
Only to flinch when Suguru leans in and presses the softest, gentlest kiss to his cheek imaginable, so close to the corner of his mouth it makes his lips twitch.
“You’re wrong, by the way,” he murmurs. “About this, about how I feel about you.”
…what?
No.
No, no, no - that is impossible, that is not within the realm of statistical probability, p is not less than or equal to point-oh-five, it’s -
Well, shit, it’s highly unlikely.
And so Satoru blinks at him, long and slow, his cheeks on fire.
“Impossible,” he protests, his voice cracking. “I’ve never been wrong in my life.”
Suguru smiles, warm and sweet.
“You are about this,” he insists, the way he lifts a hand and brushes the hair back from his forehead so, so gentle; his hand lingers as it trails down Satoru’s cheek, his jaw, and it takes everything Satoru has not to openly lean into the touch.
He kinda ends up doing it anyways, unable to resist slowly melting into the fingers petting at his face, eventually just going kinda boneless, limp within the cage of Suguru’s arms.
The sound that Suguru makes is happy, encouraging - he ducks in a little closer, presses their foreheads together.
And something in Satoru just kinda… relaxes.
It eases, gives in, and he feels a little like he can breathe again.
Not that everything is just magically fixed between them.
Satoru knows there’s gonna be more talking about this later, probably when Suguru feels he can extract an explanation from him without having him burst into tears or run away and lock himself in his room. But it’s good enough for now, Suguru’s intimate understanding and apology and acceptance settling over his shoulders like a warm blanket, and so Satoru just lets himself be.
It’s impossible to say how long they stand there like that.
Just a handful of seconds, probably, or maybe a few minutes.
It certainly can’t be much longer than that, otherwise his back would start to hurt from where the counter is awkwardly pressing into his spine.
But he feels a bit better and a lot more in control of himself when Suguru finally nudges his ankle with his foot, coaxing Satoru into looking up at him.
“Feeling better?”
Satoru nods.
“Good. Because I know what I want to do today,” he says.
The hand at Satoru’s face trails down his side to take his hand, gently plucking the dripping sponge from his fingers. He drops it into the sink with little fanfare, grabs a dishrag to help pat his fingers dry.
“Will you let me, Satoru? Will you let me do what I want?”
Satoru’s pretty sure he’d let Suguru do anything, everything, he wants, so long as they did it together.
Like, carte blanche.
He’s not sure he’s allowed to say that yet, though, and so he just nods, a little breathless, and watches with wide eyes as Suguru brings Satoru’s hand down to his chest. He presses up into the touch, even as he pushes the flat of Satoru’s palm down, encourages him on, and oh -
He’s doing it.
He’s doing it, he’s feeling Suguru up, what the fuck.
Though the muscle is firm beneath his fingers, there’s still a lot of give to it; his pec bunches up nicely between Satoru’s fingers when he squeezes, fills his entire fucking hand, and when his thumb grazes against his nipple -
Suguru hums, appreciative.
His eyes are half-lidded, lips starting to curl up into a lazy grin, and when Satoru tentatively brings his other hand up to join the first, he lets out a soft sigh.
“This - this is what you want?” Satoru asks, a little incredulous. “For real, you want me to play with your tits?”
Suguru’s eyes flash. “Don’t you want to?”
Well, yeah.
Kinda.
Satoru could spend an entire week playing with Suguru’s tits, and also his own; he would quite happily suffocate in Suguru’s tender (plush) embrace -
But Satoru also hadn’t really expected Suguru to be so willing.
Though things are starting to look up, some small glimmer of hope that his feelings are returned poking its way out of his chest like the sun peaking out from behind the clouds, that last conversation they’d had on the couch still looms large in his mind. He can’t quite forget how that always simmering, never quite boiling over sexual tension that has always seemed to be the hallmark of their friendship had summarily fizzled over and died for several months, so.
He’d kinda given up on his master plan to cop a feel.
Suguru is staring at him like he wants to eat him, though, his dark eyes entirely predatory; he’s biting his lip and rocking up into Satoru’s grip, and while Suguru sometimes take a long time to come to a decision, once his mind’s made up, it’s made up, so is this - is this actually happening?
“Suguru,” Satoru manages, his voice a little shaky, “What the fuck.”
“Touch me,” Suguru encourages. “Use your fingers, I know you want to -”
“Won’t that hurt?”
Suguru lets out a low laugh, bringing his own hand up to guide Satoru’s fingers to his nipple, to help them curl around the little bar piercing it and pull.
“That’s the point, Satoru,” he breathes, his head tipping back.
The movement exposes the long, tanned column of his throat, regretfully free of any kind of mark or blemish, and Satoru -
Oh, he wants to bite him.
He wants to bite him, and lick him, and then push him down to the floor and ride him until he cums, until he’s so drunk on Suguru’s cock, he’s crying for it.
He wants it so, so bad.
But is that, like - okay?
Is that allowed?
He’s rolling Suguru’s nipples between his fingers hard enough to have him panting now, his dick so hard it actually hurts, so maybe it’s not the best time to ask.
Maybe it’s a little late to ask if Suguru really wants this.
But he loves Suguru, like, a lot.
He loves him, which means the last thing he wants is to take advantage of him, to force him into something he doesn’t wholeheartedly, enthusiastically want to do, and so with a groan, he forces himself to stop, moves his hands from Suguru’s chest to his arms as he forces him still.
“I am enjoying this so much,” he chokes out.
Suguru snorts, glancing down at his cute little polka-dot pajama shorts, the thin cotton fabric doing jack shit to hide his erection.
“I can tell,” he says, grabbing Satoru's hands.
Satoru yanks them back, hard.
“And I am very appreciative of you letting me touch you like this,” he adds.
Suguru lifts a brow, finally going still. “But?”
Satoru winces.
“But I really didn’t think you, uh, wanted this? Me,” he tries to clarify. “I didn’t think you wanted me that way, like -” He swallows. “I’m still processing.”
Suguru blinks at him, long and slow.
Then he does it again.
“Satoru,” he finally manages, his voice a little strangled. “Baby.”
“What?” Satoru demands, a little defensive, even as his dick fucking leaks at the pet name. “You’re the one who said you didn’t want to be queerplatonic with me!”
Suguru leans forward, bracing his forehead on Satoru’s shoulder.
“Because I don’t want to be queerplatonic with you,” he groans, finally saying the quiet part out loud. “I don’t want anything platonic, not even a little fucking bit, because I’m fucking obsessed with you -”
“…oh.”
Suguru twists his head a bit, skims his nose along Satoru’s throat.
It makes him shiver, and his breath hitch, and when Suguru presses his lips to the skin and sucks -
“Me too,” he gasps, a hand flying out to tangle in Suguru’s hair. “Me too, you were right, I’m - I’m fucking obsessed with you, too, oh my god.”
Encouraged, Suguru bites down a little harder; he works a deep, dark mark into the patch of skin just above Satoru’s collarbone, right where it’s impossible to hide.
It’s proprietary enough to have Satoru’s toes curling in his Cinnamoroll socks, and he can’t help but let out a low, rough sound at the feel of it.
“I’m, like, so in love with you, fuck, Suguru -”
Suguru draws back, just far enough that he can run the flat of his tongue over the hickey; it’s sensitive enough to sting, and Satoru hisses.
“But what the fuck, you never said anything? You never -”
“Satoru.”
“…yeah?”
Suguru lifts his head, ducks in close.
“Shut up,” he says, and while that kinda makes Satoru want to protest, makes him want to scrunch up his nose and stick out his tongue and ask about a million questions, then Suguru starts kissing him.
He kisses him, like, right on the lips.
It’s perfect.
It’s amazing, the hot, wet glide of their mouths so, so good.
It sends a hot little spark of pleasure zinging straight up his spine, and even though Suguru’s tongue tastes kinda burnt when it forces its way past his lips, like coffee and cigarettes and just a hint of whatever toothpaste he’d used before making his way into the kitchen, Satoru can’t get enough of him.
He can’t breathe, can’t even think -
And so he doesn’t, panting into Suguru’s mouth as Suguru presses him back against the counter, as he licks into Satoru’s mouth.
He grabs at Satoru’s hands, re-guides them to his chest.
“Touch me,” he says again, and this time, Satoru doesn’t hesitate.
He paws shamelessly at Suguru’s tits, feeling him up to his heart’s content.
He runs his thumbs over his nipples and cards his fingers through the smattering of fine, dark hairs climbing up his stomach, relishing every little noise he pulls from Suguru’s lips, every grunt, every sharp, inhaled breath.
They go straight to his heart, and also his dick, and when he pushes Suguru back, switching their positions so he can pin him to the fridge and press his lips to his chest instead, he moans.
He shudders, a hand fisting in Satoru’s hair and holding him tight.
“Fuck, that’s good,” he groans, bucking his hips up. “So good, baby, fuck.”
Satoru scrapes his teeth across his nipple, flicks his tongue against him. He sucks hard enough to bruise, the slightly salty taste of his skin like a drug, and when he finally pulls back, Suguru’s chest littered with teeth marks and bruises, his lips feel all tingly and swollen.
“Suguru,” he pants, thighs squeezing together. “I need -”
Suguru grins, runs a hand down his spine until it’s resting at the small of his back.
“What do you need, Satoru?” he asks, pushing him forward until their hips meet.
Suguru’s boxers leave next to nothing to the imagination; Satoru can feel every inch of his cock where it presses against his own, can feel the wet patch at his tip.
He whimpers, his hips kicking forward.
The movement has the head of his cock catching on Suguru’s, has the long, hot length of him rubbing against his dick. It makes Satoru’s breath hitch, his fingers scrabbling for purchase on Suguru’s arms, and Suguru laughs, low and rich.
“You’re so hard, Satoru,” he teases, biting his lip as he rolls his hips.
He is, fuck.
“Playing with my tits turns you on that much?”
Satoru’s head tilts back as he looks down between them, sees the way their bodies bump and collide into each other. He doesn’t even have it in him to deny it, too busy shamelessly grinding against Suguru’s cock, and when Suguru digs his fingers into his ass a little harder, pulling him down with a little force, he moans.
“Fuck,” he says, the sound a little broken. “Fuck, I -”
“Gonna cum like this?”
Satoru nods, breathless.
“I haven’t even taken your shorts off,” Suguru teases, a little mean.
It’s the same as he sounds in every debauched fantasy Satoru’s ever had, as is the way he leans forward and tugs at Satoru’s lips with his teeth, and so maybe Satoru can be forgiven for blowing his load so quickly.
Maybe Suguru won’t be too put out by the way he manages only a few more pathetic thrusts of his hips before he creams his fucking pajama pants like a fucking teenager, or the way he all but collapses on top of Suguru afterwards.
He certainly doesn’t seem annoyed.
If anything, he just seems even more turned on, his cock practically throbbing against Satoru’s thigh as he leans forward and peppers kisses all over Satoru’s face, so.
Win-win.
A little more cognizant now, he finally tunes back into what Suguru’s saying. He starts to listen to all the dirty little things he’s been murmuring into Satoru’s face as he comes back down to earth, and like -
He’s always known Suguru was kind of a pervert, yeah?
Like, for as much as he’s accused Satoru of being recklessly horny, and always thinking with his dick, he knows that Suguru is just as kinky when he gets in the mood.
He’s worse, even, because the things he says -
“Fuck, I wanna fuck you so bad.”
Satoru whimpers.
“I wanna flip you over and give you fucking backshots -”
“Please.”
“Cum all over your cute, little ass -”
“Please.”
“Can I do that, sweetheart? Can I fuck you stupid?”
In lieu of a reply, Satoru just rips the clothes from their bodies, ignoring the sticky mess he’s made of his boxers when he tosses them to the floor. He grabs Suguru by the hand and pulls him over to the couch, propping himself up on his hands and knees as he rummages around in the cushions for the little bottle he knows is just -
There!
Suguru laughs as he hands over the lube, as he pops open the cap and spreads some around on his palm to warm it up.
“Seriously?” he asks, pressing in a finger with little fanfare.
“So serious, fuck,” Satoru agrees, blissfully sinking back into the feeling.
“The protein bars are one thing, but lube?” Suguru clicks his tongue, shoves the finger in a little harder, with a little more intent. “You’re so shameless, Satoru.”
“You have no idea,” Satoru moans.
Suguru hums.
“You have - oh my god - no fucking clue how many times I’ve fucked myself on this couch, just like this, pretending it was you.”
Suguru’s breath hitches. “Yeah?”
Satoru nods, burying his face a little further into the pillow he’s grabbed for support - but Suguru fists a hand in his hair and twists his head to the side, drawing a pained yelp from his lips as he bends over to press his lips to his ear.
“How many times?” he murmurs, the finger he has in Satoru’s ass still thrusting in and out of his tight hole, pressing in deep. “How many times, Satoru?”
“Like - once a week? Maybe, I dunno,” he pants.
Suguru groans, and slips another finger into him, stretching him wide.
“Sometimes, I even, ah, take your shirts? Like, I press them against my face, and also sometimes my dick, and like -”
The noise Suguru makes at that admission is absolutely feral, and Satoru grins up over his shoulder, victorious.
“What the fuck,” Suguru breathes, mouthing sloppily at his jaw. “What the fuck, Satoru, that is so hot, so -”
“Yeah?”
Suguru nods, biting at his ear.
“Jesus Christ, yeah,” he says.
Then, after he’s spent a little more time fingering Satoru open, given prepping him a little more effort, he pulls back and adds, “You really do have needs.”
Satoru laughs again, the noise shifting into a groan when he reaches back and palms his dick, already half-chubbed up again from how Suguru’s grazing his prostate with every other thrust. Though he’s not quite hard yet, he has full faith in Suguru’s ability to get another orgasm out of him, and so when he adds a third finger, he wastes no time in adjusting before he starts thrusting his hips back to meet him.
“I’m needy,” he agrees, breathless. “I’m so - I have so many needs.”
He licks his lips, moans into Suguru’s mouth when he grinds into Satoru’s ass and stays, when he curls his fingers just so.
“Can I - can you -”
Suguru silences him with a wet, filthy kiss, licking into Satoru’s mouth like he owns it.
“I’ve got you,” he says. “I’ll take care of you, sweetheart, I have you.”
And he says that, yeah -
But then he’s pulling away, his fingers sliding free of Satoru with an obscene, wet squelch. Satoru can’t help the mournful noise that escapes his lips, or the way he snakes a hand back to grab at Suguru’s hip, to try and hold him close.
Suguru just gently plucks his fingers from his thigh and presses them down into the couch cushions, making a shushing sound as he lines himself up.
“Fuck, you have the best ass,” he groans. The head of his dick slips between Satoru’s cheeks, just barely catching on his rim before he pushes it a little further down, lets it slip down his perineum to nudge at his balls. “So cute, so round -”
As if to show his appreciation, he gives it a light smack, watches as the muscle and slight layer of fat jiggle.
It makes Satoru choke, his cock dripping down onto the couch below, and when Suguru repeats the motion, slapping the other cheek this time, he gasps.
“You have any idea how many times I’ve wanted to fuck you in the gym?”
“Oh, my god -”
“How much I want to drag you into the locker room and fuck you full?”
“Please,” Satoru begs. “Please, Suguru, next time we go, you have to - you have to fuck me at the gym, you have to, please, promise?”
Suguru chuckles, fucks into the cleft of his ass a couple more times.
“Sure, baby,” he says. “Whatever you want.”
“Want you,” Satoru replies, shuddering. “Want your cock, want it deep -”
“Yeah? You want me?”
Satoru’s not really sure how he’s still speaking in full sentences.
He’s not really sure how he still sounds so put together, so calm and collected, and so he twists to look over his shoulder again, incensed -
Only to find that Suguru is perhaps hanging on by a thread.
His chest is flushed and sweaty, the bruises Satoru had sucked onto his tits earlier standing out in stark relief, and his hair is a mess. There’s a glazed, fucked-out look out in his dark eyes as he stares down at Satoru, and his mouth -
Fuck, he’s so pretty, so hot.
He’s the absolute hottest thing Satoru has ever fucking seen, and if he doesn’t fuck him right here, right now, his balls might actually explode.
Like, he will literally bust a nut before Suguru even gets his cock in his ass, and that just won’t fucking do.
He makes a soft, needy noise, presses his chest a little harder into the couch.
“Please,” he begs, a little shameless as he snakes a hand back and spreads his hole wide, putting it on display. “Suguru.”
And something about that must be convincing.
Because it’s like a switch flips in Suguru.
He grabs at Satoru’s hips, lines the tip of his dick up with his hole; he barely even thinks to ask if Satoru wants him to use a condom (absolutely not, fucking raw him) before he’s shoving his cock inside, filling him up with one hard thrust, and while Satoru is, like, used to that, because it’s exactly the same way he fucks himself with his disco stick, he’s also kind of not, because Suguru is, if not longer, then at least a lot thicker than most of the dildos in his collection, and it’s kind of a bit of a stretch.
But it’s a stretch in the absolute best possible way, as is the ache that builds up in his thighs from how hard Suguru’s hips start to smack into him.
It burns, and it stings, and it feels so fucking good, and when he leans down a little further, lets his nipples rub against the fabric of the couch with every thrust?
Well, shit, but that’s nice, too.
It has him keening, sobbing into the cushions. Tears are streaming down his face, and his cock is practically drooling between his thighs.
He doesn’t touch himself, though.
He doesn’t want things to end so quickly, wants the pleasure pooling in his belly to build, and build, and build until he’s burning, until he’s absolutely fucking stupid with it.
He wants them to fuck for as long as Suguru can last, until he’s fucking delirious, and Suguru -
“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” he says suddenly, his rhythm going all choppy. “I’m gonna - baby, are you close?”
Satoru nods, moans.
“Touch yourself,” Suguru urges. “Make yourself cum, wanna see it, see you -”
And who is he to disobey?
Satoru barely even gets a chance to grab his dick before he’s coming, hot, white spurts of cum splashing all over his stomach, all over the couch. He shouts with it, the sound raw, guttural; it echoes off the walls, floods his senses -
Just as the pleasure wracking his body leaves him trembling, powerless in its wake.
Suguru curses, pulling out in one, sudden motion.
He grabs Satoru by the hips and yanks, shoving his dick into the small of his back and holding it steady as as he cums, and though Satoru would, like, kind of preferred to have had him cum inside him, the feeling of it dripping down the cleft of his ass and over his still twitching hole is nice, too.
It’s, like, really nice.
It’s so nice that when Suguru flips him over and practically collapses on top of him, already seeking out his mouth for a kiss, he doesn’t even think to protest about how much of a mess they’re making, about how they’re both hot, and sticky, and sweaty.
Instead, he just curls his arms up and over Suguru’s back and draws him in close.
He feels so happy and in love with him he might actually burst, and Suguru -
“I wanted to fuck you the first time you asked to play with my nipples,” he admits. “I wanted to kiss you and shut you up so fucking bad.”
Satoru, still kinda dazed, frowns.
“What, really?” he asks.
Suguru nods, a little bashful.
“Why didn’t you? If you knew I wanted it, knew I wanted you.”
“Because I knew that if I let you touch me once, I wouldn’t be able to let you stop.”
Oh.
“And I really did need to let them heal, fuck.”
Oh.
“Suguru,” Satoru groans, smacking a hand into his forehead. “You colossal idiot.”
Suguru accepts the hit with little protest, pressing an apologetic kiss to first Satoru’s cheek and then his lips.
“In my defense,” he says quietly, “You were being really weird and pushy about it. Like, not every thought needs to be said out loud.”
Satoru scoffs, rolls his eyes.
Because yeah, okay.
Maybe a little.
Things are different now, though. Things have changed, surely.
“Am I allowed to be pushy now?” he demands. “Now that we’re, like, together?”
Then, realizing Suguru hasn’t really confirmed this, that they hadn’t really cleared this up in their frantic rush to fuck each other senseless, his eyes go wide with alarm.
“Oh shit, are we together? Are we dating, or are we still, like - just friends, friends who maybe sometimes sleep with each other?”
Suguru snorts, the sound entirely fond.
“Satoru,” he says, running a hand along the back of his cheek. “Baby.”
“Yeah?”
“We were never just friends.”
“…oh,” Satoru says, quiet.
His voice comes out a little shaky and a lot pleased, and when Suguru smiles down at him, he can’t keep but cuddle in a little closer, squeezing his hips with his thighs.
“I think we’ve been something more than friends the entire time we’ve known each other - which is what I was trying to get at, when I asked you if we were just friends a couple months ago, but… I don’t think you got what I was asking.”
“Wait, you already thought we were dating?”
Suguru shakes his head.
“No, nothing like that, but… Satoru. C’mon.”
Satoru watches, rapt, as Suguru clears his throat and looks away, again a little pink at the ears.
“You’re everything to me. You’re my other half.”
He lifts a hand, tucks Satoru’s hair behind his ear.
“You’re just - also the last person to realize what that actually means, fuck.”
Satoru tries to deny it at first, to insist that he’d have seen something so obviously right in front of him.
But then he stops and thinks about it for a moment.
Like, he thinks really hard.
Satoru thinks back to all of Shoko’s not so thinly veiled comments, to Nanami’s disparaging remarks about how he and Suguru act around each other when in public.
He thinks of the way Utahime gags whenever she sees them.
He vaguely recalls the couple of awkward invitations his parents had extended for him to bring Suguru along with him for their family vacations, back when they’d still been around, and how the insurance agent he’d worked with at the bank had looked at him kinda funny when he’d asked if he could make Suguru the beneficiary of his last will and testament, and like -
Yeah.
They probably are dating in all but name, and have been for years.
But that’s okay, he thinks.
As long as they figured it out in the end, it doesn’t really matter how long it’s taken them to get here, and so he tilts his chin up for another kiss, his grin so big it nearly splits his face in two.
“We gotta make up for lost time then, yeah?” he breathes.
The way Suguru smiles at him is so, so fond, as is the way he leans down and presses their lips together in a kiss as sweet as it is soft.
“Yeah,” he says. “We do.”