Work Text:
Suguru has to admit, he didn’t actually think Satoru would come.
The temple visit wasn’t that strange. Satoru pops in once or twice a year, at first to threaten him, then to beg him to come back, and finally to warn him of upcoming assassination plots (though if Suguru’s being honest with himself, he’s pretty sure half of them are made up excuses for Satoru to stop by). Even the coy joke about Satoru’s unfulfilled high school dream of sleeping together wasn’t that strange, he never did have a filter. What was strange was how the words “I’m sure I can remedy that” had slipped out of Suguru’s mouth before he had the chance to catch them.
See the thing is, Suguru does have a filter. And a rather impeccable one at that. A decade and a half of being forced to conceal what he could see and the monkeys could not gave him plenty of practice in not speaking his mind. He’ll admit it’s gotten worse since he learned that the monsters lurking in the corner of his eye were no more hallucinations than the very “people” that told him they were. Part of it most likely has to do with Satoru and his absolute unwillingness to speak anything but the first words that come to mind, part of it has to do with Suguru being much stronger than he once was and thus able to get away with a lot more, and part of it has to do with the fact that Suguru will never again force himself to bow to the whims of a lesser species.
But that’s besides the point.
The point is—despite all his bravado—Suguru was skeptical that Satoru would show up. Whether that’s because of a lack of trust in Satoru or insecurities about himself, he doesn’t know.
Either way, Suguru never truly thought he would end up here, with Satoru snoring softly against his chest as Suguru tries his best to reach the remote without waking him up. He’d dreamed about it, sure. Before his defection, certainly, and after, sometimes. When he’d desperately needed money or a place to stay and the person who ended up sleeping against his chest was a monkey with too much money to throw around and too little decency to not take advantage of the desperate kid sleeping on the street corner.
To this day, the thought makes him nauseous. It’s a comfort to think that unlike Satoru, those monkeys never got the chance to wake up.
He doesn’t have long to dwell on the memories, because as soon as the noise from the TV quiets with a click, Satoru is stirring against him. Damn it. Suguru should have expected this; the Six Eyes always seem to need a distraction.
It seems too late to try to turn the show back on, so Suguru simply tosses the remote to the coffee table and begins brushing through Satoru’s hair as he’s pulled back to the world of the waking.
“Good morning,” Suguru murmurs as Satoru’s face tilts up to look at him. It’s hard to tell what emotions lie behind the blindfold, but Suguru has to imagine at least some hint of surprise.
“Shit,” Satoru says as he drops his head back onto Suguru’s chest. “Morning? How long was I out?”
“Not long,” Suguru hums, his fingers continuing to card through Satoru’s hair. “It’s just a turn of phrase. You’d know that if you ever actually slept.” Suguru punctuates his tease with a pinch to Satoru’s side, which has the delightful side effect of chasing Satoru further onto his lap.
“I sleep,” Satoru protests. “Three hours a night, just like the doctor ordered.”
“I’m pretty sure your doctor cheated her way through medical school.”
“The details aren’t important, Suguru.”
Suguru can’t help the smile that tugs on the corner of his lips. He’s doing pretty well now, he thinks. He has a family that loves him, followers that adore him, enough money to have already bought his way into godhood, but still Suguru– Suguru missed this. Missed Satoru. That’s not to say that he doesn’t appreciate his family—he loves them more than anything in the world—but he has to admit that sometimes it’s nice to be Suguru, not Getou-sama.
“Oi, are you listening to me? I asked you a question.”
He wasn’t, he admits, which earns him a head movement that Suguru clearly reads as an eyeroll.
“I asked what time it was.”
“Hhm, a little after ten,” he responds after a quick glance at the clock that Satoru can definitely also see. Suguru gets the sense that he just couldn’t think of anything better to say.
“After ten! Man, I really did sleep a lot.”
Suguru laughs even as the insinuation makes his chest burn with rage. If it weren’t for those damn monkeys, maybe Satoru could actually have enough time off to get some proper rest for once.
He distracts himself from his spiraling thoughts by pressing kisses against the column of Satoru’s throat as he speaks and enjoying the barely suppressed shudder that comes from it. The monkeys have already ruined everything else, he won’t let them ruin this night too.
“That isn’t even the recommended three hours, Satoru.”
“Somehow, I think I’ll live.”
‘I’m not sure you will,’ a voice in the back of Suguru’s mind whispers, but he muffles it with the feeling of Satoru’s lips against his.
He loves this feeling. Craves it. Doesn’t know how he survived twenty-five years without it. He’s managed to kiss away the slightly sticky sensation of the lipgloss Satoru always wears, and part of him wants to order Satoru to reapply just so he can lick it off again.
It’d hardly be necessary, though. Not with the way Satoru’s lips are already spit-slick and flushed from Suguru’s assault on them.
He’s so beautiful it hurts.
“Were you planning on taking this to the bedroom, or are we just gonna make out all night?”
Suguru rips his gaze away from Satoru’s plush lips, but the blindfold prevents him from looking at what he really wants to see.
“Whatever you want, Satoru,” he purrs. “I live to please.”
Satoru laughs at that and shifts forward so that their hips press flush together. “You might be offering more than you’re willing to give.”
“I don’t know if that’s necessarily true. After all, you don’t want to tell me what to do, do you, Satoru?” Suguru speaks his next words carefully, “You just want me to- what were the words you used again? Touch you? Use you? Make you cry?”
Suguru doesn’t miss the way Satoru’s breath catches.
“You know what I think?” Suguru digs his hands into Satoru’s hips hard enough to hurt as he continues. “I think you want me to do whatever the hell I want to you. In fact, I think you don’t want to think at all, do you Satoru? You just want someone else to take charge for once.”
The sharp inhale of breath Satoru gives at the words doesn’t match the teasing lilt of his voice as he says, “Sounds to me like you’re projecting, Getou-sama.”
Despite the obvious tease, the title still cuts through him like a lance. He doesn’t want to be Getou-sama to Satoru. He isn’t Getou-sama, not to Satoru. To Satoru, he’s simply Suguru, and he wants it to stay that way.
Instead of addressing the issue directly, he simply raps a sharp smack to Satoru’s side and hisses, “Well then how about you go wait in the bedroom and fulfill my fantasy, Gojo-Sensei.”
The look of disgust on Satoru’s face at the title is exactly the effect Suguru hoped for, but that doesn’t stop him from pulling Satoru back down so he can kiss the expression off his face. It’s addicting how quickly Satoru melts into the kiss.
It doesn’t take long for the kisses to get heated, desperate. Soon, Suguru finds himself pressing forward until Satoru falls backwards onto the other side of the couch. A hand slips under Satoru’s shirt and Suguru finds that he wants to take. He wants to bruise. He wants to mark Satoru as his so thoroughly that no monkey will ever even think about touching him again.
He grabs at Satoru’s side so hard it must hurt, but the pain only makes Satoru moan and press into it more. Suguru doesn’t know why he’s surprised.
In a swift motion he pulls his hand from Satoru’s shirt and uses it to grasp Satoru’s wrists instead, pushing them onto the arm of the couch with a force that would almost certainly break anyone but the strongest. Instead, Satoru just presses his hips up enough to show Suguru exactly how he felt about that particular move.
“Do you like being thrown around, Gojo-Sensei?” Suguru teases.
Suguru hates that fucking blindfold, hates the fact that he can’t see the detestation shining in Satoru’s eyes as he spits, “Stop calling me that, Getou-sama.”
“Then stop calling me Getou-sama.”
“Isn’t that who you are?”
For a moment, Suguru is seventeen again. Staring down two paths, unable to resist the call of the one he knows will destroy him. This time, however, Satoru stands on the other path. This time, the choice isn’t quite so hard.
“Not to you.”
The words are a whisper, but that doesn’t stop the way they cause Satoru’s chest to cave in. Suguru can see it, even from the outside. The crushing force of them, breaking Satoru’s ribs, his heart, his resolve, but Suguru can’t find it in himself to regret them.
Still, he’s kind enough to back off and let Satoru swing his long legs over the side of the couch. They sit in silence for a moment, only the incessant tapping of Satoru’s heel against the hardwood filling the space. Suguru knows him well enough to see that he’s making a decision.
Finally, Satoru murmurs, “Can’t you just go back to being mean again. Please?”
It’s almost pathetic, the desperation in his voice. Suguru would find it hot if it weren’t so heartbreaking.
“Is that really what you want?” he asks quietly.
Satoru’s fingers tighten on the couch. There is a long moment before he answers, “No. But you made sure I can’t have what I want a long time ago, so don’t fucking tease me with it.”
It wasn’t me! Suguru wants to scream. It really wasn’t. It was that fucking monkey. The one who tore his world apart with a single bullet. The one who left Satoru to bleed out and instead made him a god. The one who still haunts Suguru’s nightmares seven years later.
“Just-” Satoru continues. “Just give me what I can have. Make everything easy again. Please.”
Suguru closes his eyes. Sighs. Snaps.
“Fine.” It’d be a lie to say he doesn’t enjoy the surprised gasp when he grabs Satoru’s jaw hard enough to hurt and forces Satoru to face him again. He wasn’t lying about living to please. “But if you ever call me Getou-sama again you will regret it. Do you understand?”
Satoru nods quickly, submissively, even with the vice grip Suguru still has on his jaw.
Despite the less than ideal circumstances, Satoru’s willingness to listen makes Suguru’s blood run hot through his body. He wants to see how far he can push.
“Get on your knees.”
He doesn’t know whether or not he should be surprised by Satoru’s immediate obedience.
“Good boy,” Suguru murmurs, his thumb stroking over Satoru’s cheek lovingly as he enjoys the way Satoru shudders. “Is this what you wanted, baby? Someone else making all the decisions? Someone else in charge?” On a whim, he presses his leg between Satoru’s thighs and delights in the way Satoru immediately begins grinding against it. “God, you’re pathetic.”
Immediately, Satoru’s lips open in a pretty moan and Suguru is sure his eyes are soft and glassy under the damn blindfold. He wants to rip it off him, but Suguru knows it’s neither the time nor the appropriate method. There are some things you have to be delicate about.
Instead, he fists his hand in Satoru’s hair and asks, “What will you call me?”
Suguru takes comfort in the familiar hint of rebellious mischievousness that dances across Satoru’s face the second before he murmurs a teasing, “Daddy?”
Despite himself, Suguru can’t stop the edge of his lips from twitching up. He always was a fucking brat.
“This is the second time you’ve made a joke about having a daddy kink this evening, Satoru. I’m starting to believe it might not be entirely a joke.”
“Who says it’s a joke?”
“Try again.”
Satoru pulls out of Suguru’s grip and slowly makes his way upwards until he’s climbing into Suguru’s lap once again.
“Lord?” he tries.
“Don’t even think about it.”
Satoru reaches up and uses one hand to pull Suguru in by the back of his neck, closer, closer, close enough that Suguru can feel the puff of air against his ear when Satoru whispers “Master?”
Suguru can’t help his shudder, fantasies of Satoru calling out for his master in all kinds of compromising positions flooding his mind as blood rushes southwards, but that’s for a different night.
“One more chance, Satoru.”
“Aw, c’mon,” Satoru teases. “I could tell you liked that one.”
Suguru doesn’t deign that with an answer. He just waits patiently until eventually Satoru is nuzzling into the side of his neck, his next word spoken so quietly into Suguru’s skin that he can barely hear it above the rushing of blood in his ears.
“Suguru.”
It’s humiliating, honestly, how the sound of Suguru’s own name has his heartbeat picking up in his chest. When was the last time he heard it from anyone other than Satoru? He refuses to remember.
“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Suguru murmurs in between half frantic kisses to Satoru’s neck.
“No. But you know what is hard?” Satoru remarks with a sharp grin.
Suguru doesn’t even try to fight his eyeroll.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“What else is new?”
Suguru can’t help but pull Satoru into another searing kiss. He’s weak around the edges, shaky in a way he wasn’t minutes ago, and it’s only somewhat surprising to realize that the bratty exterior is—at least in part—yet another facade.
He pulls back, keeping a steady hand on Satoru’s jaw as he asks, “Do you want me to fuck you?”
Satoru nods desperately, his hands tightening against Suguru’s shirt in a way that makes it difficult for the curse user to not flip him over and fill the request right here in the living room.
“My room is at the end of the hall,” he says instead, voice tight with want. “There’s a chest in the closet, replace the plug you have now with the blue one in the chest and then take anything you want from it and lay them on the bed. Once you do that you can do whatever you’d like until I arrive.”
“That’s a dangerous game you’re playing,” Satoru murmurs with a grin.
“I know.”
With one final kiss Satoru rises and begins moving toward the hall, but Suguru can’t help himself.
“Wait.”
He approaches slowly, hands reverent as he unwinds the blindfold and tucks it carefully into the pocket of his sweatpants. He wonders if he’ll be able to get away with keeping it.
Satoru’s eyes are cut glass, cold and beautiful but somehow still able to make Suguru melt. He wants to lock Satoru away just so he’ll always be able to look at them, wants to pluck them out of Satoru’s head and keep them in a box over his heart. He wants so strongly that it hurts, and some sick, twisted, disgusting part of him—the part of him that’s been running his life for the past seven years—wants Satoru to hurt in turn. He doesn’t know if he hates or loves the fact that Satoru wants that too.
“Crawl.”
The command is half a joke. He doesn’t think Satoru will really do it, not without pushback, but maybe the Satoru of his youth and the Satoru that exists before him aren’t as similar as he initially assumed. In any case, as Satoru lowers himself down without a word, one thing becomes increasingly apparent: Suguru is so, unbelievably, fucked.