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Suguru loves his boyfriend. He really, really does love him.
Like—today. It’s Suguru’s birthday, and Satoru surprised him in his office with his favorite matcha cake from the local bakery, and little silver candles. He gifted Suguru a brand new lighter and let him light the candles himself, and once Suguru blew all of them out, Satoru gave him a little kiss and blew him under his desk.
It was perfect. Satoru’s been sucking his dick for years, even before they were official, and has practically memorized every vein at this point. He’s got it down to a science, and when they’re having a quickie like this, he knows exactly which buttons to push to make Suguru come.
“Fuck,” Suguru softly groans, his voice low in the small space of his office. “Gonna come, gonna—baby, can you swallow?”
It’s too late, already. Satoru continues his movements, and then Suguru’s spilling down his throat, pushing Satoru’s head to the base of his cock, Satoru’s nose pressing against the gathering of hair there.
After a moment, Satoru pulls off, and Suguru eases him out from under his desk. He can get a little out of it after, sometimes, but when Satoru blinks at him today, Suguru knows he’s okay.
“Best birthday ever,” Suguru smiles.
Satoru gives a soft kiss to Suguru’s lips, just a peck. Suguru pulls him back in by the shirt collar, and kisses him deeper. He can taste his own come in Satoru’s mouth, and it’s hot. Really hot. Satoru’s probably the hottest person Suguru’s ever seen.
When they part, Satoru tilts his head off to the side, towards where Suguru’s got a connecting bathroom in his office. “Go clean up.”
After Suguru comes back, Satoru’s leaning against his desk, ankles crossed. Suguru knows he usually gets hard from blowing him, and he’d even rejected Satoru’s offer at first, knowing he wouldn’t have time to get Satoru off after. Not the way Satoru likes it.
There’s something glinting in Satoru’s eye, though, something that gives Suguru pause.
“Is that everything, baby?” Suguru asks, caution in his voice.
Satoru dramatically covers his hands over his heart. It’s cute. It’s hot. It’s—all of the above. Suguru’s convinced he’s exclusively Sato-sexual now. He couldn’t look at anyone else if he tried.
“You wound me, Suguru,” Satoru melodramatically sighs. “So eager to get rid of me.”
Suguru’s jaw ticks.
“I have lectures for the next—”
He checks his watch. A Seiko. Last year’s gift from Satoru. They weren’t even together yet.
“—Four hours. You have one too.”
Satoru deflates, leaning a little further against the desk. He’s only wearing a collared shirt and a blue sweater layered over it, but he still looks unbelievably sexy. The students will probably love the outfit, because everyone’s obsessed with Satoru on ratemyprofessors.jp. He can picture the review now, complete with the hottest chili pepper and a comment that could definitely be construed as harassment if reported properly.
“How about,” Suguru leans closer, lips almost brushing the shell of Satoru’s ear. “I make it up to you tonight?”
The shine comes back to Satoru’s eyes, and he leans in for one more kiss, pressing soft lips to Suguru’s own. Suguru’s hands instinctively wrap around his face. Satoru tastes like strawberries, probably from his lip gloss.
“Deal,” Satoru grins, the smile a little too-wide. Suguru lingers on his mouth for a second, pushing his thumb against Satoru’s lower lip.
“Okay,” Suguru finishes. He has the urge to say it. “See you at home?”
A nod, and then Satoru’s out of the office, and Suguru misses him already, even though Satoru drives him a little insane.
Suguru loves his boyfriend, he really, really does. Sometimes, it’s just hard for him to say it.
It’s probably Suguru’s most important lecture. He has to give it every semester, of course, but he still gets a little nervous before, considering he’s presenting one of the cornerstone texts of the class. The seats are packed, and Suguru’s glad some of his last lecture actually rubbed off on the students. He’d been very adamant that they show up.
Suguru boots on his laptop, and on autopilot, hooks it up to the projector. Satoru’s a fan of blackboards, but Suguru’s had his slide decks made for years, and also doesn’t have to do math.
As the seconds tick down to the top of the hour, the class slowly starts to quiet itself, and Suguru uses it as his cue to begin.
It’s only when Suguru turns on the overhead projector that he thinks maybe he should have paid a bit more attention to the little glint in Satoru’s eye before he’d left Suguru’s office. Granted, Suguru had been a little distracted.
He introduces the lecture before he pulls up his slides, and tries not to let it get under his skin when little whispers start around the room, students seemingly more interested in talking to each other than listening to him.
Even when he’s in the middle of speaking, someone raises their hand.
“Um, Professor Geto?” The student speaks, voice a little meek. Suguru knows her—Mimiko. She sits in the front row. “I’m sorry, is that Professor Gojo?”
It takes Suguru a moment to realize she’s gesturing towards the screen. The screen opened onto Suguru’s laptop. The screen that should be a photo Suguru took in Hokkaido, with the mountains all snow-capped, sun setting over the peaks. Instead, it’s…
Well. It’s a photo of Satoru in lingerie. In a very compromising position.
He’s posed on their bed, back arched slightly in a way he knows Suguru likes, ass on display. Fortunately nothing else is on display, except for the blue lace panties he’s decided to christen the eyes of all of Suguru’s 12 o’clock class with.
Suguru stays very calm, and walks over to the laptop, unplugging it.
The screen flickers back, but the damage is probably done. Someone likely took a photo of it, though Suguru doubts that students will be bold enough to spread it around. Satoru’s got a lot of power at the university, and the students know it.
“No,” Suguru corrects.
“Are you sure?” The girl next to Mimiko is the one to speak. “It really looks like—”
Mimiko shoves Nanako in the ribs, and she shuts up.
Suguru’s jaw ticks.
“No. I’m sure,” Suguru grits. “It’s not him.”
The class is deathly silent. Suguru takes a moment, re-assessing the image on his own screen, before he quickly changes it back to Hokkaido, and begins his lecture.
It’s an agonizing hour and a half until Suguru’s next class, but he eventually falls into the same rhythm he’s become accustomed to in his decade as a professor at Jujutsu Tech. The students seem to fall into line, though there are still some whispers. Suguru doesn’t think about what they’re saying, because he’s worried he might snap a pen, or his jaw. He’s been clenching it for half the class, and Shoko will probably give him that lecture about TMJ again.
Still, he manages. The moment the lecture period ends, Suguru dismisses the students.
“Today, unfortunately, I’ve got another lecture after this, but you can find me during office hours if you have any questions.”
A few too many heads turn to look at him, at the comment.
“About the class.”
Suguru’s about to breathe a sigh of relief, when he realizes two students have stayed behind, giggling and whispering to themselves by the stairs leading up to the upper rows of seats.
“Mimiko? Nanako?”
He knows the girls separately, and tries to tell himself this isn’t preferential treatment.
“Geto-sama,” Mimiko giggles. “We’re so glad. Y’know, we were a little worried about you.”
Suguru’s eyebrows pull together. “Worried?”
“We thought you were all alone,” Nanako explains. “And thought you hated Professor Gojo. That’s what everyone says, y’know.”
A sigh. Suguru betrays nothing in his expression, but his heart does flip a little at the thought. Him? Hating Satoru?
“How do you know I don’t?”
“The way you looked at him,” Mimiko continues. “Can’t disguise it. The rumor mill’s already started.”
Suguru pushes his fingers to the bridge of his nose.
“Don’t worry, we won’t tell aunt Yui,” Nanako giggles. “But you probably should.”
He gives a curt nod in reply. Yeah, one of these days he’ll get around to telling his aunt that his complicated relationship with Satoru has switched out labels. Not like they weren’t fucking around before the whole boyfriend thing, though. Now it’s just—
Official. Or whatever.
“Sure thing, girls,” Suguru comments. “I’ll see you next week.”
They nod in tandem.
“Happy birthday, Geto-sama.”
He manages to make it through the next lectures without any more Satoru-shaped mishaps, and by the time Suguru’s headed for his car, he’s ready to collapse onto his apartment couch and order some takeout from the Chinese place down the block. Only, just as he’s exiting the building, he realizes there’s someone waiting. Lurking, even.
“Fushiguro-san,” Suguru greets. “Need a ride?”
Suguru doesn’t know much about Megumi, but he’s important to Satoru, so by proxy he’s important to Suguru. Megumi’s boyfriend-not-boyfriend hovers off behind him, clearly slightly uncomfortable with accosting a professor by his car. Of course, Megumi’s been inside the car multiple times, and Suguru would bet if he checked his phone, he’d find a message from Megumi telling Suguru he’d be there.
He brushes past the two of them, and starts to unlock his car.
“Are you and my—Gojo dating?” Megumi blurts.
Suguru freezes. He—well they haven’t really gotten around to the whole friends-and-family thing. Satoru was understandably worried about the Gojo clan, and Suguru, well. He just wants to be sure. Yui and Mimiko and Nanako have had enough instability in their lives. They get attached easily. When Satoru decides he’s had enough of Suguru, he wants to limit the carnage to one.
“Yes,” Suguru answers. “Um—it’s a little new.”
“It doesn’t seem a little new,” Megumi says. “Considering you put a half-naked photo of him on your projector.”
He almost wants to laugh a little. Megumi might be about his height, but he’s still slim—skin and bones. Wholly unintimidating.
Suguru gives a halfhearted grin. “Blame Satoru for that. His idea of a gift—of fun.”
It seems weird to mention that it’s his birthday, considering he and Megumi haven’t actually talked all that much. Behind the student, Yuuji shifts his weight from foot to foot, as if he’s ready to bolt.
Megumi scratches the back of his neck. “Then you know he’s attached, right?”
Suguru shrugs. “Yeah, I mean, I—”
I love him more than words.
“I know.”
He gives a long look in reply. “Good. Just don’t hurt him.”
Suguru smiles. Megumi, for all his prickly-cat exterior, is strangely endearing. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Fushiguro-san.”
A silence settles between them for a moment, and then Suguru nods his head toward the car. The sun’s already setting, and Satoru would kill him if he let Megumi walk home in the dark.
“Hop in. I’ll give you a ride.”
Okay, so Suguru’s birthday is shaping up to be slightly different than he’d expected. For one, the under-the-desk blowjob was nice, but it’s left Suguru a little bit pent up all day. Usually the blowjob is the opening act, and Suguru’s come to expect the main act afterwards.
Satoru’s little stunt after lunch didn’t help, and then he was accosted by Mimi and Nana, and now he’s just been given a shovel talk.
And now, post shovel talk, Suguru has to sit through some silence, and the awkward ramblings of Megumi’s boyfriend.
“Y’know really, I’m happy for you and Professor Gojo, I mean all of us kinda thought something was going on, maybe, but we weren’t really sure. There’s still a bunch of people who are convinced it’s a prank, though, y’know, because you guys hated each other, and—”
“We don’t hate each other,” Suguru interrupts. The opposite. The bickering’s always been their special brand of foreplay, something that Satoru’s done to rile Suguru up, convince him to come back and fuck Satoru’s lights out even when both of them swore they were done hooking up.
“Right, um, that makes sense. Everybody might think that, but it’s your relationship, so people shouldn’t speculate.”
Suguru’s not really sure where Itadori’s going with this, but he can respect the effort. He gives the kid a glance in his rearview mirror.
“All that matters to me is Satoru.”
In the passenger seat, Megumi stiffens. Suguru thinks he might not have expected the honesty.
Suguru continues. “I’m sure you two feel the same about each other.”
There’s a pause, before Itadori is speaking up again. “Oh, um, Fushiguro and I—we aren’t uh—”
“Relax,” Suguru rolls his eyes. “I’m not going to tell your—tell Satoru.”
He still isn’t sure what Megumi is to Satoru, or what Satoru is to Megumi, but he knows the word dad feels strangely heavy for the both of them. His comment sinks into the silence of the car, thickening the air with something, and Suguru can hardly believe the position he’s in. He and Satoru barely started their relationship a month ago, and now Suguru’s driving his pseudo-son home to his apartment with his not-boyfriend.
Well. Suguru’s been there before.
By the time he’s made it to Fushiguro’s apartment, the silence has thinned into something comfortable. Megumi whispers a quick thank you, and clambors out of the car with a flush on his cheeks. Suguru has a feeling he and Itadori have a bit of talking to do.
Just as Megumi’s about to shut the door, he pokes his head back in.
“And, uh, happy birthday, Geto-san.”
So, Suguru’s birthday is not going as he expected. After the slight detour at Fushiguro’s apartment, Suguru picks up a call from Shoko, and dreads the oncoming conversation.
“First of all,” Shoko starts, the speakerphone of her voice filling the space of Suguru’s car. “Happy birthday.”
He’d gotten a text from her that morning, too, but it’s nice for her to repeat the sentiment.
“Now,” she continues. “When were you going to tell me?”
Suguru’s silent for a moment, unsure how to breach the topic without Shoko reaming him a new one.
“Soon,” he states.
“Soon?” Shoko’s tone is incredulous. “Soon? My two best friends are finally dating, and when I finally find out it’s from one of my med students. And all I get is soon?”
Suguru sighs. “Who told you?”
“Yuuta,” Shoko replies, after a moment’s pause.
The name sends a little shiver through Suguru. Satoru’s got a bit of an adopting habit, and Okkotsu hates him the most. By far. Has for years.
“Of course,” Suguru mutters.
“He’s a good kid,” Shoko says.
“And he’s obsessed with Satoru. And hates me.”
Shoko pauses. “He doesn’t hate you. Just—”
“He hates me.”
He’s a work in progress. Suguru doesn’t want any of Satoru’s pseudo-kids to hate him, but he can admit that Okkotsu might be a lost cause.
“Y’know he was annoyed when he told me, but it seemed to be because he thought you were ruining his beloved Gojo-san’s honor, or something.”
“Where’d he get that impression?”
“Nobara’s close friends,” Shoko answers.
Suguru wrinkles his eyebrows together. “Satoru’s ruining his own honor. Which close friend?”
“Close friends. Plural. Mimiko and Nanako sent a very interesting photo to her, and she posted it on her close friends. It’s an Instagram thing. Only Satoru’s kids saw.”
Fuck. Suguru’s going to have to have a conversation with them.
“I still don’t know what that—”
“—Really? I’d think Satoru’s boyfriend would be more tech-literate.”
The sarcasm is seeping out of Shoko now, and Suguru knows it’s time to stop fighting. He takes a moment to gather himself, halts any theories about what a close friends might be, and tries not to think about how fucking scared all of this makes him.
“I’m sorry for not telling you, Sho,” Suguru says. “I just—we only made it official over Christmas.”
She’s quiet on the other end for a moment.
“That trip up to Hokkaido?”
Suguru nods, even though she can’t see.
“Yeah. Christmas Eve.”
“Who broke first?” She asks. “Don’t tell me sex details.”
“He did. The sex was great.”
And then Shoko goes really quiet, the sort of quiet that makes Suguru nervous. The sort of quiet he’s heard right before Shoko’s told him something heavy.
“I’m only going to say this once, Suguru,” she starts. “I’ve known Satoru longer than you, but not by much. So I know both of you well enough to say that there’s nobody else I could see either of you with. Like, ever. But—”
Suguru’s stomach drops.
“—you have to fight for him. Satoru’s never been direct with his feelings, and so you have to read everything else, instead. He’ll just push, and push, and as long as you keep letting him, he’ll keep going.”
Suguru knows this. He knows it better than anyone.
“I know, Sho,” Suguru replies.
“Do you?”
“I know.”
“The moment you push him away—”
“—I’m not going to push him away.”
Suguru’s surprised by his own tone, when he speaks. His own conviction.
“Okay. So you know,” Shoko finishes. Pauses. Allows silence to linger on the line. “Now I know. Does he?”
Suguru goes quiet. Satoru knows, right? Satoru has to know.
“He knows,” Suguru answers, but he’s not entirely sure if that’s true.
“Great. Happy birthday, Geto.”
When Suguru gets back to the apartment, the lights are off.
For a moment, he’s worried something’s happened in the few short hours since he got back from lunch, between the desktop wallpaper and Megumi’s shovel talk and Nobara’s close friends story, but then he hears Satoru call from the bedroom, and his heart relaxes, unclenching back to its normal rhythm.
(It sounds a lot like Satoru, Satoru, Satoru.)
“Baby?”
Satoru’s voice is muffled, echoing from the other side of their bedroom. The door to Suguru’s old room is open, and the darkness within feels a bit like a black hole, something that will inevitably consume everything here. Space, time, matter. Satoru.
“Satoru?” Suguru calls.
“In here!”
Suguru knew it was coming from the bedroom, but still wanted to check anyway. Something’s settled in his gut now, and he’d rather talk with Satoru. The only problem is that talking with Satoru often ends in something else.
There’s a little flickering light coming from under the door, and Suguru already has some idea of what he’s going to find when he opens it.
Regardless, he opens it, and his heart flips, doing a little loop-de-loop, like on one of those rollercoasters Satoru and Nobara love.
Satoru’s outdone himself. Candles are scattered around the room, casting light up the walls in an orange glow, emitting a light fragrance that Suguru knows matches the scent Satoru bought him for another past birthday.
Satoru himself is positioned in the middle of the bed, dressed in the very same panties Suguru saw on the big screen earlier that day. Suguru wonders when he did the photoshoot, because he looks near-identical, as if he’d wanted to give Suguru a sneak-peek of what was to come.
“Did you like my surprise?” Satoru asks.
He blinks, as if to flutter his eyelashes, and a flash of anger sparks up in Suguru.
“I did,” Suguru starts slowly. “And so did about fifty of my students.”
Satoru’s seductive expression drops for a moment, before he’s pulling up the mask again, clothing himself in a persona that’s not unfamiliar to Suguru, but definitely isn’t the Satoru that Suguru’s grown to love.
Still, Suguru plays along, walking to the edge of the bed and tucking a hand under Satoru’s chin.
“You probably got me in a lot of trouble, y’know.”
Suguru doesn’t just mean with the university administration. He means with all of Satoru’s people. Because there are a lot of them who would riot if something were to happen to Satoru.
“Aw,” Satoru coos. “Are you going to discipline me, Professor?”
Suguru hums. Sometimes, Suguru finds it difficult to stay mad at Satoru, to refrain from worship, but today he’s being bratty enough. Suguru’ll manage it.
“Depends on how well you listen,” Suguru replies, trying to hide a smile.
“I’ve heard I’ve been a bad boy,” Satoru says, voice teasing him, raising up at the end.
Another hum. “You have. My laptop background, Satoru?”
The facade drops. He dips his head, slightly, bashful. “I—thought you’d see. Before. Usually you—”
“Answer a few emails before lecture, yeah,” Suguru finishes. A warmth sparks in his chest. “I was a little busy when you were blowing me, baby.”
A little flush makes its way onto Satoru’s cheeks, and Suguru can’t help but pull him in, and press a kiss to his lips. Satoru deepens it, wrapping his hands behind Suguru’s neck, meeting his height. He tastes sweet, as he always does.
Suguru pulls away slightly, and then kisses along Satoru’s cheek to the shell of his ear, arms wrapping around Satoru’s shoulders. Two hands press onto his back, and Suguru squeezes him a little closer.
“I’m sorry,” Satoru whispers. He seems a little too small when he says it. “Ruined your birthday. I thought it would be funny, or—”
“‘m not mad, ‘Toru,” Suguru interrupts.
Satoru freezes. “You’re not?”
A low laugh comes from Suguru’s throat. “I can’t ever be mad at you.”
And then Satoru’s quiet for a moment, and Suguru pulls back, because he remembers that conversation with Shoko.
“Really?”
Suguru nods. “Not mad. Did you want me to be?”
He says it jokingly, but Satoru’s got a little bit of a kicked-puppy expression, and Suguru wonders what he did wrong.
“Want me to punish you anyway?”
And then the light fills Satoru’s face again, his eyes glimmering with the little bit of mischief Suguru had spotted earlier, when Satoru must’ve switched out his laptop background.
Satoru pouts. “Please, Professor?”
The name goes straight to Suguru’s cock, even though they’ve only really used it jokingly. Satoru’s never been serious during sex, not since the first few times they’d hooked up, and so they’ve always teased the line of these things, jumping in and out of play.
Regardless, Satoru has a safeword. He knows how to use it.
Suguru skims his fingertips under the panties Satoru’s wearing. “Center of the bed,” he says. “Ass in the air.”
And Satoru obeys instantly, practiced, almost as smooth as muscle memory. Regardless of the title, he and Satoru have always been here, the in-between friends and something more, and it’s where they can meet without hesitation. Suguru knows Satoru’s body, his tastes, his sounds, better than he knows his own.
He also knows that Satoru’s a bit of a slut for pain. Suguru never thought of himself as a sadist before, but ever since he started hooking up with Satoru, he’s learned to love it.
Suguru unbuckles his belt, and doubles it up, buckle held fast in his hand. The leather glints in the candlelight, and he wonders if this was what Satoru wanted all along.
He runs a hand over Satoru’s ass, warming the skin, before he reaches the cleft, where the panties are on full display. Satoru’s cock is already straining against them, and he’s clutched his arms around one of the stuffed animals he keeps on the bed. A theoretical physics PhD, and he needs an eevee stuffed animal to sleep at night.
It’s only when he pushes Satoru’s panties to the side, a little, that he realizes Satoru’s wearing a plug. The smallest he owns. A tiny glass thing that does nothing to stretch him open.
So, it’s that kind of night.
“Want me to stretch you out on my cock, ‘Toru?” Suguru asks, teasing with the base of the plug.
Satoru hums against his eevee. Suguru knows it means yes, but he still wants to hear it.
“Words, please,” he corrects.
“Yes, please, Suguru. Want you to stretch me.”
Suguru nods, even though Satoru can’t see it, and then pulls his hand away from Satoru’s ass, squeezing lightly. It’s a really nice ass—perfectly shaped, not too big. Satoru’s proud of it.
“We’ll do ten, baby,” Suguru says, and after Satoru’s okay, he lands his first strike, skin reddening in the shape of the belt.
He smoothes his hand over the fresh skin of the other cheek, before landing a blow there. Satoru’s hips keen forward, and he lets out a little moan.
Suguru knows exactly where to hit, exactly how hard. Three, four.
Satoru’s dripping through the lace, hard enough that wetness has soaked through the baby blue. Five, six.
By the time Suguru’s halfway done, Satoru’s skin is on its way to bruised, already pale, capillaries bursting. Seven, eight.
“Two more,” Suguru instructs, and Satoru eases his hips back again, holding his position so well.
Nine, and Suguru traces his palm over the fresh mark. Ten, and Suguru does the same to the other.
Satoru sits on the bed shaking for a moment, before Suguru jumps in, massaging the area with slow fingers and a touch that Suguru knows will soothe Satoru.
“You did so good, baby,” Suguru coos, and he watches as Satoru shakes from holding the position, thighs trembling with the effort. “Can you say something for me, ‘Toru?”
It takes him a moment to answer.
“Please,” Satoru chokes out. “Suguru. Need you.”
“Good,” Suguru praises, and he presses a kiss over the bruises on Satoru’s skin, hot against his lips. “Gonna fuck you now, okay?”
Satoru gives a small moan in reply, and then mutters out something that sounds like ‘kay.
After the confirmation, Suguru reaches for the lube that Satoru’s conveniently left on the bedside table, and tosses it on the bed beside Satoru, who still hasn’t moved. Suguru can tell how much it’s affecting him, though, the way that he’s struggling to stay upright, how hard he is, how wet he is. He’s practically dripping onto the bedspread.
Suguru goes back to where he’d been on the bed, and hooks his thumbs under the waistband of Satoru’s panties. They’re soft, clearly a new pair.
“How much did these cost?”
Satoru mutters, but Suguru can hear him well enough. “Not much.”
Suguru snaps at the waistband. Satoru flinches when it hits his skin.
“They’re Dior.”
“I’ll fuck you with them on, then,” Satoru replies, pressing a kiss to Satoru’s ass. He wants his teeth on Satoru today. It’s Suguru’s right. It’s his birthday.
Satoru seems to like the sound of that, because he pushes his hips back a little more. Suguru can see how much he’s straining against the panties, not nearly enough room for his cock, but he decides not to give Satoru relief. Instead, he pushes his fingers into the cleft of Satoru’s ass, and toys with the plug resting beneath the lace.
“How long have you had this in?” Suguru asks. He twists the plug around, knowing exactly where it’ll hit his prostate.
“All day,” Satoru mutters, desperately trying to grind against Suguru’s hand.
“Oh, baby, you’re gonna kill me,” Suguru says, voice growing heady. He can feel his own arousal straining against the wool pants he wore for work, the material doing little to hide it.
He closes his fingertips around the base of the plug, and pulls it out in one swift movement, tossing it to the bedspread at Satoru’s side. Satoru clenches around the empty air, hole fluttering, and Suguru can’t help but press his thumb against the rim. Satoru winces at the sensation, though Suguru knows it’s not from pain, but desire.
“Please, Suguru,” he begs, keening back again. “Need it so bad, need you, need—”
“—One second, baby.”
Suguru takes the time to pull off his slacks, and then briefs. It must be torturous for Satoru to wait, because he makes little sounds every moment Suguru isn’t touching him.
“C’mon, be good for me,” Suguru coos. “Don’t whine like a slut.”
Satoru shuts up. Suguru knows it’s because he thinks he might deliver another punishment, might delay fucking him, but truthfully, Suguru just likes the teasing. He likes the way Satoru gets all desperate and loud.
He squirts some lube from the bottle onto his hand, and then strokes himself a couple of times, before returning to Satoru’s side.
Once Suguru’s back on the bed, he takes a moment to stare at Satoru. His ass is already shades of red, probably going to bruise tomorrow, and Suguru can’t wait to make more of a mess. He lets Satoru hover there a moment, ass in the air, before he places his hands on Satoru’s hips, and lines his cock up with the cleft of Satoru’s ass.
“Mngh,” Satoru moans.
“Hands,” Suguru states, and Satoru places his hands at his lower back, forcing the weight of his upper half onto his shoulders.
“Gonna fuck you now, ‘Toru,” Suguru says. “Fuck you open on my cock. That okay?”
Satoru nods. “Yes, please.”
Suguru hisses with the slight drag of the lace panties over the bottom of his cock, watching the difference in size between the hole he’s about to fuck, and his larger than average cock. Much larger than average. Satoru likes to point that out a lot.
After Satoru’s go-ahead, Suguru lines himself up with Satoru’s fluttering hole, the string of the panties pulled to the side, and slowly presses his head in.
“Ah—so good,” Satoru whines, and Suguru lets him. He’s been patient enough.
It’s tighter than usual, and Suguru has to take a moment. It feels like Satoru’s going to cut his dick off.
“So tight,” Suguru groans. They haven’t fucked in a couple of days, and it shows. “Feel so good, ‘Toru. Need this. Need you.”
Suguru pushes in a little more, Satoru’s hole still too tight to fuck properly. He’s only about halfway in, and already Satoru’s trembling. Even if he likes the pain, Suguru needs to take it slow enough so Satoru’s body will stretch.
“Does that hurt?”
Satoru nods, eyes fluttering shut.
“Good,” Suguru grins, and then he wraps one of his hands around Satoru’s wrists, still diligently pushed together, and then pushes himself further in.
There’s no other time when Satoru is like this, obedient and begging, and Suguru loves it.
Suguru starts to fuck him before he’s fully stretched, pulling out, and then fucking back into Satoru, earning a little grunt from Satoru. Suguru knows how painful this can be. He’s watched Satoru recover in the days after.
“You’re so pretty like this, Satoru,” Suguru says. “You have no idea how you look, stretched on my cock.”
Satoru, despite being out of it, tilts his head to the side. “Need another desktop photo?”
“Don’t be a brat,” Suguru teases back, and this time Satoru listens, because it’s Suguru’s birthday.
Suguru presses him a little further into the mattress, twists his arms so they’re crossed over each other, and then uses them as purchase to fuck Satoru. Beneath the panties, Satoru must be in agony, hard since Suguru used the belt, and Suguru’s not going to give him reprieve in the form of a hand.
“Ah—mhn—”
And Suguru knows it’s his cue to continue. With enough lube, and Satoru’s body finally relaxing, Suguru finally makes it all the way in, Satoru’s ass flush with the trail of hair at the base of Suguru’s cock.
“So much,” Satoru cries, and Suguru knows from this position he’s truly full, getting fucked the way he was meant to.
Suguru gives an experimental thrust, and when he finds Satoru pliant, he continues, driving his cock exactly the way Satoru likes, exactly the way he likes, Satoru’s body warm and hot and wet and tight around him.
“Perfect,” Suguru whispers. “My perfect baby.”
He wants to say other words, too, but he’s not sure exactly how to articulate them, whether they’ll sound strange echoing from his lungs, never said between them as friends, now only said on Satoru’s side. Suguru doesn’t doubt that Satoru knows, though.
Satoru knows, right?
“Yes, yes, right there, Suguru, gonna come, gonna—oh, love you. Fuck, yes.”
Suguru finds he’s not far behind Satoru, already built up to orgasm, a wave about to crest, and he spills into Satoru only a few seconds after, fucking his come deep.
The words ring in his mind. Love you.
He can say it too, can’t he? Suguru thinks it all the time. He thought it earlier, when Satoru’d lit every single candle on his too-big cake. He thought it when Satoru ate the first slice. And when Satoru’d grinned and kneeled under the table, and blew him without asking. Suguru even thought it when he’d gone to lecture and all his students saw his own boyfriend in lingerie.
Suguru thinks the words all the time. It’s Satoru.
The two of them collapse onto the mattress of the bed, and Suguru can’t imagine it’s all that comfortable, considering the come that’s soaked into the sheets. Still, they stay there for a moment, Suguru stroking Satoru’s hair, still buried inside, Satoru’s arms released at his sides. Suguru slips one hand under the waistband of Satoru’s panties, hating the thought of anything separating his touch from Satoru’s skin.
“Best birthday ever, ‘Toru.”
Satoru sighs against the mattress. “Yeah? I didn’t fuck it up?”
Suguru strokes his thumb under Satoru’s eye, where he finds it a little wet. He wipes the tear away.
“It’s perfect.”
Suguru hauls himself off Satoru, and fills the bath, before he gives Satoru his typical massage, focusing on his arms and the way they’d been twisted. After the bath’s full, he scrubs Satoru down, massaging his hands into Satoru’s hair, and then himself, and ignores Satoru’s complaints that he should be the one to do it this time.
Taking care of Satoru is something else he loves.
He does let Satoru wash his hair, though, because he knows Satoru likes to, and he has some sort of head massage technique that makes Suguru’s eyes roll back.
Once they’re clean, Satoru lowers himself into the bath first, and then Suguru. He pulls Satoru into his lap, and they soak until their fingertips prune up. It makes Suguru feel like a kid again, when aunt Yui would let him stay in the bath until the water grew tepid.
Satoru kisses him a little, too, pressing his soft lips to the column of Suguru’s neck, and that feeling fills him again, warm like the bath, warm like sunshine. Then, because he can, he fucks Satoru again, this time face-to-face so he can kiss Satoru, leave little marks on his neck.
“God, baby, you’re so beautiful,” Suguru coos, and he means it. Satoru’s face is flushed from the bath, matching the skin of his ass, blood rushing under pale skin. “Gonna come for me?”
Satoru nods, dipping his head into Suguru’s neck, and this time Suguru strokes his aching cock, pretty and pink like the strawberry of his lips.
“Mhn—gonna—”
And Satoru comes, clenching around him and then Suguru comes, body floating amongst the clouds, and they have to scrub themselves all over again.
“Got Chinese food,” Satoru says, when Suguru flicks on the light of the kitchen. Satoru’s wearing his dress shirt from that morning, and a clean pair of panties. Probably also ridiculously expensive.
Outside, the world has gone dark, little lights blinking back at them.
“God, I—you’re perfect, ‘Toru.”
“Really? For Chinese?”
Suguru presses a kiss to his lips. “I like dumplings.”
Satoru grins against the kiss, and then pulls away and wanders over to the fridge. He’s put on a pair of socks, too, because he knows Suguru likes them.
“I’ve got champagne, too, but if you want something stronger—”
“Champagne’s good,” Suguru interrupts. It’s also ridiculously expensive, because Satoru’s a Gojo. And the champagne’s not even as expensive as some of the wine Satoru buys.
The cork pops, and Satoru pours two glasses. They drink.
After, Satoru deftly passes Suguru a fresh pack of cigarettes.
“Smoke?”
Suguru always wants a smoke.
“Can I kiss you after?” Suguru asks.
Satoru nods. “Just for today.”
Satoru waits inside, because he’s decided he’s not re-dressing, and Suguru takes the time to stare at the city lights, and think about words he can’t say.
Then, he turns, and watches Satoru dance around the kitchen, re-warming the food and setting the table and re-filling the champagne glasses. It’s cute. It’s the most Satoru ever does in the kitchen, and Suguru loves him for it.
He exhales, cigarette now half ash. Satoru got his favorite kind, because he’s Satoru.
The smoke curls up, warm against February air. It’s never too cold for a smoke in Tokyo, but at night it seeps into Suguru’s bones. He can already feel his hair icing up, crisp at the damp ends.
Suguru puts the cigarette out before he reaches the filter, and re-joins Satoru for dinner, wrapping his arms around tall shoulders before he sits, feet curled under the kotatsu.
“I really didn’t ruin it?” Satoru asks again, this time when their stomachs are full and teeth are brushed and Satoru’s curled into his chest under the covers, legs tangled together.
Suguru’s arms tighten around him. He thinks about Shoko, and Satoru’s pushing, and whether he knows.
“Baby, I told you it was perf—”
“I know,” Satoru interrupts, though his voice is soft. “But I—everyone knows now, don’t they?”
Emotion laces Satoru’s voice, his throat trembling against Suguru’s chest.
Suguru nods. “They do. Is that a problem?”
Satoru blinks at him in the low light. They keep the curtains open, because Satoru wakes up with the sun, and Suguru won’t ever wake up if they’re shut.
“No,” Satoru says softly. A pause. “Is that a problem for you?”
Suguru shakes his head. “No. Y’know, I am quite jealous, though. I don’t like other people looking at what’s mine.”
Satoru is quiet for a moment, chest rising and falling at a strange rhythm, disjointed from Suguru’s. “Oh.”
“Next year, just send it to me, okay?”
“Okay,” Satoru sighs, and this time he truly seems to relax.
Suguru tries not to think about his own words, about next year, about whether that’ll come at all. Satoru was here last year, though, so Suguru knows that kind of thinking is useless.
“Goodnight, Satoru,” Suguru says, and he checks the time. It’s nearing midnight.
“Goodnight,” Satoru sighs. “Happy birthday, Professor Geto,” he says, voice a purr.
Suguru rolls his eyes, imagining the blushy look on Satoru’s face as he says it, always teasing Suguru. “Don’t call me that.”
“Happy birthday, Suguru. Love you.”
Suguru’s heart thunders in his chest. He presses a kiss to Satoru’s forehead.
“Love you too, ‘Toru.”