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Satoru was nowhere near being a newbie in the sugar scene.
At 25 years old, he’d long perfected the art of being desired, of slipping into another person’s life like silk, soft and seamless, until they couldn’t tell where their obsession ended and his allure began.
Most of his adult life had been spent on the arm of someone older, wealthier, and infinitely more desperate to be the one to keep him. Gender never mattered much to him; he didn’t care who was doing the fucking or the financing, so long as they knew how to treat him like the luxury good he was.
He had long ago learned that beauty opened doors faster than ambition ever could. His reflection was its own currency: tousled white hair, pale skin that glowed like moonlight against crisp designer sheets, and eyes like shards of clear ice that could melt into warmth when he wanted something badly enough. And when he smiled, people lost all sense of reason.
The rewards had been worth it.
A sleek, glass-walled condo overlooking Manhattan glittered like a jewel box every night. A sprawling chateau in the French countryside, with ivy climbing its limestone walls and staff that greeted him as monsieur Gojo. An island somewhere in the Pacific, where the ocean was as blue as his eyes and the sun dipped low behind the hills as if bowing to him. Each of his cars—a Lamborghini, a Bentley, a McLaren, a Bugatti—had its own chauffeur, because Satoru couldn’t be bothered to drive when he could be driven.
But he wasn’t stupid. Pretty, yes, but far from naive.
He invested his money wisely, listened to his financial advisor when she spoke about stocks, real estate, and the art of growing wealth without ever lifting a finger. His accounts grew steadily while he lounged in silk robes and diamond necklaces, sipping champagne that cost more than most people’s rent.
And even as his lovers came and went, a revolving door of the rich, the lonely, and the captivated, Satoru never wanted for anything. There was always someone waiting in the wings, eager to buy him something beautiful, to see his eyes light up, to hear that purr of pleasure in his voice when he said thank you.
It wasn’t love. But it was power. And Satoru had always known how to wield that better than anyone.
In all honesty, among all the sugar babies in high society, Satoru was considered the crown jewel of them all.
People whispered his name with a mix of envy and fascination. He was a fantasy personified, a flawless creature sculpted from wealth and want, and everyone knew that to have him—even briefly—was to hold something glittering and untouchable.
Which was why it didn’t fucking make sense as to why he was so goddamned nervous right now.
The city lights slid across his face in streaks of gold and violet as the SUV cut through the night, the hum of the engine a low purr beneath him. Satoru shifted in the backseat for what had to be the twentieth time, crossing and uncrossing his legs, fingers brushing over the smooth silk of his halter neck top to adjust it every five minutes. His nails were a perfect pearlescent sheen, flawless as always, but they drummed against his thigh like he was playing the drums in a rock band.
He exhaled softly, watching his reflection flicker in the tinted window. Every inch of him looked impeccable, of course. The crisp white slacks that hugged his long legs, the way the silky top caught the light like moonlit water, the delicate silver chains at his throat and wrists. Even the white slingback heels were immaculate, polished to a mirror shine. He was perfection dressed in white. An angel of indulgence. A living luxury.
And yet, his pulse refused to steady.
Up front, Ijichi kept his eyes firmly on the road. He’d been with Satoru long enough to know better than to ask questions, but Satoru could feel the man’s awareness.
Maybe he was nervous because of who he was meeting.
The thought alone was enough to make his throat go dry.
Because despite all his experience, despite all the penthouses, champagne, and diamonds, this one was different. This one wasn’t just another admirer with too much money and not enough attention. This one had a reputation. A presence. The kind of man who made even Satoru Gojo second-guess himself.
Ryomen Sukuna.
CEO of CURSED Inc., one of the largest and most powerful cybersecurity firms in all of Asia.
Even the mention of his name carried weight. He was tall, built like a man who didn’t rely on bodyguards to do his dirty work, and possessed the kind of dangerous beauty that made people stare too long before realizing they’d been caught. Sharp features. Eyes the rich hues of blood and wine. A mouth made for sin, yet so rarely seen smiling. His presence filled a room the way thunder filled a sky: loud, electric, and impossible to ignore.
And, perhaps most infuriatingly, he was the one untouchable bachelor in high society that no one had ever managed to claim.
No sugar babies. No lovers. No whispered scandals. Not even a single rumor of a one-night stand that could be traced back to him. Either the man’s NDAs were ironclad, or he simply wasn’t interested in anyone. In a world that thrived on gossip and glittering exposure, Sukuna was a fortress, self-contained and impenetrable.
Which was why, two weeks ago, when they’d both attended that charity gala, Satoru had been shocked when the infamous Ryomen Sukuna’s gaze had locked onto him from across the room.
And stayed there.
All night long, those eyes had burned holes through the crowd, tracking him like prey. Satoru could feel the weight of that attention even when he wasn’t looking, could sense the air change every time Sukuna’s gaze brushed his skin. It was intoxicating. And when the man finally approached him, towering over him, voice low and smooth as aged whiskey, Satoru had known immediately that whatever this was, he wasn’t walking away from it.
He wasn’t fucking stupid.
This was an opportunity. The opportunity.
Catching Ryomen Sukuna’s attention meant more than another luxurious apartment or a new watch collection—it meant legendary status. If he managed to hold that attention, even if just for a few days, his name would be immortalized. Satoru Gojo, the one who snagged the untouchable king of high society.
And so far, Sukuna had only shown more and more interest in him.
The SUV rolled to a smooth stop at the edge of the docks, the low rumble of the engine fading beneath the rhythmic sounds of waves against the pier. The city lights behind them bled into the black sheen of the water, reflections trembling across its surface like veins of gold. Satoru watched absently through the tinted glass, his fingers tightening around the strap of his clutch.
Ijichi didn’t say a word but Satoru could feel the question lingering in the air. Are you ready?
He wasn’t.
They were a few minutes early, and that was fine. He needed those few minutes. Needed to breathe. Needed to collect himself before stepping into whatever this was.
Because ever since that first night, Sukuna had been relentless.
Satoru’s life had always been one of excess, but Sukuna redefined the word. It wasn’t just gifts, it was an onslaught of attention, a constant, suffocating presence that hovered over every part of his day. He woke up to, “Good morning, pretty thing.” Went to bed with, “Sleep well, sweetheart.” Sukuna’s voice haunted his notifications, his thoughts, his breath.
And then there were the gifts.
It had started subtly—flowers, jewelry, a watch that probably cost more than Satoru’s entire wardrobe. But it escalated quickly. One night he’d offhandedly mentioned on social media that he’d been craving macarons from Paris, and by the very next morning, a private courier was at his door with three boxes, flown in overnight.
The Bugatti, though, had been the most outrageous.
He’d been having brunch with his friends, sunlight streaming through the window, laughter spilling over half-empty mimosas. Satoru had been scrolling through his feed when he saw the photo: a post showing off a new model of Bugatti. Without thinking, he’d retweeted it with the caption, “God, she’s pretty.”
Thirty minutes later, the sound of a high-performance engine turning heads outside the little cafe had drawn everyone’s attention. Satoru remembered the way his friends’ chatter stilled, how the entire restaurant seemed to hold its breath as the sleek white Bugatti came to a stop at the curb.
The driver had stepped out, keys in hand, and asked for Satoru Gojo.
He’d nearly choked on his drink.
And as if that wasn’t enough, when he went to pay for his meal, still dazed, still wondering what in the ever-loving hell had just happened, the server had smiled politely and told him that his bill had already been taken care of.
By Mr. Ryomen Sukuna.
Satoru’s reflection stared back at him now in the darkened window, eyes bright and uncertain. He exhaled slowly, trying to calm the flutter in his chest.
Whatever this was… it didn’t feel like just another sugar arrangement.
The only thing Sukuna hadn’t done yet was make a move on him.
For all the gifts, the late-night texts, and the dizzying attention that came with being the focus of Ryomen Sukuna’s obsession, their relationship had remained just shy of physical intimacy. They’d kissed, of course. Satoru could still remember the way Sukuna’s mouth felt against his: hot and demanding, rough in a way that left his lips swollen and his thoughts scrambled. They’d made out on more than one occasion, Satoru pressed up against expensive walls or the hood of a luxury car, his breath catching on a low, dangerous laugh that vibrated against his throat.
And he knew what the man looked like shirtless. God help him, he could never forget it.
The first time had been accidental. A loose collar, a button undone, and suddenly there he was: broad chest, black tattoos that curved across perfect muscle, every line and shadow so divinely sculpted that Satoru had actually lost his train of thought mid-sentence. The sight alone was enough to make him ache.
He’d wanted him ever since.
Satoru had tried, oh, he’d tried. All he wanted at this point in his life was to be bent in half and railed into the next century by what he had a feeling was a very well-endowed cock.
More than once, he’d leaned in close, hands sliding up Sukuna’s chest, lips brushing against the man’s jaw, testing boundaries with teasing kisses that left no question about his intent. He was nothing if not bold; seduction was practically second nature to him. But every single time, Sukuna had stopped him.
The man had never been harsh about it. Just a firm hand at his waist paired with a quiet murmur of, “Not yet.”
The first time, Satoru had laughed it off. The second time, he’d been confused. The third time, he was borderline offended. By the fourth, he’d been ready to lose his damn mind. Sukuna claimed it was because he wanted it to be special. Satoru had barely managed to stifle his scoff at that. Special.
Please. Men like Sukuna didn’t do “special.”
But tonight… Tonight felt different.
The way Sukuna’s voice had sounded over the phone earlier had set his nerves alight. His gut told him that tonight, something was finally going to happen.
Satoru exhaled through his nose and pushed a stray lock of white hair from his eyes. Two goddamned weeks of playful teasing, expensive dinners, and heated make-out sessions that ended with him alone in bed, left to take care of himself while Sukuna maintained that infuriating control.
So as he stepped out of the SUV, heels clicking against the dock, one thought burned in his mind.
Sukuna better be a god in bed to make up for this.
The night air was cool and briny, the scent of the ocean thick around him. Lights from the marina shimmered across the dark water like liquid gold. Somewhere nearby, ropes creaked, waves slapped softly against hulls, and the faint sound of music drifted from a distant vessel.
A man was already waiting for him—sharp suit, clean-cut, the kind of professional neutrality that screamed “assistant.” He approached with a polite nod and a crisp introduction. He explained that he was Sukuna’s assistant and that he would be guiding Satoru to the yacht.
Satoru smiled faintly and gestured for him to lead the way.
They walked down the length of the dock, their steps echoing softly. The deeper they went into the marina, the quieter it became—no more chatter from nearby boats, no laughter or music, just the sound of water lapping beneath them and the soft thrum of engines in the distance. Then the assistant stopped and motioned ahead.
Satoru’s eyes widened slightly.
Now that was a yacht.
Massive, sleek, and pristine white, it looked less like a boat and more like a floating palace. The name was painted in bold lettering along the side, though Satoru’s attention was drawn to the gleam of chrome railings, the soft golden lights spilling from its windows, the hint of opulence even from the dock. He’d been on plenty of yachts before—some owned by politicians, others by bored millionaires who used them as party venues—but never one like this.
And never with just him and his sugar daddy.
Sukuna’s assistant turned back to him for a brief moment.
“Mr. Sukuna is in his office on the owner’s deck. He’ll be waiting for you.”
Satoru flashed the man a gracious smile. “Thank you.” The man dipped his head and excused himself, disappearing into the night.
Now alone, Satoru turned his attention to the yacht once more. The gangway gleamed beneath the soft glow of the dock lights as he stepped onto it, one hand resting on the polished railing for balance. His heels made no sound against the deck as he began to explore, taking his time.
He couldn’t help it, he was curious.
From what he could tell, the yacht really was nothing short of a floating palace. Every inch of it gleamed with understated luxury, the kind that didn’t need to brag to make its point. The deck stretched wide and open, framed by sleek railings that glinted under soft ambient lighting. There were not one, but two swim platforms, along with a glittering pool surrounded by plush sun loungers upholstered in white linen. Beyond that, a spa tucked neatly into the starboard side, and a hot tub that steamed faintly under the cool night air.
Further up, Satoru spotted the helipad, and if that weren’t enough, he caught a glimpse of a glass-paneled elevator running through the center of the yacht’s structure.
He let himself wander for a few moments longer, fingertips gliding along smooth railings and the backs of expensive chairs, his heels clicking softly against the teak.
Eventually, his meandering brought him to the main deck’s bar—a marble-topped masterpiece manned by a crew member in a tailored uniform. The bartender inclined his head respectfully, and Satoru flashed him one of his easy, dazzling smiles before ordering a glass of champagne.
The drink arrived chilled, condensation beading against the glass. He took a sip, savoring the crisp fizz against his tongue, letting the alcohol smooth out the nervous tension coiled in his chest. Just one glass. Just enough to steady himself before the main event.
Finally, he made his way toward the elevator. As the lift carried him upward, he caught his reflection in the mirrored panel: perfect hair, perfect clothes, perfect mask. Everything exactly as it should be.
The doors opened onto the owner’s deck with a soft chime. Finding the office wasn’t difficult; even from down the hall, he could sense him.
Satoru paused outside the door, heart thudding once, twice. He took a deep breath, then lifted a hand and knocked. Before there was any chance to reply, he turned the handle and stepped inside, his confidence snapping back into place like a second skin.
The office was dimly lit, all dark wood and soft amber light, with the faint scent of spice and smoke hanging in the air. Behind the wide mahogany desk sat Ryomen Sukuna himself, crimson eyes fixed on him with an intensity that made Satoru’s breath catch for just a second.
Satoru shut the door behind him with a quiet click and turned, his lips curling into a sweet smile.
“Well, good evening to you,” he purred, his voice smooth as honey as he stepped further into the room.
Sukuna didn’t speak at first, just watched him, crimson eyes glinting faintly in the low light. Then he gave a low, quiet grunt and pushed his chair back from the desk, the wheels gliding smoothly over the dark floor. He lifted one large hand and extended it toward Satoru, palm open in silent command.
Satoru barely had time to react before those fingers closed around his own, tugging him gently forward. A startled squeak escaped him as he stumbled the last step and found himself pulled onto Sukuna’s lap.
The man’s strength was effortless, as if Satoru weighed nothing at all.
He squirmed slightly, a soft rustle of silk against wool as he shifted to settle comfortably. Sukuna’s chair creaked faintly under the new weight, but neither of them seemed to care. The older man’s arms came around his midsection, broad and solid, caging him in and making Satoru’s heart skip.
Then Sukuna leaned forward, his breath hot against Satoru’s throat.
The first press of lips was soft, followed by another, and another. His mouth trailed down the curve of Satoru’s neck, leaving faint traces of warmth with every kiss. Satoru inhaled sharply, the sound turning into a low, breathy laugh as he tilted his head slightly to give him more room.
“Mmh… someone’s feeling affectionate,” he murmured with a teasing lilt, the corner of his mouth curving as he lifted his champagne flute to his mouth.
He took a sip, the bubbles tickling his tongue, then leaned forward to set the glass down on the desk with a faint clink. His now-free hand slid up to rest against the back of Sukuna’s head, fingers sinking into soft pink hair.
“Ohh, did you have a bad day or something?” he cooed, voice dripping with mock sympathy. His nails grazed lightly against Sukuna’s scalp as he combed through the strands. God, his hair is softer than it looks.
“You don’t even know the half of it,” Sukuna grunted, the sound rumbling low in his chest as he drew back just far enough to look Satoru in the eye. “Y’know, you’ve got it easy.”
Satoru tilted his head, a curious spark in his eyes. He could feel Sukuna’s arm still snug around his waist, the warmth of his palm splayed over his hip. “How so?” he asked, his tone teasing but faintly cautious, uncertain of where this particular train of thought would lead.
Sukuna’s hand moved, sliding up from Satoru’s waist to cup his face with surprising gentleness. His thumb brushed over the smooth curve of Satoru’s cheekbone, and Satoru couldn’t help but lean into it, like his body had decided on its own that Sukuna’s touch was something worth melting into.
“Because you’re so pretty,” Sukuna said, voice rough but quiet, “that you can entrance anybody to give you whatever you want without issue.”
For a second, the air felt heavier, charged with something that made Satoru’s pulse skip. His first instinct was to laugh it off, to throw back some flirty remark or turn it into a joke, but the way Sukuna looked at him made that difficult.
Satoru blinked once, then twice, his lips twitching as he struggled not to smile too wide or too soft. The faintest warmth crept into his cheeks despite his best efforts to suppress it.
“Oh?” he chuckled, his voice lilting with mock amusement. “D’you think if you were as pretty as me you’d never have a bad day again?”
Sukuna’s lips tugged into a small, almost imperceptible smirk. “I think,” he said, “if I was as pretty as you, I wouldn’t have to work again. Instead, I’d find a handsome, strong, incredibly rich man… perhaps one with, I don’t know, pink hair, to settle down with.”
Satoru froze for a fraction of a second, his eyes narrowing just slightly as he processed the words.
He knew exactly what Sukuna was hinting at.
He’d heard this kind of thing before: sugar daddies “subtly” suggesting they were the perfect option for a permanent arrangement. It was a line as old as the scene itself, a test of whether he could be tempted into giving up his independence.
Normally, he would have cut it off immediately. Numbers blocked, cards returned, and occasionally—very occasionally—restraining orders if someone got too aggressive or persistent. Satoru Gojo didn’t settle down. Never had, never would. Every man and woman who had ever funded his lifestyle knew it, knew the rules, and knew that the crown jewel didn’t belong to anyone.
And yet…
His heart, the traitorous little thing, began to pick up its pace. He could feel it hammering against his ribs, warming his chest in a way that wasn’t quite comfortable, but wasn’t entirely unpleasant, either.
He tilted his head, lips curving into a small, calculated smile, though his pulse betrayed him.
Why did the implication behind Sukuna’s words make him want to stay instead of flee?
It was infuriating.
Maybe it was because of how well Sukuna had treated him over the past two weeks—the dinners, the gifts, the attention that bordered on obsessive yet never crossed a line. Maybe it was because of how “exclusive” Sukuna was. Maybe it was because settling down with the CEO might actually be the greatest decision he’d ever make in his life.
Whatever it was, Satoru couldn’t stop himself from playing along a little.
He arched one perfectly shaped eyebrow, lips curling into a teasing smirk. “Yeah? What else would you do if you were me?”
Sukuna hummed, tilting his head slightly as if considering the question, his crimson eyes narrowing in mock thoughtfulness. His hands slid around Satoru’s sides and hips, fingers brushing under the hem of the silky white top, gliding over bare skin. Satoru shivered at the touch, letting his body lean into Sukuna’s palms without a second thought.
“I think,” Sukuna murmured, “that I would decide that this specific CEO, the one with the pink hair, who has wanted me for years now but never made a move because he was waiting for the perfect time, has earned the right to lock me down and receive all of my attention and affection.”
Satoru’s eyes went wide, almost comically so, and his lips parted in shock. “Wait… what?”
Sukuna’s smirk deepened, eyes glinting with amusement and something darker. He leaned in, the heat of his body pressing against Satoru’s, and nipped lightly at the delicate curve of his collarbone. “Mhmm. Three years now,” he murmured.
Satoru blinked repeatedly, his mind scrambling to process the revelation. Three years? Three years? His thoughts were a tangled mess, trying to catch up to the words leaving Sukuna’s lips. “Why? Why wait so long?”
“The very first time I saw you,” Sukuna explained, “I knew I wanted you to be mine. But I also knew that you would never want to settle down with some random CEO, so I figured that the best way to get your attention and possibly earn your affection would be to make myself just as untouchable as you yourself.”
Satoru felt his pulse spike, his chest tightening. Sukuna’s lips traced up from his collarbone, ghosting along the curve of his neck before pressing against the soft skin of his jaw in an open-mouthed kiss. Satoru had to bite back a moan, tilting his head back to give the man better access.
Without warning, Sukuna lifted him and stood, his strong arms wrapping around Satoru’s waist as if he weighed nothing at all. Satoru squeaked, surprised, his heels dangling as Sukuna carried him toward the balcony. The warm night air greeted them, carrying the faint scent of salt, and Satoru’s pulse quickened with anticipation.
Sukuna set him down gently onto the large plush couch that dominated the outdoor space. The cushions enveloped him, and before Satoru could fully react, Sukuna climbed atop him, lowering his mouth to Satoru’s in a deep kiss.
Satoru broke away for a moment, chest heaving, lips glistening, and eyes wide. “S-Sukuna… any of the crew on the upper decks could see us,” he gasped, voice trembling.
Sukuna’s eyes darkened with amusement, and he leaned in close, murmuring against Satoru’s lips, “Even if they do, they know better than to say anything.”
The man shifted, pressing his thigh between Satoru’s own. Satoru’s breath hitched at the feeling and he tossed his head back, lips parting around a whimper as the man’s thigh rubbed against him. The sensation was exquisite, coaxing him to arch into Sukuna’s touch.
Sukuna’s hands roamed over Satoru’s body, tracing along his sides, gripping his hips, and dipping to adjust him further against the hard press of his thigh. Every kiss, every press, every movement made Satoru shiver and whine, utterly helpless.
Satoru trembled beneath Sukuna, his pale skin flushed and glistening with a light sheen of sweat under the warm night air. His breath caught in his throat as Sukuna's fingers found the tie of his halter top. Slowly, teasingly, he pulled the fabric down, baring Satoru's smooth, toned chest to his hungry gaze.
Satoru's heart raced as the cool night air kissed his newly exposed skin, his pink nipples already pebbled with arousal. He gazed up at Sukuna through half-lidded eyes, lips parted invitingly. The larger man loomed over him, red eyes burning with hunger as they raked over Satoru's bared torso appreciatively.
Without warning, Sukuna descended upon him, capturing one sensitive bud between his lips. Satoru cried out sharply, back arching off the plush cushions as wet heat engulfed him. Sukuna suckled firmly, tongue swirling and flicking over the tight nub, sending jolts of pleasure straight to Satoru's core. His free hand reached up to roll the neglected nipple between calloused fingers.
"Ah! S-Sukuna..." Satoru mewled, back arching off the plush cushions. His slender fingers tangled in Sukuna's pink locks, holding him close. Sukuna suckled harder, grazing the tender flesh with his teeth, stoking the flames building low in Satoru's belly.
Sukuna released Satoru's nipple from his mouth with a wet pop, the abused bud glistening in the moonlight. He gazed down at Satoru's flushed face, drinking in the sight of his lover lost in pleasure. A wicked smirk curled his lips as he spoke, voice a low rumble.
"You have no idea how long I've waited for this, pretty boy. Dreamt of having you spread out beneath me like this, so pretty, so perfect." His large hand splayed across Satoru's sternum, feeling the rapid flutter of his heartbeat. "You have no idea what you do to me."
To punctuate his words, Sukuna dipped his head once more, trailing open-mouthed kisses across the valley of Satoru's chest before capturing Satoru's other nipple between his lips, suckling hard.
Satoru managed to catch Sukuna’s gaze, his voice breathless as he spoke. “Then show me what you do to me.”
A slow, dark smirk spread across Sukuna’s face, his crimson eyes glinting. “It’d be my honor,” he murmured.
Sukuna’s hands were quick as he tugged Satoru’s silky white halter top over his head, baring his smooth, pale torso to the night air fully. Without hesitation, Sukuna peeled off his own shirt, revealing a sculpted chest streaked with black tattoos, muscles taut and defined, shadowed under the soft glow of the balcony lights.
He shifted and gently sat Satoru up on the couch. Satoru’s legs parted slightly, anticipation coiling in his stomach as Sukuna knelt between them. The man’s lips descended to his lower abdomen, soft and teasing at first, pressing light kisses over bare skin.
Sukuna’s hands were expert, undoing the buttons and zipper of Satoru’s white slacks, tugging the fabric down his legs until he was left in nothing but the lacy white briefs that clung snugly to him—and, of course, his heels. Satoru’s breath hitched, chest lifting involuntarily as Sukuna kissed along his thighs and calves, lips warm and insistent.
One hand moved to his feet, undoing the straps of his heels, slipping them off one by one and letting them fall to the ground. Sukuna’s kisses followed, tracing along the smooth line of his calves, the heat of his mouth igniting every nerve ending.
When Sukuna finally lifted his head, his hooded crimson eyes met Satoru’s, and the sight stole Satoru’s breath entirely. The intensity, the raw confidence, the hunger in Sukuna’s gaze—he had never seen anyone look at him like that. His chest tightened, pulse spiking, and a shiver of both fear and longing ran down his spine.
Satoru gasped softly as Sukuna's hot breath ghosted over the growing tent in his lacy white briefs. The thin fabric did little to hide his arousal, and Sukuna seemed intent on tormenting him with gentle touches and teasing licks. A needy whimper escaped Satoru's throat, his fingers threading through the silky strands of Sukuna's pink hair.
"Mmmm... you're so responsive," Sukuna purred, his deep voice vibrating against Satoru's sensitive flesh. He mouthed at the outline of Satoru's hardening cock, tongue tracing the shape through the delicate lace.
"S-Sukuna..." Satoru whimpered, voice quivering with anticipation. His hips twitched upward involuntarily, seeking more of that contact. Sukuna chuckled low in his throat, the vibrations sending shockwaves of pleasure through Satoru's sensitive flesh.
Satoru's breath hitched as he felt the damp heat of Sukuna's mouth envelop the tip of his straining erection through the thin lace of his briefs. His hips bucked involuntarily, seeking more of that exquisite friction. Sukuna held his gaze, eyes smoldering with barely restrained desire as he suckled gently, tongue flicking out to tease the sensitive underside of Satoru's cockhead through the fabric.
Satoru moaned loudly, his head falling back against the plush cushions. His fingers tightened their grip in Sukuna's hair, holding him in place as he rutted against the man's skilled mouth.
Sukuna pulled away and hooked his fingers into the waistband of Satoru's lacy briefs and tugged them down his long, slender legs, leaving him completely bare. Satoru's flushed cock sprang free, hard and leaking, standing proud against his toned stomach. Sukuna drank in the sight of Satoru's naked body sprawled before him, a low groan of appreciation rumbling in his chest.
"Shit, look at you," Sukuna growled, his voice rough with desire. "So goddamn perfect. Such a pretty little thing." His large hands skimmed up Satoru's thighs, pushing them apart gently as he settled between them. Satoru whimpered, hole clenching reflexively under Sukuna's gaze.
Sukuna's thumbs pressed against the inside of Satoru's thighs, spreading him open wider as he leaned in closer. Satoru could feel the heat of Sukuna's breath ghosting over his skin, making him shudder with anticipation. Then, without warning, Sukuna's tongue was there, dragging slowly over his twitching entrance.
"Oh, fuck!" Satoru cried out, back arching off the couch. Sukuna's tongue circled his rim, teasing and probing, before pressing inside with a firm thrust. Satoru's hands flew to Sukuna's hair, gripping tightly as the man began to eat him out with single-minded focus.
"Mmmm, you taste divine," Sukuna purred, voice muffled against Satoru's skin. He sealed his lips around the fluttering hole and sucked hard, tongue delving inside to lap at the velvet walls. Satoru rocked his hips against the invading tongue, desperate for more.
Sukuna's tongue stretched him open, delving deep and curling against his walls. He alternated between broad licks and pointed flicks, mapping every inch of Satoru's inner walls.
Satoru writhed beneath Sukuna, lost in a haze of pleasure as the man worked him over with lips and tongue. His cock throbbed almost painfully, smearing pre-cum on his stomach with each roll of his hips.
"P-please, Sukuna," Satoru whined, voice high and needy. "I need... I need..."
"What is it, baby?" Sukuna asked, pulling back just enough to speak. "Tell me what you need."
"I-I need your cock," Satoru whined, cheeks burning with slight embarrassment. "Please."
Sukuna's eyes flashed with hunger at Satoru's desperate plea. "With pleasure, sweet boy.”
With surprising strength, Sukuna hauled Satoru up from the couch, steadying him on wobbly legs. He guided the smaller man to the balcony railing, the cool metal a stark contrast to Satoru's heated skin. Sukuna's large hands gripped Satoru's hips, turning him and bending him over the rail. Satoru braced himself, palms flat against the smooth surface, presenting his bare ass to Sukuna's hungry gaze.
Sukuna's lips trailed feather-light kisses along the elegant curve of Satoru's spine, each press of his mouth sending sparks of pleasure dancing across Satoru's nerves. One large hand splayed possessively over the round globe of Satoru's ass, kneading and squeezing the supple flesh. Meanwhile, Sukuna's other hand dipped below, fumbling with the fastenings of his own pants before shoving them down his powerful thighs.
As the fabric pooled around his ankles, Sukuna's massive cock sprang free, slapping against Satoru's ass. Satoru couldn't help but glance back over his shoulder, eyes widening at the sheer size of the thick, veiny shaft bobbing mere inches from his entrance.
It was long and incredibly girthy, the flared head flushed an angry purple and already weeping with pre-cum. Satoru's hole clenched reflexively, a needy whimper escaping his parted lips as he arched his back even more, presenting himself to his lover.
"F-Fuck," Satoru breathed, voice trembling with equal parts nervousness and anticipation. "Are you sure it'll fit?"
Sukuna smirked at Satoru's awestruck expression, giving his ass a sharp smack. "Don't worry, baby. I'll make sure you can take every inch."
Sukuna gripped Satoru's hips firmly, thumbs digging into the soft flesh as he notched the swollen head of his cock against Satoru's twitching hole. The blunt head nudged insistently against the fluttering ring of muscle, smearing copious amounts of pre-cum over the sensitive flesh. Satoru whimpered and pushed back, trying to impale himself on that thick shaft, but Sukuna held him in place, denying him the penetration he craved.
"Not yet, greedy boy," Sukuna purred, voice a dark rumble. "I'm going to savor every second of claiming this tight little ass."
With that, he began to push forward, the thick crown popping past the initial ring of muscle. Satoru let out a choked cry, fingers scrabbling against the balcony railing as he was stretched wide around the invading thickness.
"That's it, take it nice and deep," Sukuna growled, voice strained with the effort of holding back. Inch after excruciating inch sank into Satoru's tight channel, filling and stretching him beyond what he thought possible.
Satoru's mouth fell open in a silent scream of pleasure and slight pain as Sukuna's massive cock stretched him open. His walls clenched and fluttered around the thick intrusion, trying to accommodate the sheer size. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes from the stretch, but he didn't want Sukuna to stop.
"Breathe, baby," Sukuna cooed, rubbing soothing circles on Satoru's lower back. "You're doing so well, taking me so deep. Such a good boy for me."
By the time Sukuna's heavy balls nestled against his ass, Satoru was a babbling mess, reduced to incoherent moans and whimpers. He could feel every throbbing vein and ridge of Sukuna's cock pulsing inside him.
Sukuna grunted, giving an experimental thrust that made stars explode behind Satoru's eyelids. "You were made for my cock, weren't you? Taking me so well, sweetheart.”
Sukuna began to move, setting a deep rhythm as he thrust into Satoru's pliant body. Each powerful snap of his hips drove his thick length in to the hilt, stirring up Satoru's guts and sending jolts of pleasure racing up his spine. Satoru whined high in his throat, fingers white-knuckled on the railing as he pushed back to meet Sukuna's thrusts.
Leaning down, Sukuna peppered Satoru's sweat-slick shoulders with open-mouthed kisses, teeth grazing sensitive skin. "That's it, just like that," he panted against Satoru's ear. “Such a good boy.”
Satoru could only moan in response, overwhelmed by the feeling of fullness and the praise falling from Sukuna's lips. The wet slap of skin on skin echoed obscenely in the night air, mixing with their harsh pants and groans.
"You feel incredible wrapped around my cock," Sukuna murmured, one hand sliding around to wrap around Satoru's dripping erection. He stroked in time with his thrusts, twisting his wrist on the upstroke.
His other hand slid up Satoru's side, mapping the dip of his waist and the flare of his hipbone. He gripped Satoru's chin, turning his face for a kiss.
Satoru whimpered into the kiss, surrendering himself completely. The hand on his chin came up to wrap around his throat, applying a delicious pressure that made Satoru lightheaded.
Satoru gagged and sputtered against Sukuna's mouth, eyes rolling back from the dual stimulation. As the kiss grew more heated, Sukuna's thrusts became harder, more forceful. The slick slide of his massive cock pummeling Satoru's prostate sent sparks exploding behind the younger man's eyelids.
Satoru keened into the kiss, hole clenching desperately around the thick shaft splitting him open. All he could do was hang onto the railing for dear life, letting Sukuna fuck him into the next goddamn century.
"Yes, yes, fuck! Just like that!" Satoru babbled mindlessly, too far gone to care about the volume of his cries.
Sukuna snarled into the crook of Satoru's neck, biting down hard enough to leave a mark.
Satoru could only moan brokenly as Sukuna took him apart piece by piece. The hand around his throat tightened, cutting off his air supply and making everything hazy around the edges. His vision tunneled until all he could see was the starry sky above and the endless expanse of ocean before him. Drool leaked from the corner of his slack mouth as he took everything Sukuna gave him, addicted to the feeling.
Black spots began to dance in his vision, the lack of oxygen heightening every sensation tenfold. Satoru's cock jumped in Sukuna's grip, smearing pre-cum all over the larger man's fingers.
"Fuck, your ass is milking my cock so good," Sukuna growled. "Gonna fill this greedy ass up 'til it's dripping.”
Satoru could only gurgle in response, nodding weakly as much as Sukuna's iron grip on his throat would allow. His entire world narrowed down to the feeling of Sukuna's cock pounding into him and the pressure around his neck. His cock throbbed almost painfully, aching for release.
Just as he thought he might pass out, Sukuna released his throat. Satoru gasped for air, coughing and sputtering as blood rushed back to his head. The sudden influx of oxygen combined with the relentless stimulation proved to be too much.
"C-Cumming!" Satoru wailed, voice raw and wrecked. His orgasm crashed over him like a tidal wave, back arching sharply as his cock pulsed and jerked in Sukuna's fist.
Satoru's release triggered Sukuna’s own climax. With a broken groan, Sukuna buried himself to the hilt inside Satoru's spasming hole. His cock throbbed and twitched as he emptied himself, pumping what felt like gallons of hot seed directly into Satoru's guts.
"Take it all, baby. Such a perfect boy for me," Sukuna groaned, grinding his pelvis against Satoru's ass to work his load deeper. Satoru could feel the thick ropes of cum painting his insides, marking him thoroughly.
As the last spurts dribbled out, Sukuna slumped over Satoru's back, both of them panting harshly. He peppered Satoru's sweaty shoulders with soft kisses, a complete contrast to his earlier roughness. Satoru’s legs trembled beneath him, knees threatening to buckle, and he had to grip the railing harder just to stay upright.
Sukuna’s sharp crimson eyes flicked down, noticing the quiver in Satoru’s limbs. He carefully pulled out of Satoru's tender hole, watching as his thick seed began to leak out, dribbling obscenely down Satoru's quivering thighs.
Then, Sukuna scooped Satoru up in his arms. Satoru let out a soft breath and curled into his embrace, tucking his face against Sukuna's broad chest. Sukuna carried him back to the couch, laying him down gently. Satoru’s body sank into the plush cushions with a soft sigh.
Grabbing a nearby box of tissues, Sukuna tenderly wiped away the evidence of their passion from Satoru's skin. He cleaned between Satoru's cheeks, mopping up the rivulets of cum, before tossing the used tissues aside.
Satoru’s muscles finally began to relax as Sukuna climbed onto the couch beside him, settling behind him. The heat radiating from Sukuna’s body pressed against his back, and his arm curved over Satoru’s waist, fingers tracing lazy, soothing circles on his hipbone. The other hand absentmindedly twined through Satoru’s hair, tugging lightly in a way that made him shiver.
Satoru finally managed to draw a deep, steadying breath, letting the tension drain from his muscles. A grin tugged at his lips, and he let out a teasing laugh. “Well… that was certainly worth the wait,” he murmured, voice still slightly breathless.
Sukuna chuckled in response. He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to the skin just behind Satoru’s ear. “I’m serious about wanting you to settle down with me,” he murmured.
Satoru hummed, tilting his head slightly toward the touch. “You know… I may just consider it after tonight,” he replied, voice playful but tinged with sincerity. “We’ll discuss it more tomorrow.”
A soft hum of agreement came from Sukuna “Tomorrow,” he agreed. He settled back into the couch, his hand still tracing circles over Satoru’s hip.
Satoru let out a contented sigh, closing his eyes and allowing himself to drift off.
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