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Satoru shouldn't be this excited for it. For something so normal—just guys being dudes or whatever. But he is. His skin is crawling, his pulse hammering like adrenaline is pumping through his veins even after the mission he and Suguru just finished.
He doesn’t know why he’s so pent up. He doesn’t care either, because it’s been like this since the first time, so he just shrugs and assumes it’s normal. At least, he assumes it’s normal for someone his age to be thinking with need all the time after physical contact—especially when Satoru barely has any at all.
When they reach the dorms, he doesn’t stop at his own door. Instead, he follows Suguru. He barely speaks the whole way, but Suguru doesn’t seem to mind. Suguru knows—he always knows. That’s the thing Satoru both loves and hates about him: Suguru always knows what he needs without him having to spell it out.
So when Suguru opens the door, he barely waits for it to swing shut before grabbing the front of Satoru’s uniform, yanking him close, and kissing his sweaty neck. Satoru doesn’t fall behind, his fingers already working Suguru’s uniform jacket open as he walks him backward toward the bed. The movement is familiar by now, just as familiar as Suguru’s hands gripping his waist when Satoru straddles his lap, rolling his hips forward.
He’s hard—so damn hard. Ever since they finished exorcizing that curse and he caught sight of Suguru undoing his hair, tying it back up again after the fight had left it a mess. Because his best friend is... really fucking attractive sometimes. And knowing how his cock feels pressed against Satoru’s, the weight of it thick and hot between them, how his calloused hand fits around both of them—God, it makes Satoru lose his mind a little.
But it’s fine. They’re close like that. A very tight-knit friendship where they help each other out when in need. That’s what friends do. And Satoru is in need a lot these days. Almost every time they have to spare, Satoru needs it. Suguru never rejects him, and judging by the way he bites at Satoru’s throat and grips his hips hard enough to bruise—how he drags Satoru down so their cocks press together just right, sparking pleasure down his spine—Suguru probably needs it just as much.
They don’t kiss. That’s what people who date do. And they’re just guys. It’s nothing like that.
Satoru sometimes has flashes of thought—
“Harder,” he breathes, fingers tangling in Suguru’s hair as he tugs the tie loose. It falls around his face, and Satoru tilts his head, inviting Suguru’s teeth against his throat. Suguru takes it, lips and tongue dragging over sensitive skin, sucking hard enough to draw a deep, needy moan out of him. And Suguru obeys, because he’s generous like that. And Satoru has never been shy about taking what his best friend offers.
Satoru relishes the heat of Suguru’s back on his hands, the muscles shifting beneath his palms, damp with sweat from the mission. His skin is so warm against Satoru’s touch, making his cock twitch in his pants. He wants to taste the salt of it, to sink his teeth into Suguru’s shoulder the way Suguru does his throat.
Suguru’s hands free Satoru from his own jacket, his mouth trailing lower, pressing kisses down Satoru’s sternum. Satoru arches against him, head tipping back as he bites his lip to stifle a moan when Suguru’s tongue flicks over his nipple before closing his lips around it, sharp teeth grazing the sensitive bud. The shock of it sends a twitch through Satoru’s hips, his legs tightening around Suguru. He tugs at Suguru’s hair in retaliation.
“Behave,” Suguru murmurs against his skin, looking up at him from below.
Satoru glances down and feels a fresh pulse of heat between his legs at the sight—Suguru’s tongue lapping at his pecs, his usually neat hair in complete disarray, strands clinging to his sweaty neck. His nose and shoulders glisten with it too, lips occasionally wrapping around Satoru’s nipple and sucking.
Satoru whines, rolling his hips. He moves back and forth, the pressure of Suguru’s bulge pressing between his ass—God, it’s too much. They don’t go this far.
This isn’t sex.
They’re friends, and friends don’t have sex.
Satoru’s never even entertained the idea of taking it further.
Just sometimes. Like now.
But the thought passes as quickly as it comes.
“And if I don’t?” he replies, though his confidence and smirk have no room to settle when Suguru kisses his collarbone and bucks his hips.
Satoru closes his eyes—God, Suguru feels so fucking good. That’s why he can’t stop thinking about it. That’s why he wants Suguru all the time. If this is what being best friends brings to the table, Satoru might need to be best friends with Suguru forever. Not that he hadn’t already planned on it. Suguru doesn’t have much of a choice in the matter anyway.
“I’ll leave you completely blue-balled, kick you out, and go take a shower,” Suguru murmurs against his skin. His body feels so hot that the warmth of Suguru’s breath barely makes a difference.
Satoru scoffs, curling an arm around Suguru’s shoulder. He tilts his head down, their noses brushing as he moves his hips in a slow, teasing rhythm. “As if I’d let you.”
Suguru quirks an eyebrow at him, smiling condescendingly. His hand moves up and down Satoru’s torso, fingers squeezing his waist, tracing the ridges of his ribs. “You think you have any power in this situation, Satoru?”
His hands suddenly get really, really close to Satoru’s ass, resting on the small of his back. Satoru sucks in a breath. He wants it there, but at the same time—what the fuck. His fingers tighten in Suguru’s hair, and he catches the flicker of a wince before tilting his head up.
“I have control over everything, Suguru. I’m still the strongest one here,” he says, Suguru’s breath so close to his own that it would take only a little shift for Satoru’s tongue to be inside his mouth. But they don’t do that. They can’t do that. Even as Suguru’s honeyed gaze pulls him in, hypnotizing, intoxicating.
“Oh yeah?” Suguru’s eyes narrow, and his hand finally finds the meat of Satoru’s ass, squeezing— oh. Oh, they’re big. Satoru knows they are, even if his own fingers are slightly larger, but having Suguru’s whole hand cupping his ass is something else entirely. But Suguru shouldn’t be that close to his ass at all in the first place.
“Hey—” Satoru starts to protest, but the words break into a breathless pant when Suguru pulls him into a rhythm again. The way he’s being handled like he’s a damn girl, the pressure of their cocks pressing together at a torturously slow pace—Satoru loses all words. He just tightens his grip on Suguru and presses their foreheads together as he keeps moving his hips against him. Their shared breath, the intensity of Suguru’s eyes—it’s everything he needs, really.
What were they talking about again?
“Like that, baby,” Suguru whispers. And fuck, that word.
He always call Satoru endearment names when they're in bed— or not really in bed. They did this in the corner of the dorm building once too. It always makes Satoru weak, for some reason. It’s not cool to call your best friend that. But it’s Suguru. Suguru, who always smacks him whenever he playfully calls him cheesy names to ask for favors or embarrass him. It’s not the same at all. But it makes Satoru so painfully hard, he’ll take it.
“Not so in control in bed, hm?”
“Don’t—” Satoru swallows, licking his lips. From up close, he sees the way Suguru’s eyes flick down at the motion. His heartbeat spikes. “Don’t say it like that, asshole.”
Suguru huffs, tilting his head to kiss and nose at Satoru’s jaw. Satoru’s lashes flutter.
“Not a lie,” Suguru mumbles, nipping at his chin.
Satoru hugs him, their sweaty chests pressed together as Suguru’s hands squeeze him tight, like he’s trying to feel more of Satoru’s cock through the thin layers of clothing still left between them. Satoru still has half a mind to tell Suguru to back off—his ass has always been off-limits. But fuck, it does feel good, and the thought of maybe, just maybe, Suguru’s fingers leaving imprints on his skin has him a little breathless.
“Cock,” Satoru says, pulling Suguru’s head back, pressing quick kisses to his cheek and jaw. “Give me. Your hand, your dick.”
Suguru groans low in his throat, and when he pulls back to look at Satoru, their lips brush. God, Satoru wants. Suguru’s eyes are teasing, and the small tilt of his lips makes Satoru want to punch him entirely.
“That sounds worse than what you meant, you know that, right?”
Suguru’s probably right. But with how pathetically hard he feels, how overwhelming the heat between them is, how Suguru’s lips are just a little too close and his eyes are unfairly pretty in the dim light of the room, sun setting outside without either of them bothering to turn on the lamps—Satoru doesn’t see a problem with it.
“I want your cock on my cock. What’s not clicking?” Satoru murmurs, and leans in, flicking his tongue against Suguru’s throat.
It’s salty. He doesn’t like it, but he also kind of loves it. Loves the sound Suguru makes—a pleased hum, low and rich—and the way his hands slide up to grip Satoru’s waist again, palms nearly swallowing him whole.
Suguru's smile is clear in his voice as he responds, “That’s how you beg for it?”
“Not begging,” Satoru grumbles, brushing himself against Suguru’s skin, lips grazing him. “I’m saying I want it, and you’ll give it to me.”
Suguru’s chest rumbles against his with a chuckle. Even that is attractive to Satoru. Shit.
After a small sigh—the kind he gives when Satoru is being spoiled, the kind that usually comes with a soft brat murmured under his breath—Suguru says, “Yes, yes, Gojo-sama.”
And then he grips Satoru’s hips, easily manhandling him onto his back while kneeling between his legs. Satoru starts undoing his pants, and by the time Suguru gets halfway through unbuttoning all that shit, Satoru is already whining. His own pants are off in seconds, briefs gone with them, his cock hard and resting against his stomach.
“Gods, you’re so impatient.” Suguru rolls his eyes.
“You take forever!” Satoru complains, only earning a grumble from Suguru, who finally gets his pants off. His black boxers don’t stay on for long either.
Satoru’s mouth practically waters when Suguru’s thick, girthy cock springs free, framed by that dark path of hair from his belly button to the base. His stomach flutters. He doesn’t know if it’s normal to kinda want to know how his best friend’s dick tastes. Probably just tastes like dick. He doesn’t know what that’d be, but he also sorta wants to find out. Through Suguru. But that’s… a little too much. Or maybe not. He’ll have to ask Suguru later.
Now, he pulls Suguru down, their bodies flush together, arms immediately wrapping around him. The press of Suguru’s hard cock against his own red and swollen one is almost a relief. Suguru’s skin, Suguru.
Suguru spits into his hand, and Satoru knows it’ll be a little dry, a little painful, but also a little gentle—just the way he likes it when Suguru does it. Their bodies are flush together, Suguru’s large hand finding both of their cocks. Satoru moans almost in relief, like he fucking needed this all day. And honestly, he did. He’s been thinking about it since he woke up, as if they didn’t do it the night before, and the one before that, and the one before that. It never gets old, apparently.
Suguru’s hand is big and envelops their cocks so well. Satoru loves being this close, feeling Suguru’s uneven breath, the small groans he lets out.
“Fuck, you’re—” Satoru pants when Suguru’s thumb teases the head of his cock, his hips instinctively pressing closer. He can feel every ridge, every vein of Suguru’s dick. “So good at this, so good.”
Maybe that’s why it’s so addicting. Suguru’s gotta be some kind of professional dick-handler or something. Even though he once told Satoru he doesn’t jerk off that much. That has to be a lie. How else could his hand work this well? How does he know exactly what pace makes Satoru melt, makes him pull him closer and unconsciously thrust up into his grip?
“You say that every day,” Suguru teases, smiling slightly, but his blown pupils and heavy breaths give him away. This gets to him too.
“It’s true,” Satoru whines, and Suguru squeezes just right, pulling another moan out of him. “’S so good. I like your cock, your hand.”
Suguru chuckles, pressing closer so his lips find Satoru’s throat. Satoru can’t take it, his back arching, hips grinding into him as a breathless moan spills out. Suguru starts sucking and marking his skin, hand strokes down.
“You do beg for my cock every day,” Suguru purrs, hips pressing forward to meet Satoru’s. “Such a cockslut, Satoru.”
That word does something to him. As if Suguru’s hand playing with his balls and rubbing their swollen tips together wasn’t enough. Satoru’s fingers claw at his back.
“’M not— that’s—” He immediately tries to deny it. Because it seems wrong. Satoru isn’t begging for Suguru’s dick. He just likes having it close, touching his own, preferably. Just that.
Suguru laughs at him, at the way Satoru lets out these small whimpers when he quickens the pace. Satoru feels it boiling up inside him. He’s gonna come. He wants to come. He wants Suguru to come on him too. He wants to lick it. He wants Suguru. He wants—
“You are,” Suguru murmurs, his voice as breathless as Satoru feels, hand relentless. “You want my cock so bad.”
He does. He fucking does.
His nails drag down Suguru’s back, earning a hiss, a sharp squeeze around their cocks.
“Close—close,” Satoru gasps, head pressing into Suguru’s pillow, eyes hazy, pleasure tightening in his gut, his balls drawing up. Their cocks slide together so smoothly at this point, slick and flushed, the obscene sounds of Suguru’s hand stroking them filling the room.
It’s filthy. It’s hot.
And it almost feels like actual sex.
But they’re just friends. Just best friends who help each other out. It's Suguru.
Suguru, who’s handsome, whose body Satoru likes to admire because he knows he works hard for it. Whose hands slap him when annoyed, but also give him his favorite snacks. Whose fingers know exactly how to touch him—how to squeeze, how to stroke, how to make him whimper his name. Suguru, who has such a beautiful, delicious cock that Satoru wants to have in his mouth. More than he likes having it against his. A big cock that he wonders just how deep would go inside him.
Suguru, who’s looking at him like seeing Satoru chase his release, thrusting shallowly into his hand, panting, sweaty, flushed, is the best thing he’s ever seen.
“Gonna come for me?” Suguru’s voice reverberates in Satoru’s skull. He feels so gone. Just humping against Suguru’s cock is enough to leave him a mess. His thoughts are all over the place.
He wants to kiss him.
Satoru nods. “You close?”
Suguru mirrors his action. His brows furrow beautifully, his lips caught between his teeth in concentration as his hand strokes them eagerly.
This is Satoru’s favorite fucking part of the day.
And then he comes. A throaty moan escapes him as he spills between their bodies, Suguru following right after with a groan. His strokes don’t stop until they’re completely spent, pleasure washing through them in waves. Satoru twitches, automatically pulling Suguru close.
When Suguru finally removes his hand, it slides up his back, soothing him. He always does that when Satoru comes. It’s so nice.
Satoru definitely wants to kiss him.
Do friends not kiss? Is that a thing? Does it matter?
He looks down at Suguru and finds those warm eyes already on him, like he’s engraving Satoru into his memory. As if he doesn’t already see him like this every night. As if he won’t be seeing him like this for as long as Satoru wants—which is kind of forever.
They’re silent for a moment. Then Suguru brushes Satoru’s white hair out of his face.
Satoru does the same because Suguru's hair is longer. It must be tickling his shoulders and bothering him, so he pushes it back.
Suguru’s hand cups his jaw. Satoru lets him.
He wants. And wants.
Maybe friends don’t kiss, but best friends probably do.
So Satoru leans in, and Suguru’s mouth is warm, wet, the nudge of his tongue perfect against his.
And just like that, Satoru thinks he wants to rub their cocks together again.