Chapter Text
Sukuna and Megumi sit in a comfortable silence, just listening to the radio, until Sukuna hits a red light.
“So… you saw my balls?”
Sukuna chuckles. “That’s why you’ve been so quiet?” he teases. “They’re not that impressive, don’t worry about it.”
Megumi jerks up at the comment. “That’s not what I—”
“—Relax, it happens to models all the time,” Sukuna reassures, sensing the panic in Megumi’s voice. “I didn’t take any pictures, if that’s what you’re worried about.”
He turns into a nearby bistro. Uraume has been recommending this place for the longest time, but it’s never been conveniently on the way home before. Sukuna makes a mental note to tell Uraume about it after his little date with Megumi.
“I just wish you asked me before walking out on the shoot like that,” Megumi says as he shuts the car door.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t know you wanted an old creep to jack off to your nudes,” Sukuna retorts, rolling his eyes. Megumi follows quietly behind as Sukuna enters the bistro. Good ambience, efficient service, Sukuna notes as a waitress seats them immediately. As expected from a masterclass chef like Uraume. They order their food—a club sandwich for Megumi, a burger for Sukuna, and black coffees for both of them. When the waitress excuses herself from the table, Megumi takes his phone out and starts typing away.
“Come on, don’t be like that,” Sukuna says, resting his elbows on the table and leaning over. “I’ve seen stuff like this happen before, especially to newbies. Trust me.”
Megumi chews his lip and finally decides to put his phone away. “Thanks,” he murmurs, “I know you meant well, I just… really needed the money.”
Megumi looks genuinely troubled. Gojo mentioned that he began modelling for extra cash, but Sukuna didn’t know just how desperately Megumi needed it. He was beginning to actually feel bad for costing Megumi that pay check.
The waitress interrupts Sukuna’s train of thought, setting their food down on the table. Sukuna studies Megumi’s face as he politely bows to her and reaches for the cutlery basket. God, everything he does is so refined and dainty. The moment she walks away, the conversation continues.
Sukuna doesn’t want to be an asshole about something as sensitive as this. He speaks seriously, calmly. “Did you even try asking Gojo for help?”
Megumi’s fork stops mid-air, and he looks up at Sukuna. “I did, he found this job for me.”
“Liar,” Sukuna says, almost too quickly. He was expecting this. “Gojo wouldn’t even have opened the email.”
Megumi’s Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as he swallows. “How would you know?” he challenges, jade eyes meeting Sukuna’s own.
Sukuna smirks, maintaining the eye contact rather happily. “Sticking with the lie, are we?” He takes a big bite out of his burger. “Do you know how long I’ve been in this business? I hate to admit it, but Gojo’s agency has been at the top for years. He’s not going to send you for a shoot that doesn’t even have a fucking call sheet.”
Megumi traces the crust of his sandwich with a finger and chews contemplatively on his bottom lip.
“Please don’t tell him.”
Sukuna’s lips curl into a smile as he watches Megumi squirm in his seat. Finally, the cracks in his porcelain skin are beginning to show.
“What’s in it for me?” he asks slyly, placing his knife down. Megumi’s eyes dart up at him, and then back down under the table.
“I don’t know, what do you want?” he asks, seriously considering his options. And then, hesitantly, “My nudes?”
Sukuna’s eyes widen. He would have laughed if Megumi was joking, but he already looks ready to negotiate. Sukuna realises he doesn’t know a thing about surviving in the industry. It’s always fun to fuck around with greenhorns, but even Sukuna knows there’s a line that cannot be crossed.
“Listen, Fushiguro,” Sukuna coughs, “I’m flattered, but you are a fool. Sending nudes is career suicide for models, don’t even think about it.”
“I was joking.”
Sukuna grins. Terrible save, but he appreciates the effort nonetheless. “I’m sure you were,” he says, sarcasm dripping from his lips. Megumi frowns, looking very upset about the situation.
“Okay, okay, I won’t tell Gojo,” Sukuna relents mercifully, saving Megumi from more mental gymnastics. Megumi blinks and sits upright, as if he was fully expecting Sukuna to rat on him. “But you need to learn to trust him. Gojo only accepts jobs from famous designers he knows won’t fuck him and his models over. Haven’t you seen the way he coddles you? He’s a public nuisance, not an asshole.”
Satisfied with himself, Sukuna takes a long sip of coffee.
“I know, he said you’re the asshole.”
Sukuna chokes on his coffee.
“What the fuck,” he wheezes, but Megumi’s lips curl into a smile, and he thinks maybe he doesn’t mind choking all that much. “Why the fuck did he say that about me? You know what, I take it back. He’s an asshole for that. What a little bitch.”
Megumi is laughing now. Wow. Sukuna can’t wrap his head around the sound of his voice. It’s music to his ears. He wants to take his phone out and record it, make it his ringtone, set it as his alarm, play it at his wedding, but he’s so entranced he can’t even move. He can’t even breathe.
“Before our first shoot together, he told me to be careful not to get in your way because you would scream at me, and he was right,” Megumi chuckles. Sukuna takes a big gulp of coffee to ground himself. “But he also said that you’d be the first one to call bullshit if anything went too far…” A smile graces Megumi’s face as he shoots a shy glance up at Sukuna, “…and I guess he was right about that, too.”
Sukuna watches helplessly as Megumi takes a small sip of his coffee and another bite of his sandwich.
“Fushiguro,” he finds himself saying. Megumi looks up expectantly at Sukuna through his long lashes. He wonders if Megumi knows what he does to people with that face. “How much do you need?”
Megumi straightens in his seat, not expecting that question. He puts down his cutlery and clears his throat. “Uh, well… I’m not sure exactly how much yet, but my sister’s hospitalisation fee alone comes up to $8,000—”
“—Okay,” Sukuna says, cutting Megumi off. “I’ll transfer you the money.”
Megumi’s eyes widen. “Wait, really? You’re serious?”
“You need it urgently, right?” Sukuna says, making the transfer on the spot. Megumi gets the notification on his phone, and his jaw drops. “Pay me back when you’re famous,” Sukuna grins.
Megumi is still gaping. He checks his bank account. Sukuna really just transferred him $8,000. He looks back up at Sukuna, eyes wide.
“Next time you need help, ask Gojo,” Sukuna says firmly, waving for the waitress to settle the bill. Keeping his eyes on Megumi, he places his card in the bill holder, slaps it shut, and passes it back to the waitress. He looks back at Megumi, and smiles. “Don’t forget, you owe me one, princess.”
~
Megumi warms up considerably more to Sukuna on the car ride to campus. Sukuna finds out that he attends the same college as Yuuji.
“I knew you looked familiar,” Megumi says, “but the two of you are so… different.”
“No need to sugarcoat it, I’m the spawn of Satan compared to him,” Sukuna sighs dramatically, running a hand through his hair.
“He’s a natural,” Megumi says, “Gojo-sensei loves him.”
Sukuna frowns. “He needs to get rid of those stupid shades, then. You have so much more potential than that brat. He’s blind if he can’t see that.”
Megumi blinks in surprise. “You think so?”
He sounds so unsure of himself. Unbelievable.
“Are you kidding? Just look in the mirror,” Sukuna says, pulling down Megumi’s sun visor and flipping the mirror open. “Yuuji doesn’t even come close.”
Megumi blushes at Sukuna’s bluntness, looks at himself in the mirror. After a moment, he closes it and pushes the sun visor back up. “Why haven’t you tried?”
“Tried what?”
“Modelling.”
“Was this all just an elaborate scheme by Gojo to convince me to model for him?” Sukuna asks, half-jokingly. Usually he’d be too annoyed to entertain this topic, but someone as stunning as Megumi thinks Sukuna has what it takes to model? He’d be lying if he said it didn’t stroke his ego.
“Gojo-sensei always says you’d be his biggest asset,” Megumi chuckles, “but you definitely have the body for it.” His cheeks turn pink in realisation. “Objectively speaking,” he adds.
Fucking adorable. Sukuna scoffs and ducks his head. His cheeks are starting to cramp from smiling so damn much. “That’s what Yuuji’s for,” he says, after he regains control of his facial muscles. Then, he turns to Megumi and smirks. “What, you don’t like my pictures?"
Megumi smiles back, not falling for Sukuna’s taunts again. “Has anyone ever said that and gotten out alive?”
Sukuna’s grip on the steering wheel tightens. This boy is pushing all the right buttons. “I’m not as cruel as you think I am, you know. The Shibuya incident was completely justified.”
“What happened in Shibuya?”
Oh man.
“Gojo didn’t tell you?” Megumi shakes his head innocently. Sukuna sighs. This is probably going to ruin Megumi’s impression of him. “Two years ago, there was this studio producer, can’t remember his name, but he reeked of cigarette smoke the entire time, it was disgusting.
“He pestered Gojo to collaborate with his studio, sign some binding contracts that would allow him to freely use Gojo’s models for a commission fee. Gojo didn’t even bother reading the contracts. He turned the guy down, but the fucker just wouldn’t let up. Eventually, Gojo blacklisted him. Then, he started spamming my emails, asking if I was interested in working under his studio’s name. I ignored them all, but it’s harder to ignore someone in real life when they’re literally breathing down your neck all fucking day. That’s exactly what he did to me at Shibuya Fashion Week that year—ate at my table for dinner, tailed me on the red carpet, sat next to me at the runway. I was really trying to concentrate on the runway, but he was yapping away like a fucking parrot, so I yelled at him to shut up, or I’d rearrange his face.”
Sukuna pauses to check if Megumi is still listening, and he sees the boy looking over at him with bright eyes and a small smile on his face, entertained as ever. Sukuna clears his throat in alarm, trying to ignore the swooping feeling in his stomach.
“Well, not only did he not shut up, he threatened to tarnish my reputation and end my career, so as promised, I rearranged his face. Bled like a motherfucker, it got all over my shirt because he had the nerve to pass out on me. I was so annoyed I got security over to carry him out back and dump his ass in the back of an ambulance. He made headlines the next day.”
Sukuna expects Megumi to say something about him being a mindless brute, a heartless thug, but the boy simply scrunches his nose. “He sounds like Suzuki,” he says.
Sukuna laughs, relief washing over him. “Yeah? Want me to go back there and break his nose for you?” He realises how smitten he sounds the moment the words leave his mouth. “You know, just for the fun of it,” he clarifies, awkwardly. Fuck, he’s usually smoother than this. To his credit, Megumi giggles.
They’re already outside the campus. Sukuna stops the car.
“I think you’ve done more than enough for me, Sukuna,” Megumi says sweetly, and Sukuna has to physically fight the urge to brush Megumi’s bangs from his lashes. Megumi unbuckles his seatbelt and gets out of the car.
Just as Sukuna shift his gear to drive, Megumi taps on the window. Sukuna raises an eyebrow and winds it down.
“Thank you,” he says, head poking back into the car, “for today. It means a lot.”
Sukuna smiles at his honesty. How cute.
“Hey, plenty of chances to make it up to me, right?” he says in the softest possible voice he can manage. Megumi ducks his head shyly. Sukuna wants to kiss him.
“I’ll see you around, doll,” he says instead, driving off before he can no longer control himself.
Sukuna presses a button on his remote, and the gates to his house open. He watches from the comfort of his sofa as a small car pulls into the driveway. Out comes Uraume, unloading a few bags from their trunk. Sukuna grins as he watches them struggle to close their boot and elbow their way through the front door. They heave the bags onto the kitchen island and plop down on one of the stools, exhausted. They stare, unamused, at Sukuna’s smile.
“I understand your couch is very comfortable, but some help would have been nice.”
“Oh sorry, I got tired just from watching you,” Sukuna teases, stretching across the length of his sofa and yawning dramatically. “You didn’t tell me you were cooking at my place tonight.”
Uraume shrugs. “I was coming over to drop off the clothes for tomorrow’s shoot anyway.”
Sukuna frowns, sitting up. “Wait, what?”
Uraume takes a shirt out of one of the bags and holds it up for Sukuna to see. Their face twists in disgust at the design. Sukuna wants to laugh at the unexpected burst of emotion, but he’s too confused to even unfurrow his brows.
“Can’t believe you agreed to do this for a token fee,” Uraume says, folding it neatly and placing it back in the bag. Something clicks in Sukuna’s brain.
A few months ago at a gala dinner, Sukuna had a conversation with an acclaimed American designer who really liked some of Sukuna’s pictures. He casually mentioned a close friend who was struggling to break ground in the industry, and Sukuna drunkenly offered to do a small shoot for a discounted fee. The designer was over the moon. He followed up with an email days later, asking for miscellaneous details like timelines and addresses and billing information. Sukuna had been so fed up with the administrative details that he just randomly chose a date in his calendar, told Uraume to deal with the rest, and completely forgot about the entire thing.
“Fuck, did we get a studio?” he asks, walking over to look into the bags. It seems like Uraume had prepared for everything—backdrop, lights, props. Good, good, everything is going to turn out okay.
“No...? You said we’d just do the shoot here,” Uraume replies, gesturing vaguely to the house. “Token fee, remember?”
Sukuna feels his fingers going numb. “Right, yeah, token fee,” he mutters, “and the model?”
“You said you’d get Yuuji, right?”
Sukuna’s phone rings, and his heart almost jumps out of his chest. He looks at the caller ID—it’s Yuuji.
Sukuna answers the call and puts his phone to his ear.
“Sukuna! How’s my favouritest brother in the whole wide world doing?” he exclaims, laughing nervously on the line. Sukuna’s stomach sinks. Overexcited Yuuji can only mean bad news.
“Don’t fuck with me, brat,” Sukuna warns seriously, as if he didn’t totally forget about the shoot himself. “The shoot is tomorrow.”
“I’m sorry, okay? I have an exam in the afternoon that I completely missed on my calendar, I really can’t make it.”
Silence.
“Sukuna, please! I really need to pass this paper! Good luck with your shoot, okay? I gotta go study now, bye! I love you so much, please don’t kill me!”
And then his little brother hangs up on him.
Sukuna sighs and drops his phone on the table, leaning over to bury his head in his hands. Uraume lets Sukuna sit in silence for a moment.
“We can ask Gojo—”
“—Don’t even finish that sentence.”
Gojo would never shut up about it. The whole world would find out about this tiny slip-up. But the one face that keeps showing up in Sukuna’s mind, very unfortunately, models under Gojo’s agency.
“Fushiguro,” Sukuna says.
Uraume thinks for a moment, and then nods. “Oh right, the one who gave you an erection on set. He’s also under Gojo—”
“—he owes me a favour. I’m calling,” Sukuna interrupts again. If he hears Gojo’s name one more time, he might pop a vein. He scrolls fast through his contacts and stops at ‘F’.
Fushiguro Megumi.
Sukuna hits call.
~
“…and that’s why mochi is better than dango!” Gojo concludes his ten-minute long verbal essay about the pros and cons of Japanese desserts and flashes a proud thumbs-up at Megumi. The boy isn’t even looking at him, distracted by upbeat music from the arcade across the street as he chews on his takoyaki boredly. Gojo pouts and pokes Megumi’s cheek. “Are you listening to me, Megumi-chan?”
Megumi’s phone rings before he can think of an excuse. He swallows his takoyaki and takes the phone out of his pocket. Gojo nosily peers over Megumi’s shoulder and sees the contact name ‘Ryomen Sukuna’.
He gasps and places a hand on his chest in faux surprise. “You’re cheating on me?!”
Megumi fights the urge to roll his eyes. “Sensei, people are staring.”
Gojo is unperturbed. He wags a disapproving finger at Megumi. “At you, you little adulterer! Now, may I?” he asks, extending his freakishly long fingers for the still-ringing phone. Megumi sighs in defeat and plops it in his hand.
“Welcome to KFC, can I take your order?” Gojo chirps into the phone. Megumi can hear Sukuna spew a string of curses at the end of the line, and he stuffs another takoyaki into his mouth to stop himself from giggling.
“Mm, Megumi’s shift just ended. This is his manager speaking.”
Gojo listens to Sukuna for a while, and then he turns to smirk at Megumi. “Ohh, Yuuji-kun bailed on you and now you need a model? And you want Megumi to fill in?”
Megumi feels terrible for putting Sukuna on the spot like this after all he’s done for him, but Gojo is enjoying himself way too much to hand Megumi his phone back anytime soon. As Sukuna’s voice squeaks angrily through the speaker, Gojo’s smile remains bright and cheery.
“If you needed a model so badly, why didn’t you call me, Sukuna~?” Gojo whines. “I saved my number in your favourites, you know.”
There’s screaming at the end of the line, but Gojo doesn’t even flinch. Megumi vaguely wonders if he’s hard of hearing. That would explain why he’s so noisy all the time.
While Sukuna continues screaming, Gojo lowers the phone and turns to Megumi to ask loudly, “Are you free tomorrow, Megumi?”
Megumi nods. He knows he owes Sukuna a favour, and that’s the only reason why he’s agreeing to help. No other reason, no.
Gojo holds the phone back up. Sukuna is quiet now. “Okay, I’ll send him over tomorrow!” Gojo promises. Then, in the same sing-song tone, “Don’t get any funny ideas Sukuna, or I’ll kill you~!”
It sends a chill down Megumi’s spine, because he knows Gojo means it. If he ever finds out about Suzuki, Megumi would never hear the end of it.
Gojo hangs up, passes the phone back to Megumi, and claps his hands together.
“Right then,” he announces, and Megumi braces himself for whatever he’s about to say.
“What are your thoughts on daifuku?”
Gojo pulls up into Sukuna’s driveway in his (annoyingly) stylish Porsche convertible and steps out of his car like he’s just arrived at a fucking tourist spot. He whips out his phone and takes multiple shots of the exterior, grinning excitedly to himself as his sunglasses slip lower on his nose.
“Fuck, I shouldn’t have given him my address,” Sukuna groans, setting the camera down on a table.
Uraume looks at him with a straight face. “You should move out after this shoot.”
Gojo bursts through the front door with Megumi in tow, who embarrassedly chokes out a soft “sorry for the intrusion”.
“Sukuna, hi darling!” Gojo laughs, touching every single piece of furniture he passes. “I didn’t know you lived so luxuriously!”
Sukuna rolls his eyes so hard he gets a headache. Gojo’s house is way bigger and much more grandiose than his, but he’s not in a bickering mood today.
“Drop the model and go,” he waves dismissively. “I’m doing a shoot, not selling the fucking house.”
Gojo pouts and ruffles Megumi’s hair. “I’m sorry I can’t stay to watch, Megumi-chan,” Gojo coos, and then to Sukuna, “Be good to my baby, Sukuna. Though I imagine that wouldn’t be too difficult for you.”
Megumi huffs a laugh and immediately pretends to cough. Gojo pats his head proudly and heads for the door.
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Sukuna yells, scared and very confused. Gojo giggles.
“Oh, come on, Sukuna,” he says coyly, flicking his wrist at Sukuna, “you’re not fooling anyone.”
With that, he giggles to himself and runs to his car like a smitten schoolgirl. Sukuna is speechless. He turns to Megumi, who’s smiling shyly at him.
“Hi,” he says, waving at Sukuna with a sweater paw. Sukuna’s knees almost give way.
“Hi yourself,” Sukuna says, the irritation from dealing with Gojo completely dissipating. “Thanks for helping out today.”
Uraume walks over to pass Megumi the first outfit.
“I owe you one, right?” Megumi says, eyes still locked with Sukuna’s. He takes the outfit from Uraume and heads to the nearest room to change, bumping his shoulder into Sukuna as he passes. Sukuna’s eyes follow, entranced, until Megumi disappears behind the door.
“Are you going to thank me for helping, too?”
Sukuna is baffled, flustered. “What? Don’t be ridiculous. Fushiguro agreed to help last minute, you’ve been my assistant for what? Five years now? Don’t ask me weird shit like that, seriously, you are so weird.”
Uraume stares, unimpressed, as Sukuna attempts to explain himself, and then decisively shakes their head. “Never thought I’d say this, but I’m with Gojo on this one.”
“Oh my god, just shut up and bring the tripod here before I fire you,” Sukuna says, pinching the bridge of his nose to hide his embarrassment. Uraume goes to fetch it, and Sukuna tries to distract himself with fixing up the camera. The two of them work up a nice rhythm, passing tools to each other and adjusting the lights, when Megumi walks out of the room. Both of them stop to look at him.
“I didn’t think those clothes could look good on anyone,” Uraume remarks.
“It’s like they were made for him,” Sukuna agrees, impressed at how well they fit Megumi. Megumi rubs at his nape shyly and takes his seat in front of the camera.
They begin the shoot, and Sukuna notices right away that Megumi looks a million times more comfortable in front of the camera than the last time they met. He’s not as tense as he used to be, body relaxed with each shot. Sukuna is honestly impressed at how quickly he’s adapted to modelling. Gojo really does have an eye for talent. After a few takes, Sukuna and Uraume go for a wide shot, and they move the camera further back until they’re crammed at the foot of the couch. Uraume looks through the viewfinder and shakes their head.
“We need to move the couch.”
Sukuna gets up on his feet and stretches. “You mean I need to move it,” he says, lifting the side of the couch off the carpet like it weighs nothing. He shifts it backwards, and Uraume finally finds the camera’s sweet spot. Sukuna lifts the hem of his shirt up to wipe sweat off his brow, and he catches Megumi staring.
“Enjoying the view?” Sukuna teases, and Megumi looks away.
“N-no, I just… I didn’t know you had more tattoos under your shirt,” he stutters.
Uraume clicks their tongue loudly. “Hey, will you relax? Your face is all red, it’s fucking up the colour temperature.”
“Oh, sorry,” Megumi mutters, burying his face in his hands. Sukuna roars with laughter as he passes him a glass of water. He accepts gratefully, gulping it down like he hasn’t had water in days. “It’s the lights, they’re really hot,” Megumi says, after finishing the entire glass. He holds it out to Sukuna.
“Mm, it sure is getting hot in here,” Sukuna smirks, big hand wrapping around Megumi’s fingers on the glass, “I might just ditch the shirt.” He watches Megumi’s face grow even redder, grins, and walks back to the camera. Uraume looks up from the monitor to glare at him, unamused.
“I’m charging you double for this shoot.”
Sukuna laughs even louder.
~
Sukuna can’t tell if he’s going crazy or not, but Megumi seems to be flirting with him through the monitor. For the past few shots, he’d been looking into the lens with lustful, hooded eyes, posing sensually as Sukuna took the pictures.
“We’re changing lenses,” Sukuna says to Uraume, praying that he doesn’t have to stand up anytime soon, because his cock is painfully hard in his sweatpants.
“You want a close-up?”
Sukuna blinks. “Yeah, why?”
“What about the clothes?”
Sukuna looks through the monitor again. He’s been so focused on capturing Megumi’s face, he had completely forgotten about the purpose of the shoot in the first place.
“Right, the clothes, I knew that,” he murmurs, not taking his eye off the monitor. He’s too ashamed right now to face Uraume’s judgemental gaze. Embarrassed, he zooms the lens out to an appropriate distance and takes a few shots.
By early evening, Sukuna snaps the last shot. He goes through all the pictures one by one on his monitor, Uraume on his left and Megumi on his right. Now that he’s going through all of them at once, Sukuna is certain that Megumi was doing all that eye-fucking on purpose.
“He looks ready to fuck the camera,” Uraume deadpans. It was true, but they didn’t have to say it out loud like that.
“Not the camera…” Megumi mutters under his breath.
“Uraume, get us dinner. I’m starving,” Sukuna says, a little too loudly, leaning over the counter to hide his boner. Uraume glances down at Sukuna’s crotch, and to his relief, they mercifully choose not to call him out on it.
“Steak?”
Sukuna turns to Megumi with a knowing smile. “Two of ‘em.”
“Thank you,” Megumi bows politely, and Uraume nods back curtly before leaving the house.
Sukuna starts dismantling the camera and packing up the parts. Megumi watches from the side, intrigued. He picks up one of the parts to examine. If this were their first meeting, Sukuna would have yelled at him and gotten him fired on the spot, but things are different now. Megumi could smash the entire camera to pieces and Sukuna would let him get away with it.
“What’s this?” Megumi asks innocently, passing it to Sukuna.
“Oh, it’s a follow focus,” Sukuna explains, holding it up for Megumi to see. “Uraume uses it to adjust the focus for each shot. See, it turns like a knob.”
He stashes it away, and Megumi steps closer, hands him something else. “How about this?”
“That’s a light meter,” Sukuna says patiently, looking through it. “I can measure the exposure on the chair over there if I point at it. See?”
He demonstrates, and then passes it to Megumi to try. Megumi looks through it, but he’s standing too far away to get an accurate reading. Sukuna puts a hand on his shoulder and pulls him in closer.
“Here, you need to stand as close to the camera as possible,” Sukuna explains, quietly. Megumi blushes, smiles, and passes it back to Sukuna, but he doesn’t move away. Their bodies are pressed together, ridiculously close considering how wide the counter is.
Feeling Megumi’s eyes on him, Sukuna swallows hard, trying to focus on organising his gear and nothing else. Megumi passes him a pouch without even looking. “What’s this for?”
Sukuna opens the pouch and carefully pulls out a piece of tinted glass. “It’s a filter. We put this in front of the lens to minimise exposure from the sun.” He holds the glass up. “See the difference?” he asks, glancing over at Megumi to make sure he’s listening, but then realises that Megumi has been staring dreamily at him the whole time, eyes glassy, cheeks pink, their faces an inch apart.
“Not really,” he answers truthfully, eyes still locked on Sukuna’s face, his eyes, his lips. Sukuna feels like steam is about to come out his ears.
“Uh… well,” he croaks, mouth going dry, “it doesn’t look like much indoors, but you can really tell the difference in the sun—”
And Megumi is kissing him.
Soft lips and the scent of vanilla, cold fingertips on Sukuna’s jaw. He can’t remember when kissing someone felt so right. He kisses back, their lips sliding against each other, locking perfectly into place, warm breath tickling both their cheeks. Sukuna breaks the kiss, catching his breath, making sure he hasn’t broken the filter in his hand. Megumi is looking at him, needy, eyes half-lidded, mouth slack with saliva, pawing at Sukuna’s chest.
“Fushiguro…” Sukuna whispers, sliding his large hand under Megumi’s jaw. Eagerly leaning into the touch, Megumi sighs.
“Megumi,” he corrects, and Sukuna kisses him this time. Firm and commanding, tongue in his mouth, hand in his hair. Megumi mewls at the show of dominance, and the sound goes straight to Sukuna’s cock. He presses even harder against Megumi, arm slipping around his thin waist possessively.
“Megumi,” he says, voice like thick velvet, “reckless little thing.”
Megumi licks at his jaw. “You started it,” he rebuts, tracing a finger over Sukuna’s shirt, where his tattoos lie underneath. “Show me again.”
He lifts Sukuna’s shirt with his fingers, and when Sukuna doesn’t stop him, he lifts higher, pupils blowing wide at the sight of his chest. He glides his smooth hands over Sukuna’s abs, his nipples, the lines inked on his skin, and Sukuna is tired of watching. He pulls Megumi in for another kiss, and the boy gladly obliges. It’s slow and sweet and sensual, roaming hands and swollen lips, and then—
“This is extremely unprofessional.”
They break apart to stare at Uraume like deer in headlights.
“Uraume, um,” Sukuna straightens his shirt and wipes the spit from his lips, “where’s the steak—”
“—I forgot my wallet,” they snap, grabbing it aggressively off the counter and storming off. “You two better not be fucking when I come back.”
They watch Uraume aggressively back out of the driveway and turn out of sight, and then Sukuna pulls Megumi into his embrace again. Megumi leans contently back against his chest, fingers idly tracing the black lines on Sukuna’s wrist.
“How’d you know I’d kiss you back?” Sukuna asks, lips against Megumi’s nape.
“I knew since Suzuki,” Megumi replies, bringing Sukuna’s hand up to kiss the inside of his wrist. Sukuna frowns.
“Am I really that obvious?”
Megumi giggles, and Sukuna gets butterflies.
“I don’t blame you,” he reassures, squeezing Sukuna’s hand. “It’s not like you can help it.”
Sukuna pulls away and turns Megumi to face him. “What do you mean?”
“I wasn’t the only one with a wardrobe malfunction,” he teases, glancing down at Sukuna’s crotch. “It’s not easy to hide such a big package.”
Sukuna turns red.
“You saw?”
A playful smile spreads on Megumi’s face as he looks down at Sukuna’s clothed erection again. “You’d be such a good underwear model,” he teases, slinging his arms around Sukuna’s neck.
“You are unbelievable,” Sukuna scolds, but he’s smiling so wide it hurts. Megumi laughs and combs his hand through Sukuna’s pink hair.
“I’m glad things turned out this way,” he says, quietly, honestly, and Sukuna kisses him again. Megumi rests his head in the crook of Sukuna’s neck, and Sukuna rubs circles into Megumi’s back, thinking about the crazy chain of events that led them to this point. He still can’t quite wrap his head around how quickly this all happened. One moment he’s baring his teeth at Megumi, and in the next, he’s hopelessly obsessed. But right now, all he can focus on is that this close up, Megumi’s hair smells like vanilla and grapefruit, and so he breathes it in, strokes the messy tufts, and watches as they bounce back up rebelliously, much like Megumi himself. They stay in their embrace for a moment, soaking it in.
“So…” Sukuna says gently, eventually breaking the silence. Megumi looks up at him curiously. “Any chance I could still get those nudes?”
Megumi huffs a laugh and buries his face in Sukuna’s neck.
“I hate you,” he whines, punching Sukuna’s chest weakly.
It’s nothing he hasn’t heard before, yet it still makes him giddy. Everything just sounds different in Megumi’s voice. Sukuna is completely bewitched, and he’s not planning to hide it, now that he knows the feeling is mutual.
“I don’t care,” he finds himself saying, and he means it, squeezing Megumi’s body tighter against his own to prove his point.
“Good,” Megumi whispers, satisfied.
His eyes flutter shut as he kisses Sukuna once more, firm and decisive and possessive, and Sukuna lets the taste linger on his tongue.