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Sukuna’s infernal icon pops up with an inane message in the corner of Toji’s screen as he’s trying to focus on— something, he swears, but the sight of the man’s messy hair throws him for an angry little loop. It’s been the same image for the full six months Toji’s been acquainted with him: taken from a too-close angle, uploaded to his account by his younger cousin, Sukuna grunting that he’s too lazy to change it when Toji mocked how unflattering it is once.
Fuck off, I’m busy, Toji types without even looking at the keyboard or the state of their private chat thread from a few nights before. Much like Vegas, their off-stream interactions are something to be forgotten in the daylight, lest they embarrass the two participants all over again.
In his flimsy, unreliable defense – it’s been a few too many years now. Toji doesn’t sleep around like he used to in his twenties, especially not since the unexpected fame hit him, and two-in-the-morning Tuesday is optimal lustful flirting time in his hind-brain. It’s a badly kept secret that he has a twisted respect slash admiration for the retired prodigy, in spite of how he comes to his senses when Sukuna inevitably again pisses him off.
And Toji’s too far in his thirties by now, too old to have a teenage-esque crush on a boy he likes. During a few nights where he’s left without Sukuna to placate him, he’s delved into the depths of their fans’ true thoughts on the pair of them, derived from their stream banter and the few unfavourable anecdotes Toji’s shared about Sukuna online when the man’s pissed him off more than usual.
A euphemism, to cover the undeniable fact; something snapped in Toji’s mind the first time he stumbled across uncensored art of him spread out under Sukuna, a ridiculously horny hentai ad in full technicolour and detail, and the subsequent come drying on his bare abdomen was too real to continue denying.
So what — Toji’s jerked off to the thought of Sukuna once. He’s not a closet case anymore, but it’s merely a fluke in his rational judgement, and it’s not like he hasn’t fucked his fist to more off-the-wall content before.
Join call, brat is Sukuna’s ever-eloquent response, and the message after that, and the message after that. Toji isn’t sure why he’s the one that became the abnormally known streamer (though considering some of the lewder comments he gets while live with his facecam, he can hazard a guess as to where the popularity came from), when Sukuna’s attitude matches that same cockiness of his peers.
He could let Sukuna wear himself out with the spamming, but he joins the call as he’s been oh so politely asked.
Sukuna greets him with a grunt rather than a hello, and Toji rolls his eyes in return. His webcam is already on from yesterday’s stream and untouched after Toji woke up mid-afternoon, as is Sukuna’s, providing a clear image of the pink-haired man slumped half over his keyboard. He’s wrapped in a dark grey hoodie, somehow still oversized on his bulky frame, and Toji resists the thought of how endearing it is.
“Hop on. I want to practise before ranks reset next week.”
“Scared you’ll get knocked out of top spot?” Toji teases, already booting up the game on his PC just from that single request. He can poke fun at Sukuna like this, because the both of them know that it’s an impossibility. Up until his retirement two seasons ago, Sukuna wasn’t undefeated but may as well have been – even now and out of the spotlight, his name isn’t one to eagerly await to see on the enemy’s team.
They play together for practice solely because they work a little too well together, and they’re too deep now for Sukuna to suddenly stop appearing alongside Toji. He’s as much a part of the channel as the disdained glares Toji shoots at obvious stream-snipers, the obnoxious alerts that his audience play exclusively when Toji’s trying to hold his nerve, and his late-night life experience rambles in between games.
Sukuna exhales loudly, a breath he didn’t know he was holding in the middle of a tense fight, and laughs. “If you want to overtake, you’re goin’ to have to grind a little harder. Try having a bratty cousin trying to surpass you, then it’ll kick in.”
He immediately joins Sukuna’s group once the game loads up – they’ve always had auto-join on for the other, to avoid the many times they’ve been killed during a team fight or conceded the objective to accept the request. Bonus points: it gives Toji ample opportunity to provide never-needed commentary as he watches Sukuna’s gameplay.
“Tank half.” Toji smirks into the mic, pulling his feet up onto his chair as he watches the decidedly full-health enemy tank advance towards Sukuna’s hiding spot, ready to strike. “Three on point, three on p– don’t ult on fifty health, you fucking madman?”
Sukuna’s only response is an exasperated hiss and an eye-roll, and Toji watches in slight awe as the other man singlehandedly flips the team fight to a won match. “Call it an easy win in chat. Tell the enemy supports how shit they were, they barely even tried to outheal your damage.”
“If I get chat muted again, I’m going to tell your stream about that time you broke a controller over being a lower comp rank than me. I still have the pictures, Toji.”
Something about the fuzz of his given name over the call makes Toji’s chest soften just a little bit when he hears it. It’s a world away from how the fans say it, because Sukuna’s more than that. They became close thanks to Toji’s livestreaming, sure, but now they’re something approximating friends, he hopes.
Friends, and that’s all – no matter how many times Toji gets hot under the collar to the thought of the other man underneath him.
“That was for the bit, Ryo.” Toji attempts to argue back, tongue weighed down in his mouth, but the tail end of the complaint is drowned out by the familiar tone signaling that they’re queued into another match.
While Sukuna’s presence still always puts Toji on edge, both in game and in the call, this is something familiar to him; he locks in the same character as always, bounces around the spawn room and fields off his endless admirers in match chat. It’ll be easy enough. Toji doesn’t recognise any of the opposing team as fellow streamers, high ranked players or ex-pros, though he can hear the distinct rhythm of Sukuna clicking through their career profiles to guess what they’ll be up against.
Maybe it’s that sense of false security that throws them off – something just isn’t clicking. Toji’s attempts to assassinate the backline are countered, and Sukuna’s picks are outhealed or resurrected. Their team swaps compositions, tries different formations to break through the enemy defense – nothing works.
“Just skip, go next.” Toji sighs when the all-too-familiar Defeat screen pops up, dropping his mouse to reach for his bottle of water. He can sense the tension in Sukuna’s frame from the few pixels he’s afforded by the camera feed as he sheds his hoodie in the heat, but nothing comes to mind to ease it. It’s rare that the two of them get countered so undeniably, but it’s a fluke game, Toji decides. They’ll step it up for the next one.
It becomes a repeated mantra not unlike Sukuna’s habitual spammed messages, as they lose the following game, and the third after that. Sukuna hunches over progressively more as they do, low hisses at a bad play morphing into exaggerated gasps and sighs that have Toji shuffling in his chair for better comfort.
”Fuck!” Sukuna grits out after their fourth consecutive loss, head in his hands on his desk. “I was on point, that’s so fucking ridiculous.”
Toji cancels their queuing for another match in favour of watching Sukuna roll his own seat back to stand up and stepping offscreen momentarily. In all their playing, all of Sukuna’s live matches that Toji’s watched as background noise and nothing more, he’s never seen the pro get this tilted or make this many fluke mistakes. Sukuna’s appeal is that he’s level-headed, meticulous despite the fast-paced nature of the game. His off-day is the peak of a regular player’s gaming career — and so Toji can’t quite figure what’s going on.
Something is placed on Sukuna’s desk, just out of the camera’s reach, and he sits back down with a low exhale. He has one hand on his mouse, clicking around the screen in miscellaneous patterns and the other out of sight; Toji spaces out looking at the edge of the surface and Sukuna’s shifting forearm below it, until the visible hand moves to snap its fingers into the webcam. “Are you putting us back in?”
“Yeah, fuck, sorry.” The air seems to have shifted to something that Toji can’t seem to put his finger on, maybe because it’s separated by a screen and a few Tokyo districts. He isn’t actually sure how far away Sukuna is, just that the distance is far more than it should be.
He can’t tell what it is that’s playing on his mind, but Toji still can’t focus on the game and it’s not solely because of their loss streak. A couple of opposing players who recognise his name taunt his misplays and their teammates question what’s going on, but Toji just halfheartedly laughs along in text chat and waves them off. Sukuna, on the other hand, is uncharacteristically quiet; even when he’s focusing, he never misses an opportunity to banter with his fellow players or Toji himself, but he’s silent.
There’s a light at the end of the tunnel – they lose the game but by an incredibly narrow margin, and even stubborn Sukuna can admit that it was a bloodbath they were just slightly edged out in. He leans back in his chair as they return to the all-too familiar queue screen, and Toji immediately latches onto the sight of Sukuna’s forearm resting on his thigh, the waistband of his grey sweatpants visible under the hem of his tank top.
“What are you staring at me for?” He inquires once he’s swallowed another sip of water and moved back into his usual position. The hair on the back of Toji’s neck prickles a little at the call-out. “Next game, let’s do it.”
It’s difficult to see, since Sukuna’s webcam is only a small corner of Toji’s monitor screen, but his forearm is still undeniably shifting back and forth until they get put into yet another game and Toji is forced to stop his unsubtle observing.
More of the same, less of a surprise; though what does shock Toji is how Sukuna shifts to another extreme, calling out every shot he makes, every cooldown he tracks, every death and revival in the kill chat. There’s an underlying nervousness to his tone, frantic in the way he tries to control the flow of their team and the match. Toji tries his best to follow up on fights and keep track of everything in his own inexplicably jarred head.
”Fuck.” Sukuna sighs out, name popping up on the receiving end of a death again, and Toji immediately turns to kill the enemy responsible. It’s less defeated and more— more—
Toji’s lucky that he’s sunk so many hours into this game, enough to run off instinct as his brain switches gears. There’s no way in hell that Sukuna is jerking off visibly on call with his close friend, but the lax shifting of his arm off-camera every time he’s not playing coupled with the near enough erotic way he curses at his mistakes has Toji suddenly too tense in his chair.
It’s been too long, he’s pent up, it’s just that it’s been too long and he’s pent up and the thought of Sukuna blushing and chewing his lower lip and arching into sensation plays on loop in Toji’s mind where logic should otherwise be. Sukuna has never so much as implied that he might be into Toji – not that Toji’s interested in the other man, of course – and so he’s clearly just thinking wishfully, as he tends to do.
The final buzz of their fifth Defeat screen is drowned out by the rush of blood in Toji’s skull and the dry, dry desert of his tongue.
As he could have bet on, Sukuna’s arm starts to shift under the desk again, and the flood of saliva that glues Toji’s mouth shut is a direct horny reaction to how much he wishes he was kneeling on the floor of Sukuna’s apartment. It’s an involuntary, impulsive thought but one that Toji allows himself to mull over once it hits. One that, once it’s stuck there, doesn’t let Toji process any kind of rational thought.
“What are you doing?”
And Sukuna has the audacity, the fucking audacity, to flush pink at the tip of his ears like he’s been caught redhanded. Even if it’s just confirming what Toji already knew, deep down in his heart, he feels more than a little dizzy at the verification that Sukuna’s right here, in front of him, dick out under his desk like Toji isn’t going to notice. God, maybe that’s what he’s angling after, he wants Toji to call him out on it, watch him through the camera feed until he comes all over himself.
“Just—” Sukuna cuts himself off with a low grunt, and Toji freezes even more still in his chair. “Just tense, needed this.”
Needed this with me? Toji doesn’t ask, suddenly terrified to sound too clingy when he’s already teetering on the edge. It’s been years since he was married, but somehow he remembers the careful, delicate early stages of dating and tiptoeing around, trying not to risk it all. Instead, low, under his breath; “Are you close?”
Sukuna laughs dryly, head thrown back, one foot up on his armrest for more room. It stops the air in Toji’s throat as the movement pushes the chair back from his desk and brings Sukuna’s cock into full view, flushed red with blood and dripping into his fist. Even so; “Not yet.”
Toji frames his own dick, still trapped in his clothes, with the span of one hand, grinding the heel of his hand against the root and exhaling a little shakily with the drag of the fabric.
It has Toji hot under the collar already – Sukuna’s into exhibitionism and edging himself, then, and that’s information that Toji would have shrugged off any other time but only makes him harder now. He can sense the lazy way Sukuna watches him through the webcam, making him want to preen like he’s live. Like a tease, slowly, he shuffles his sweatpants down in the same way as Sukuna and pulls himself into full view, revelling a little in the way Sukuna sucks in a breath.
And just as Toji’s about made peace with the knowledge that he’s a grown adult man about to have phone sex with his close friend – that same familiar three-note ding sounds in his headphones, and he snaps his sight away from the camera feed back to the game. “The fuck?”
“We can— hah…”
He’s being roped into some kind of game on top of the one they’re already playing, Toji can tell, with the way Sukuna starts to grin to himself like he already knows the other man isn’t going to be a fan.
“Have you been edging yourself between rounds?” Toji has to inject forced incredulity into his tone. “Is it your fault we keep losing, Ryo?”
Toji’s slamming his hands clumsily across Sukuna’s buttons, trying to determine what makes him tick and what will make him end the call. He watches, like observing a Renaissance painting, as Sukuna does that same headroll in pleasure and laugh. “I could play better with one hand on my dick and one on the keyboard than you could ever dream of, Fushiguro.”
The ding-ding-ding! of the matchmaking system cuts off any retort Toji could fumble together. Sukuna sighs like he isn’t the one that queued them in in the first place, wipes his hand off messily on the thigh of his sweatpants and ignores the way Toji grimaces at him. He doesn’t know how the fuck he’s meant to play without brazenly staring at the way Sukuna’s exposed cock twitches in the loose grip he circles it in, locking in his character before stroking himself a few more times and leaning in to play.
”Lock in, Toji.” He drawls, and that’s so much hotter than it should reasonably be.
He doesn’t know how Sukuna can be so composed, but Toji tries to listen, for once in his life – he loads in, he ignores the insistent heat of his still-hard dick, he tries to make the least amount of possible eye contact with Sukuna and it works. They win their sixth game, against all odds, yet Toji doesn’t have the brain power to care.
The game reckons it’ll be five minutes before they get put into their next round; Toji’s had plenty of opportunities to train his stamina over the years but, again, it’s been a while since he last slept with anyone. Let alone a man, and let alone anyone he’s so all-consumingly drawn to as he is with Sukuna.
As soon as the Victory fanfare sounds, Sukuna is already stroking himself off again, groaning long and low with the sensation. It’s so much better than any explicit fan drawing could ever be – the way he rubs below the head of his cock where he must be sensitive, spending his precome down his length until his shaft is obviously slick despite the low light.
“Oh, fuck.” Toji bites, speeding up his own movements, and Sukuna glances up through his eyelashes to the camera mounted on top of his monitor. He doesn’t care if he has Sukuna’s dick or his mouth at this point, but the distance between them is making Toji sicker and sicker to his stomach. “Fuck, you’re hot.”
Maybe he’s a dirty liar, he has been from the start. Maybe he’s always wanted Sukuna in every possible way since they met, since Sukuna first commanded him to duo and then their camaraderie stopped being strictly for the cameras. Toji considers the blurry little photo he took from one of their calls, when Sukuna was half-asleep and bundled up in the same hoodie he shed earlier, when he snapped a couple of pictures just before the pink-haired man woke up again and posted it online with some caption poking fun.
There’s a few more images from the photoset that Toji never shared with anyone, and somehow even the thought of those innocent depictions of Sukuna incites the same burning in his core as the sight of Sukuna thrusting into his own touch, lip bitten tight between his teeth.
“Gettin’ close.” Sukuna grits out. “I—”
Welcome to… the robotic voice of the game’s announcer declares the name of some map they’ve played a million times, and Toji exhales in frustration as his impending orgasm abates again. Sukuna doesn’t control him – he doesn’t have to edge himself in the same way the clearly masochistic man is on the other side of the feed – but Toji’s starting to find that he kind of likes it, the tension and the waiting and the yearning.
One of them will break eventually, with how charged the air feels already. Toji’s hands quake as he leans towards his PC again, trying to stifle a moan at the cool air against his swollen flesh.
“Don’t throw, Toji.” Sukuna warns, a smile playing on his lips every time he hears the other man’s breathing shift over the mic. “You can do this.”
Sukuna could probably tell him to dive headfirst off a cliff and Toji would listen; he’s starting to realise why the man was considered such a prodigy in the pro scene. He has the attitude and the skills to back it up, but the more time Toji spends with him, the quicker he realises that Sukuna is a force of nature, something akin to a black hole but nowhere near as negative.
He doesn’t throw, despite Sukuna’s little taunts that you’re always throwing, Fushiguro. They close out a second winning game, despite the fact that Sukuna’s eyes are always on Toji rather than the match whenever he glances up in between duels.
”Cancel the fucking queue.” Toji growls once they’re thrown back to the all-too-familiar landing screen, already fisting his cock as if he wants to choke it. Sukuna’s all stretched out and comfortable, sprawled on his chair like he’s been thrown. “I want t—”
Sukuna shakes his head and like he’s being controlled, Toji immediately stops trying to command the situation. “Aren’t we doing this together? You can last a little longer, I know you can.”
Somewhere in the back of his mind, Toji’s aware that he doesn’t need to listen to what Sukuna has to say – he could just mock the way Sukuna’s been jerking off this whole time, until the other man’s flushed glares and bratty retorts make Toji himself come. Alternatively, he could play along until everything culminates, and part of him wants to see how far they’ll take it.
It becomes some kind of mindless loop: for the next half hour, they alternate between calling shots and working together to take down the opposing team, before moaning desperately down their microphones in the interim. Toji’s fixated on how Sukuna touches himself, sinking his nails into his thigh every time he gets too close, humping the air whenever he edges himself. It’s near enough dizzying, even without all the blood in Toji’s body concentrated in his cock.
Thankfully, slowly but surely, Toji starts to become accustomed to the flex of Sukuna’s bicep and the shifting of his body. He’s still disgustingly, mind-meltingly hot, but he isn’t at risk of coming every time Sukuna tries to stifle a noise.
”Oh, fuck.” Sukuna whines under his breath, and then he’s scrabbling out of Toji’s field of view for something again. “Fuck, hold on.”
He’s never been so happy to hear the sound of Sukuna cancelling their queue, and Toji gets lost in heat for a moment, eyes fluttering shut against his will.
There’s the click of a cap, then Sukuna whines uncharacteristically high-pitched, and Toji refocuses his vision to the sight of Sukuna with his leg slung over his armrest again, two fingers thrusting deep in his hole. With all the times Sukuna has proclaimed he’ll fuck another player’s father, Toji had internalised in his little late-night fantasies that Sukuna would top, and that was the end of that line of thought.
This, in front of him, now – Sukuna’s gasping, thighs twitching, making it obvious how often he must do this with how well he seems to know his own body as well as the half-empty bottle of lube partially in view of the camera. The tight wrap of Toji’s hand around his dick isn’t enough all of a sudden, and his traitorous mind supplies a stream of mental images of Sukuna collapsed on Toji’s white duvet, eyes lidded and legs pulled to his chest and cock leaking steadily across his abdomen, and Toji comes hard into his fist before he can even gather the strings of his brain enough to edge himself once more.
“Toji, baby.” Sukuna’s a brat and a devil and every insult that’s ever been thrown at him, somehow only a little out of breath when Toji’s lost his ability to speak for at least a minute now. “I thought we were going to come together. Was goin’ to… ah, going to let you soon, promise you.”
Was going to let you come rings in Toji’s vacant skull, like there’s some sort of dynamic here and Sukuna’s on the dominant side despite how he’s now fucking himself on three of his thick fingers, face flickering between a biting smirk and screwed up in pleasure.
Toji sucks in air until it sends him to the opposite side of dizzy, cock rapidly filling out again as he watches Sukuna drip precome over the stationary fist he holds himself in.
“Couldn’t hold it. You’re so… fucking hot, Sukuna, Ryo, want you so bad, driving me insane.” It’s supposed to be a lighthearted little nickname, derived from his given name that he’s particularly stingy about people using, but he preens visibly on camera at the sound of the syllable drenched in Toji’s dense tone.
He feels like he’s lost something when Sukuna chews his lower lip once more and pulls his fingers from his hole, cock shuddering as the pink-haired man stands up to reach for something else. “D’you want to watch me…”
The dildo Sukuna brings into view is almost obscenely huge, sculpted and realistic with veins down the shaft, and the sound that leaves Toji is punched from him unceremoniously at the vision. He’s above every lewd illustration Toji’s seen online, every site he’s frequented out of horny boredom, somehow better. His sweatpants are still tangled on his body, the fabric stretched across the width of his thighs, and it’s such a delectable image of debauchery that he itches to ask for a recording to revisit.
Nothing could bring Toji to interrupt though; he nods, tongue glued to the roof of his mouth, and takes in the way Sukuna settles the toy on his seat and sinks unrelentingly down the length. His eyes twitch shut, face shuttering at the intrusion, until Toji is praying to every deity he can think of to turn him into a chair.
“Requeue us.” Sukuna demands, all of a sudden, and– okay, Toji thinks, this is round two, then.
“How often do you…” Toji can barely see the monitor in front of him. He’s convinced this must be some kind of dream, because the very concept of having competitive gaming prodigy Ryomen Sukuna, the same Ryomen Sukuna with his face blasted across billboards and advertisements, fucking himself on a fake cock just for Toji to watch isn’t a thing that would have ever happened in any other world.
He watches the way Sukuna shifts to get comfortable, moaning low in one prolonged exhalation. “First time doing it on call. Thought you’d… want it.”
I want you, Toji doesn’t say, the quiet thought drowned out by the charm of a match loading up in front of them. He’s still half-hard, needing to focus more on memorising everything Sukuna will give him rather than chasing a second climax.
Instead, “Lock in, Ryo.”
Sukuna laughs, trailing off into a cough that fails to cover up a moan when he leans forwards and the dildo brushes against his prostate just right. “When am I not locked in, Toji?”
The first round almost makes Toji feel bad with how easy it is. Sukuna dances around the enemy backline, Toji shuts down every attempt to break through their defenses, and their team reconvenes in the spawn room for the second round with banter and compliments tapped out into text chat.
It’s a little too smooth sailing. Toji doesn’t like easy matches. He’ll get rusty if he isn’t challenged, especially with the sheer amount of time he’s already sunk into the game just to show off his refined skills to his audience.
“Good round, baby.” He whispers into his headset, almost kicking himself at how much he sounds like some kind of grimy old man. It has the intended effect, though – Sukuna presses his eyes shut like he’ll come untouched just from Toji’s compliment, and that makes him as giddy as when he was twenty and riding the high of his first date, engagement, marriage.
Sukuna’s chair is wheeled back under his desk, hiding his undoubtedly hard cock from view again, but it can’t be considered a loss when Toji’s still being treated to the sight of Sukuna subtly lifting himself up so he can drop down on the dildo inside of him and the sounds of the effort it takes. “Stop teasing me. Please.”
Toji hums to himself, just loud enough for Sukuna to hear how much he intends to continue teasing. “Alright, baby, I will. C’mon, just need to win one more.”
The second round is a total role reversal: they barely get to walk out of the door, let alone make any valiant effort at winning the point. For the first time ever, Toji doesn’t even have it in him to start making callouts to his team or point fingers as to why they’re losing. He knows exactly why. Even from halfway across the map and split by a screen, Toji can see Sukuna miss easy shots and make mistakes, and his chair creaks as he rides the fake cock like his life depends on it.
“Don’t start.” He mutters when they return to spawn once more, and Toji laughs, full of light like he’s live and connecting with a wider audience. There is no audience, it’s just him and Sukuna and Toji’s maybe a little bit in love. Maybe there’s some kind of irony in their webcam sex enabling him to acknowledge the real truth. Maybe Toji’s brain has already melted with how attracted to Sukuna he is.
“I wasn’t starting.” Toji replies, teasing once more, though he imagines he won’t have much longer to do so with the increasing pitch and frequency of Sukuna’s sounds.
It’s evident from the start that their third round isn’t going to be a winning one, but Toji couldn’t care less to even try. He tails Sukuna around the game at a distance, only focusing on their opponents when they threaten to stop his virtual chasing, and whispers every tiny piece of horny praise that comes to mind.
”Good play, Ryo, very nice. Still so strong even while you’re being fucked, aren’t you? You look incredible, baby, going to fly you out to me some time so you can cockwarm me while you play instead of some silicone. Would you like that, darling? Maybe next time, during a tournament, I’ll get you something small, remote-controlled, so I can sit in the audience and watch you shake apart on stage in front of everyone. Does that s—”
”Stop.” Sukuna chokes, one hand clamped over his mouth and yet still moaning loud enough for his mic to pick it up, the other clenching his mouse hard enough that Toji worries he might actually crush it to pieces. “Fuck, Toji, goin’ to come, I can’t, I-I, oh god, ‘m—”
The round ends, a miserable defeat, as Sukuna sinks further into his seat and shudders, thrusting into the air as he comes untouched and all over the underside of his desk. Toji could kiss him on the mouth, fullbodied, as he pushes his chair back and strokes his cock to drag out the orgasm, somehow still spurting come across his fist and abdomen, dripping down messily to his tensed thighs.
“You’re so hot, Ryo, what the fuck.” Toji feels delirious like he’s just come himself, watching Sukuna’s chest heave through the aftershocks.
He exhales, like a laugh. “You’re not so bad yourself, Toji.”
Toji watches quietly as Sukuna reaches for the tissues he apparently keeps on his desk, cleans himself up, slides the wide shaft out of himself with gritted teeth and sets it to the side. He’s thankful, at least, that the other man seems too out of it to question the petnames, the implications that they’ll do this again, the implications that they’ll ever have something more and publicly, to boot.
Sukuna settles back down at his monitor, clicking buttons idly, and Toji positively aches with how badly he wants to hold him in the afterglow. It wasn’t just dirty talk; especially after today, Toji has every intent of meeting Sukuna in person for the first time imminently, regardless of if that’s to fuck or just hang out. If they never speak of the evening again, it is what it is, Toji supposes.
A little ding-ding-ding! sounds from Toji’s PC again, drags him back into the moment while it still lasts. Sukuna’s never satiated, it seems, and Toji’s nothing but content to be the other half of his duo.
“Can’t end on a loss, can we?” Sukuna raises an eyebrow into the webcam, and Toji leans forwards again to play along.