Archive of Our Own

Suguru lay in the darkness of a bedroom that did not belong to him, a small and cramped place with air that smelled of sex and tobacco and felt much too stale, his weary eyes trained on a stain in the ceiling as the woman next to him—a recently divorced mother of two who liked boys barely older than her children—shuffled with the covers. He closed his eyes and sighed, frustrated and irritated with himself that he kept finding himself in stranger’s beds and couches and cars. He blindly reached for his phone, that he had selfishly plugged in using the office worker’s charger, and squinted at the brightness before adjusting it and feeling the annoyance in his body dissipate and give way to pure misery at the sight of the date. Two years prior, he had broken up with his boyfriend of four years in front of a KFC in Shinjuku, because he'd gotten older and started actually paying his friends some mind—he shouldn't have been dating a man a little over a decade older than him, it had been crazy, they'd look at them weird and Suguru disliked when people looked at him like he needed to be helped. He still remembered the way his ex had stood there, shaking terribly, with tears in his eyes hidden behind the stupid sunglasses he couldn’t live without. He'd insisted that Suguru was wrong, that it didn't matter, age was nothing between them because they knew and understood each other so well, because they really, truly loved each other, but it'd been too late; Suguru had been close to graduating college, and he needed time for himself that didn't involve someone else. It had been too stressful, too many hours spent studying and writing and reading and working whenever he hadn't been doing all those other exhausting, time-consuming tasks. Still, day and night his brain had convinced him he’d done a horrible thing letting that man go, and guilt and regret begun to twist and grow heavy in Suguru’s gut. To dissipate them, he would head to a nearby bar and allow himself to forget. He would drink until he felt sick, he would follow any woman that didn’t seem too vocal behind the building and he would let them slobber all over his lips, heart tightening at the memory of how different it all had been, how disgusting this felt now, but he always forced himself to ignore that pesky voice. What did it know, anyway? Suguru wasn’t conflicted, or in denial, or whatever he sometimes thought to himself; he was just trying to get over an ex-boyfriend. It was normal to drink himself to a stupor and have sex with women he didn’t care about, he always told himself whenever he started to get an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach as he replied to whatever flirtatious sentence whatever girl had just thrown at him. This never lasted more than a quickie in a dirty bathroom, or a shitty handjob under a table at the back of a club, and when it did he was usually gone from their house before the day broke. Tonight wasn’t going to be any different.

Suguru rubbed at his eyes and sighed in defeat before opening Instagram and going through menus until he was scrolling down accounts he had blocked, groaning lowly before tapping the white, bold username. satoru >w< stared back at Suguru with all of its bright, tiny little pixels, next to it a recent photo of him in a low collar black sweater and the goddamn sunglasses, still. How many times had Suguru settled them next to their bed before he leaned down to kiss him? How many times had he run his hand through his soft white hair after sex, as he watched Satoru’s chest rise and fall as he fell asleep? Tears prickled his eyes at the memories and it only served to irritate Suguru further. He wasn’t sure who he hated more, his younger self for having fucked up something so good, or Satoru for having mattered so much to him that even now everything he did revolved around the storm he had been. He couldn’t go back, he wasn’t untainted like when they had met, he wasn’t experimenting with his sexuality, he wasn’t… He closed his eyes and convinced himself to get up without glancing down at the mother that laid naked by his side. He wasn’t gay. Or he was but he really, really didn’t want to be. It served him nothing, he had already been weird ever since childhood, what good was this going to do? And if he was, maybe that was all because Satoru convinced him. He had been freshly eighteen when they had met, easy to manipulate and mold, except that wasn’t entirely true because he chased Satoru until he agreed to really date him, borderline getting off on the fact he had managed to wrap this thirty year old around his finger. He quickly dressed himself and left to go home without a word; thankfully, that was only three train stops away from where he currently was and, since they had just begun running for the day, he'd have some peace and quiet that would let him really ponder what he was going to do now.

Suguru shivered at the apartment entrance, glancing over to see snow swirl in the air, and he cursed himself for not having brought a scarf with him, the frigid air seeping into his skin and bones, harsh and bitter like freshly sharpened blades. He personally couldn’t stand the weather in Tokyo and often missed the kinder winters of his childhood, pictures of walking to school with an umbrella in hand coming back to him as he made his way to the station, his hands deep in his pockets, nails digging into his palms to warm them up faster. The walk was quick, even more than usual thanks to Suguru's desperation for any kind of central heating. He walked through nearly deserted ticket lines and sat on an empty bench, a couple of office workers drunken from a night out the only people keeping him company.

Stations during the cold season now brought him nothing but bitter nostalgia for something he should have given up long ago. Satoru loved the winter and would often drag Suguru’s trembling figure by the arm to a nearby park, so that they could watch snow fall and make snowmen together, so that Satoru could have an excuse to get close to Suguru, his cold nose digging into Suguru's warm cheek. Too lazy and cold to wipe at his tears, he let them flow freely, silently, as he glanced at the digital screen dictating the next train and its arrival time. He moved his bangs off his face as the wind blew and bit into his skin, the movement all too familiar. Satoru loved brushing it away from his eyes whenever the wind picked up, then he'd smile down at Suguru and tell him how pretty he was, and Suguru now dug his tongue into his sharp canine in order to keep his crying silent and his sobs nonexistent.

The train was warm, artificial like the pleasure Suguru looked for day and night, and it slowly thawed his freezing skin, the bright red of his trembling fingers staring at him as he attempted not to doze off; he couldn’t afford to miss his stop, and he didn’t want Satoru to show up in his dreams, as he so often liked to do, and bother him further. He dug his phone out from his pocket and let out a long, exasperated sigh at the profile that greeted him once he unlocked the screen. He looked up at the layout of the stops above the seats facing him, then he rubbed his thumb over his forehead in a self-soothing motion. Might as well, he thought. Against his better judgement, he allowed himself to scroll through Satoru’s profile, stopping just before the posts he had been present for. He looked older, if only slightly, as if the stress of teaching high school students had finally caught up to him. Suguru’s heart sank a bit further with the realization he truly did miss him, for whatever reason that might be. He sniffed before faking a cough into his elbow, then kept swiping: Satoru at a café with the dessert he tried at every single one he went, keeping a rank of every parfait purchased and consumed in his notes app; Satoru with his homeroom class, though the students’ faces were all covered by two big enough stickers that their privacy remained intact; Satoru with two friends Suguru recognized the face but couldn’t recall the names of, as they celebrated one of their birthdays, too much joy on Satoru’s grin for Suguru’s liking. How dare he be so happy when Suguru was left torn to pieces by a bomb of his own making, choking on smoke and ash, blood that doesn’t belong to him staining his teeth? Suguru angrily locked his phone again and put it away, then leaned back against his seat and ran his hand over his face.

Whatever. He could make Satoru realize that this type of bliss was worthless. He could make Satoru realize that, deep down, he was actually miserable. He could make Satoru realize that without Suguru, he was nothing.

― ☆ !

Satoru had never moved from the apartment he had once shared with Suguru, because Suguru felt it inappropriate to kick Satoru out when he had been the one to move in and later end things with him. Suguru had found this out two nights ago, as he downed apple soju after apple soju he’d gotten at the nearest convenience store, scrolling through Satoru’s social media in the darkness of his small living room like it mattered more than the job that awaited him the day after, a ruthless morning shift which anguish would be incomparable to the one he had been feeling at that moment. Satoru was good with internet safety, but Suguru was undiagnosed with something and, unrelated to such, had really good memory when it came to grudges he held; he still grimaced whenever he saw someone ask for iced coffee because of someone he knew in middle school. This, of course, meant that Suguru had the means to retrieve all kinds of information on Satoru that he could find online. Besides still living in his apartment, Suguru learneed that he also frequently went down to a nearby arcade—one he could not recognize, which peeved him—and the library, from where Satoru would post multiple Instagram stories about how correcting tests was better there than at home. This roughly gave Suguru enough knowledge to know when to show up at his doorstep unannounced, with fresh rope hidden in the deep pockets of his jacket. He now stared at the apartment door, eyes focused and hard as the reality of what he was about to do set in; it didn’t matter, now. Suguru was exhausted from his inability to move on, from waking up with half his heart missing, from burning his retinas with hours of scrolling through dating apps and Satoru’s social media, from lying to himself. That was okay, though. Once he reminded Satoru of what he was missing and really craving, once he himself were satiated in the same way smoking his first cigarette of the day made him feel, then everything would be fixed. Satoru wouldn’t be able to forget him, no matter how much he tried, and Suguru would finally be able to let go, having now had his final taste. Besides, if there was any way to make sure his attraction to men had been nothing but seeds implanted by Satoru, it was this.

He sighed gently, then he reached out to punch in the door code—5105—quickly and automatically, as he had all those years before. The lock clicked gently as a small green light flashed in Suguru’s face, making him squint slightly, and his breath caught in his throat as he leaned in and opened the door. “I’m home,” he mockingly called out as he closed the door behind him. The house was empty and all the lights were off except for the one above the genkan, and Suguru knew it was because Satoru never remembered to turn off the light of rooms he left until he was back in them. He looked down and cocked his head slightly at the sight of Satoru’s house slippers, still the same worn-out dark blue ones he had gotten so used to seeing.

Everything in the apartment looked the same, apart from how bare it actually seemed now that Suguru’s things weren’t anywhere in sight. Of course, Suguru thought as he took his shoes off, Why would he have changed in such a small amount of time? Still, this lack of change frustrated him. Suguru had spent so much time reinventing himself in any way he possibly could, attempting to separate himself completely from who he had been during that relationship, and now that he was facing the fact he didn't matter to Satoru as much as he had hoped, deep down in the recesses of his soul, it all seemed only worthless and insignificant, even simply just stupid. He thought back to how Satoru had cried and grovelled when he had decided to end things, how close he had been to gripping Suguru's pant legs and begging him to stay, and rage boiled in his veins as he came to the realization it hadn’t mattered for Satoru as much as it had seemed. The bastard was just so overly emotional and dramatic he couldn't stop himself from causing a scene.

Suguru held his shoes in his hands as he didn’t want Satoru to realize he was coming back home from his usual library-based test corrections to company, then he made his way to Satoru's bedroom, passing the kitchen where a couple of empty convenience store boxed lunches lay on the counter, and made sure to stomp his feet as he walked, his socked feet angry but muffled against the polished wood. He opened the door, which creaked lightly at the push of his hand, and his anger seemed only to grow as memories, both vivid and faded, flooded his mind. Suguru could almost see them superimposed over each other, pictures of a daily life that no longer belonged to him.

Suguru outside in the balcony during a hot summer night, his back to the railing as he blew cigarette smoke into the humid air; Satoru’s head lying on his chest as Suguru watched the crown of his head as it rose and fall in rhythm with Suguru’s breathing; Suguru throwing his head back as he let out a laugh at a joke that, admittedly, hadn’t been that funny but Satoru had been the one to say it, so of course there were tears in his eyes; them kissing softly and slowly in the morning, the press of Satoru’s lips to his own so vivid he could almost feel his touch even now; Suguru pounding into Satoru, whom he’d tied to the hands gripping his hips hard enough to bruise.

Suguru’s next exhale came out shaky and he found himself on the verge of tears, though of hatred or regret, he could not tell. He ran his fingers over his eyes in a preemptive measure and then placed his shoes out on the balcony, before taking off his jacket and setting down, now folded, by the boots. The balcony door slid shut, and the noise echoed throughout the apartment. Suguru stood by it, a hand on the handle still, and he cursed quietly to himself, then lied down on the bed, in the darkness of Satoru’s room, his body relaxing automatically once it met the familiar mattress and sheets.

Suguru turned his head, dug his nose into one of Satoru's pillows and inhaled sharply and deeply, moaning gently at the comfortable, pleasant smell of Satoru's shampoo: so warm and just a little sharp, so close to what home smelled like. He closed his eyes and breathed in again, one hand lightly tracing his inner thigh before he closed it around his hardening cock, as he remembered the way he’d shove Satoru against these very pillowcases, the way they'd turn filthy with Satoru's weeping and sweat and spit, the way he'd pull them between his teeth, the way he'd moan and whimper so gently and sweetly it was hard to believe he was over the age of thirty.

The front door clicked open and Suguru blinked, heartbeat rapid and wild, then he turned his head away from the bed and sat up as he waited for Satoru to reach his bedroom. He could pick up on the vaguely distant sounds of shoes being kicked off and put away, followed by soft footsteps that grew louder and louder, as Suguru’s blood rushed in his eardrums. Satoru cleared his throat and sighed, no doubt exhausted after working until late, and Suguru watched as the bedroom door opened and the light switched was flipped on, blinking to get used to the strong light after minutes of being in absolute darkness, save for a singular faded street lamp light. Satoru froze and Suguru smiled at him, mouth closed, corner of his lips curled, eyes shut.

“Hi, Satoru.” He looked at him and his smile faded when he noticed Satoru hadn't moved, hadn't reacted at all, as if Suguru wasn't there, on his bed, after two years of ignoring each other's existence, dead to one another. “Satoru, I said—”

“How did you get in my house?” The pronoun peeved Suguru, who clicked his tongue and sighed before rolling his eyes.

“You never changed the code,” he said, spreading his legs and leaning back against the bed.

Satoru blinked at him and Suguru hated the way his whole being felt pulled in by those pretty, haunting eyes. “What…” He swallowed, Suguru's gaze following the subtle movement of his Adam's apple. How he wished to graze it with his teeth. “What do you want? Wasn't breaking up with me enough, is that it? You fucking break into my house, too?” Again, Suguru huffed, and he sat up straighter, glaring into Satoru's eyes. “…You're being childish.”

“God forbid I act my age.”

“You're not—” Satoru scoffed and shook his head. “You're not eighteen anymore, you don't get to just do shit like this.”

“Oh, if I was eighteen you'd be all over me, is that it?”

“You know that's not what I meant,” he said sharply, almost effectively cutting off that argument. “You're being ridiculous, my goddamn students are less immature.”

A muscle above Suguru's eyebrow twitched and he jumped off the bed, quickly moving to press Satoru against the bedroom door, closing it behind him, then settled his hands by Satoru's head. He laughed airly at how Satoru seemed to simply give up, as he slumped against the door when Suguru leaned in, breath hot against his lips.

“What do you think you're doing?” Satoru asked, his voice quiet and almost wary, foreign to someone as confident as Suguru knew Satoru was.

“I'm leaving you for good.”

“You already have,” and he was angry now, gaze flashing with something close enough to betrayal. “In case you forgot, I was the one who was begging you to stop.” He teared up, his words bitter and Suguru fought back against kissing them away from his lips. “I should have never agreed to this shit—”

“You're so goddamn arrogant,” Suguru hissed. “I hate you.” It almost felt good to say it, to see Satoru's heart break in two again. “I hate you and I'm here to prove it, so that I can stop fucking thinking about you. You ruined my fucking life.”

“You left me! Do you know how shitty it is to live here, now?”

“You're rich enough to move, aren't you?”

“My job—”

“Find another one if it sucks so bad. I don't give a shit about you. I'm only…” The words failed him for a second and he felt like crying, like a desperate, awful loss filled him just by hearing Satoru's voice again, by being so close to him he could count the light freckles on the bridge of his nose like he used to. “I want you to not be able to think about anyone else, too. I'm going to ruin you like you did me.” His breath shuddered as he exhaled and Satoru blinked at him confusedly before realization began to hit him.

“The fuck are you talking about?”

“I'm going to fuck you the way I used to. I'm going to make sure after we're done you will never be able to be with anyone else because you were mine first,” he said, his hands trembling as he gripped the sides of Satoru's head and Satoru moved his to try and force them away. “Stop struggling. It's a farewell gift, okay? I'm gonna finally be able to move on from you, and from the shit you put in my head ‘cause I was young, and you're going to never be able to look at anyone else again.”

“Suguru, you're not— you're upset, that's fine, you can't—”

“Do you ever shut up?” Suguru interrupted him, before letting go of his face and slapping him across the face, loud and fast. “Satoru, I'm going to do this. Whatever you think about me, it's not going to stop me.”

Satoru massaged his cheek gently, then looked up at Suguru, tears already in his eyes. “Go home, Suguru.”

“You're not kicking me out.” He didn't elaborate, leaving Satoru by the door as he left for the balcony in order to dig for the rope he'd put away so carefully.

“Suguru, I can't be indulging your whims anymore. Get out of my fucking house, I’m serious. Do you want me to call the cops, is that it?” Satoru's voice was too close to him and Suguru turned around to find him hovering over his body, the bedroom light contrasting so beautifully with him it only made Suguru angrier.

“Call the cops, I'm telling them that you fucked me when I was a minor.”

“Suguru.”

“Satoru.” He felt relieved seeing the way Satoru was still affected by how he called out his name, stressing out each syllable, dragging it out just a bit. There was a bruise already blossoming underneath Satoru's pale skin, cheek red from impact and sensitivity, and that only served to rile Suguru up further. He rose up and, quickly so that Satoru couldn't fight back, shoved Satoru past the balcony door and down onto the bed, hand pressing hard against his sternum, before he turned him around with all of his strength—he’d been spending whatever free time he had working out at home, stronger now than he had been when dating Satoru—and settled his knee against the small of Satoru’s back. As Suguru held Satoru’s wrists together in one hand, the other wrapped part of the rope tightly around them, ignoring any type of safety measure he would have taken otherwise, his heart pounding at the thought of rope burn marking Satoru’s pretty, untouched skin. Once he was done, he moved his hand from Satoru’s wrist to grip his soft locks and pulled his head back, forcing it to turn in order to look into his eyes, to see the hatred he knew he held for him.

There wasn’t hatred, though. His pupils were blown wide, the whites of his eyes bloodshot as tears brimmed, one trailing down his nose bridge. That was okay, Suguru thought. He could work with fear, too.

“You know what happens if you try to fight, right?”

Satoru attempted to glare at him, but he looked too heartbroken to seem properly angry, to seem anything other than utterly sorrowful, like he couldn’t believe it was his Suguru doing something like this. He closed his eyes and huffed. “You don’t want to do this,” he said and Suguru almost laughed; he hadn’t expected Satoru to go the negotiation route.

“I do, Satoru. I’ve had time to think about it, it’s not some ‘childish impulse’.” Suguru leaned in and brushed his lips over the barely-there stubble growing by Satoru’s jaw. His cock stirred in his jeans—how turned on he was by clear signs of Satoru’s age, making the twelve year gap more than apparent, had not changed. Suguru parted his lips to drag his tongue in a fat, wet swipe over Satoru’s jaw up to his earlobe, which he nibbled at. He pulled at it roughly before letting go, then trailed his free hand over the outside of Satoru’s thigh, groping at the muscle there, his breathing heavy and hot against Satoru’s neck. “You want it, too,” he said with a sly grin as his fingers wrapped tightly around the hard bulge in Satoru’s dress pants. “I knew you were a filthy old man but this is a bit much, don’t you think? Getting off on being assaulted…” Suguru rubbed his hand over Satoru’s clothed cock as he positioned himself so that Satoru could feel Suguru’s own erection. A shudder in Satoru’s breath was all the confirmation Suguru needed. “Am I going to have to tie your legs too or are you going to open them for me like you used to, Gojou-san?”

Satoru shuddered, a full body and almost violent thing that had Suguru giggling in delight. “Don’t call me that.”

“Eh…? You used to like it.”

“And you used to not be a fucking rapi—”

Before Satoru could finish his sentence, Suguru angrily turned his head to suffocate him lightly between his pillows, pressing down on his skull until he felt it was enough. Then, he pulled Satoru’s hair tightly and turned to growl into his ear: “You were fucking thirty years old when I first put my dick in you. I was fresh out of goddamn high school. I don’t wanna hear shit from a disgusting pervert like you, Satoru.” Satoru’s cock kicked a little under Suguru’s unrelenting touches. “Seems to me you’re liking it, anyway. Gross old man, still got a thing for younger cock, huh?”

Satoru shuffled uncomfortably, attempting to free himself from Suguru’s grasp like he would be able to do anything, and Suguru simply rut against Satoru’s soft but firm ass, roughly to make sure he understood how useless fighting back, even just slightly, was.

“You didn’t answer my question,” he pressed, squeezing harshly around Satoru’s dick.

“Does it matter?” Satoru snapped and his voice sounded rougher than usual, a bit lower in a way that made Suguru’s heart ache just a little. He only sounded like this when he was truly upset; Suguru remembered the low hum of Satoru’s words when he would talk about his family, tears lumping his pretty eyelashes together. “Just get it over with.”

“Wrong answer,” Suguru said with a gentle sigh, hand tightening, and Satoru jumped with a yelp, unintentionally swaying his hips against Suguru’s hard cock. Suguru laughed out a low moan. “Your body still knows what to do. You really oughta stop ignoring young people’s concerns, Gojou-san. I’m going to drag this out as much as I want to make sure when you wake up tomorrow, you will feel so hopelessly empty you start to cry, only to realize you’re completely out of tears. You’re going to turn your head and my smell will be everywhere and you will understand for good that you can’t let me go.”

“I never wanted to let you go,” Satoru whispered, words shaky. “You left me.”

Suguru didn’t say anything, he simply leaned back to watch Satoru’s face properly for a beat, the only noise their heavy breathing and gentle rustle of clothes against bedsheets. “And I will again.” He ignored the tug he felt deep inside his ribs, just a little past his heart, and the way his body seemed to relax thanks to Satoru’s body heat, and the way he still knew exactly where to touch in order to make Satoru whimper and gasp wetly, to make him open his eyes and look at him with his eyelids heavy and his lips parted. That wasn’t him, that had been the fragile age he had been when he met Satoru, that was Satoru and the ideas he had planted in his head, and now those ideas had blossomed and bore fruit and Suguru intended to force it past Satoru’s mouth and teeth, seeds and skin and all. “It’s your fault, anyway.”

“You asked me to date you,” Satoru defended himself like that was a fair answer.

“I was a kid.”

“You sure were desperate to prove me otherwise.” He said this quietly, like Suguru wasn’t meant to hear it, and so Suguru ignored it, though he felt the lashes of his accusation against his skin, leaving him bleeding and bruised.

Instead of pressing the subject, Suguru began moving, first letting go of the iron grip he held around Satoru’s cock and hair, then moving his hands to quickly and deftly undo the buttons on Satoru’s shirt, though he pulled too hard at one and the snap of its strings echoed in the bedroom. With his nose buried in Satoru’s hair, just a little above his undercut, he couldn’t help but moan gently at the familiar scent of his expensive, subdued cologne; it had been Satoru’s signature smell ever since they had first crossed paths, something floral but not too much, something implying a maturity that Suguru now doubted Satoru even had. It drove him fucking crazy, salivating at the mouth like a starved predator. He slid his hand past Satoru's open, now ruined shirt and squeezed at the hard muscle of his pecs, pulling at a nipple, which earned him a whined gasp from Satoru, then he trailed his hand lower so he could undo his belt and the annoying buttons and zipper of his dress pants. “Sound so good, still,” Suguru said, voice raspy and shaky, and he blinked rapidly before he closed his eyes and kept smelling Satoru's hair in order to distract himself from the agonizing and contradictory emotions that tangled together into a singular disgusting, terrifying thing that Suguru did not want to name—or prod for that matter.

“Suguru,” Satoru sobbed and Suguru’s heart skipped a beat—how he had missed the way he called his name like he was the only thing that truly mattered. “Please, don’t.” There it was. “Stop.”

“No.”

“Please. I'm tired, I had a bunch of kids yelling at me today, I can't—”

“I don't care,” Suguru spat coldly and the words slapped Satoru across the face. “This isn't about you. For once, it's not about you.” He almost meant it, too.

The soft, muffled sound of Satoru's sobs were the background music to Suguru hastily hooking his fingers into Satoru's boxers and pulling them and his pants down together, patience running thin as he manhandled Satoru to undress him, leaving only his dress shirt on him. He pushed Satoru's thighs open and wrapped his hands around his small waist to make his back arch, then groped his ass cheeks, spreading them to spit directly onto his asshole. Satoru jumped and his arms struggled, rope biting tighter into the sensitive skin of his wrists as he tried in vain to set himself free. “Suguru, you're going to regret this when you're done,” but he didn't sound convincing; he couldn't sound convincing when he was actively choking on body-wrecking sobs and tears that didn't seem to stop flowing. Suguru withdrew a hand to grip Satoru's chin with it, and he leaned in as he turned Satoru's head, then licked a fat stripe up his cheek, drinking in the salt of Satoru's upset. It made his stomach turn in a delicious way, something dangerous that he knew he would want another bite of very soon.

Suguru began to fear this wasn't going to help him at all: from the way he felt himself magnetized by Satoru just like before, to the way he could almost feel himself cry not with hatred or anger, but with raw relief. He bit down on Satoru's neck and sucked a hickey onto his skin, teeth nibbling as he forced himself to focus on the task at hand, rather than whatever pesky emotions kept rearing their ugly heads. “You're so beautiful,” he whispered into Satoru's shoulder as he pressed wet kisses to the muscle, fingers tugging at his shirt to reveal more skin. “So pretty, you've always been so pretty,” he found himself rambling, his hand now busy with undoing his own jeans and wrapping around his hard cock before pulling it out, the other groping Satoru's ass, smacking it and then stroking the soft flesh. He felt Satoru's sob against his chest and it made him want to kiss him better, though he stopped himself once he thought about it for longer than the whim showed itself. He didn't really want to, it was just a Pavlovian response, nothing else. Nothing else.

He leaned back and moved to grab the lube from the first drawer of the nightstand by Satoru’s side of the bed, only to find the bottle mostly empty. “Miss me that much, huh?” he teased as he got back on the bed, running a hand over the inside of Satoru’s thigh in silent praise for not having moved. “How were they? Did they remind you of me?” he asked this with thinly veiled rage, words bitter and biting, as he poured the remaining lube onto his fingers and fucked two of them into Satoru’s hole, past the drying saliva, muscle giving in after clenching, and when he looked down he saw small dots of blood swelling around the digits. Whether intentional or not, his thrusts grew harsher and maener. “I doubt they were better,” he growled, free hand between Satoru’s shoulder blades to keep him down. “Answer me, Satoru.”

“There was no one else,” he gasped out, words choked out in a guttural sob. Suguru stopped his movements for a second before he began to spreading his fingers, then fit in a third, his gaze unwavering from the way Satoru’s ass gaped. Too immersed in getting back at Satoru, he ignored the whimpers and the pleads and the way he squirmed at every thrust of his fingers, and soon he withdrew them to pour whatever else was left in the small bottle directly onto his aching cock.

“You’re sick,” was all he whispered into Satoru’s burning ear before he was fisting his own cock and pushing it past Satoru’s rim. He hissed at how tight he felt, tighter than before, tight like he had been when Suguru had been eighteen and hopelessly in love and finding out how good a warm hole to fuck could feel. He now felt the same shivers that had ran down his spine then, and he couldn’t help the hungry whimper that left him, breath hot against Satoru’s throat. “Been just you and your lonely hand, Gojou-san? How sad.”

Satoru turned his head but Suguru could see the red blush painting his pretty skin, bright on his cheeks and fading as it went past his neck and collarbone. “You’re fucked,” Satoru mumbled as he shook his head, hair sticking itself to his forehead with sweat. “You’re fucked, you’re fucked—”

“I wasn’t the one who brought a teenager to my house so I could get my dick wet, now, was I?”

“You’re fucking raping me!” Satoru snapped, and his voice boomed in a way Suguru hadn’t heard since they had their last big fight over how Suguru seemed incapable of opening up or even telling Satoru he loved him, and so he clasped his lubed-covered hand over Satoru’s mouth, nails biting into his skin. This didn’t stop Satoru from glaring at him through fat tears that ran down and between Suguru’s fingers, still spouting out accusatory words that, despite muffled, Suguru could feel deep in his being. He released his grip on Satoru and pulled out, then violently turned him around and, before he forced himself back into him, slapped Satoru across the face, leaving an angrier imprint that superimposed itself over the previous bruise. Suguru’s hair had slowly slipped out of his ever-so-carefully styled bun, hair strands falling loose and wild over his face, which pissed him off. How was he supposed to truly enjoy his revenge for what it was if he couldn’t see Satoru swear at him and cry? Suguru reached behind him and pulled at the hair tie, then ran his hand through his hair, pushing it away from his face and past his shoulders, though his hair was thick and stubborn and fell over like black ink spilling over his sweater.

He glared down at Satoru, gaze zeroing in on the blood that had begun to sprout by the corner of his mouth, and then Suguru leaned in to lick at it, determined to taste Satoru’s misery in every way possible. “You’re fucking enjoying it,” Suguru hissed, bangs brushing over Satoru’s cheek as he moved to glare back at him. He fucked into Satoru with a single, sharp thrust, both hands at Satoru’s waist, and Satoru gasped, his back arching and his head falling backwards as his hips swayed in rhythm with Suguru’s relentless thrusts. How good it all felt was eating Suguru up from the inside, as he couldn’t help but wonder why something so fucked, something so wrong, could feel as completely delicious as this. It was getting harder to ignore the ugly truth, but this didn’t mean Suguru would acknowledge it. He moaned lowly when he reached deeper into Satoru, who clenched tighter around him. “Fuck, look at you. You’re so goddamn pathetic.” Satoru shook his head and Suguru bit down on his lip as he utterly enjoyed himself now that he could see Satoru’s face so clearly. Then, Satoru spoke.

“Please,” Satoru started and Suguru prepared himself for the impact of his refusal once more, blinking in shock when what followed was a whimpered out “don’t… stop.” Suguru kept fucking little choked out moans out of him and his breath shuddered when Satoru kept talking. “Don’t stop. Please, don’t stop. Suguru, please. …Don’t, don’t stop.” The words were quiet, whispers hidden between gasps like he was too afraid to admit Suguru had won. Suguru stared down at him, eyes wild, and felt something sharp and unsightly dig into the walls of his throat. He watched Satoru as he broke, how his eyelashes clumped together with tears that dried on his cheeks, the way his nose got all red and cute, his pretty pink tongue slipping from between his lips as he gasped in pleasure-pain, his eyes so glassy and unfocused. He was so beautiful, so haunting, so mesmerizing, Suguru thrust once and kept still then, cock deep in Satoru, a constant pressure against his prostrate, his stomach dilating just a bit. He found himself tearing up and crying, that horrid ball of emotions that he kept pushing down unraveling before him, and he grabbed Satoru’s face with both hands and pressed a starving kiss onto his lips, demanding more and more as he kissed him, hips now fucking vigorously into Satoru, who had stopped shaking his head “no” and simply allowed himself to be coaxed by Suguru’s lips, swallowing his spit and moans and quiet whimpers. Suguru drew back, gasping against Satoru’s mouth instead, and Satoru himself started nosing at Suguru.

“Keep going,” he whispered. “Don’t stop, please. Please.”

“Was my cock all you needed? Hm?” He teased Satoru as if he himself wasn’t falling apart at the seams, tears on his cheeks, questioning everything he had convinced himself was true: his lack of feelings towards Satoru, his anger and revenge-driven assault, how little he had truly missed Satoru, how little he had mattered to him, how little Suguru himself cared for someone like this—who could see him in his full and not reject him, who followed him like he could be trusted, who believed in him when Suguru himself did not. He hid his face on the crook of Satoru’s neck, as he used to when they dated and he was looking for comfort but could not word it (he could never word it), and mouthed lazily at the hickey he’d left. Satoru’s legs hooked around Suguru’s hips and he used his strong thighs to help Suguru fuck into him faster and harder and deeper, and Suguru let him because this was Satoru and Suguru would let Satoru do anything he wanted.

Oh, he thought. I love him. And this he could no longer deny, especially not with Satoru surrounding him completely, getting impossibly tight around his cock, pressing feverish kisses to the top of his ear, encouraging him to ignore his pleas earlier.

“Satoru,” he started, choking out his name and Satoru whimpered in response. He leaned back and placed his hands by Satoru’s head, fingers digging into the pillowcase that Satoru had soiled already, then looked down at him and sniffled once. “I’m going to come in you. I’m gonna make sure you never forget me.”

“Please. I never— I never would, I’d never forget you, please, please. Suguru, please, you can’t…” He interrupted himself with tiny, stacatto sobs and then his voice broke into a weak, wobbly little sound. “Don’t leave me, again.”

“Oh, Satoru,” Suguru whispered. He didn’t say anything else, simply pressed a featherlight kiss to Satoru’s forehead, lips meeting sweat-soaked hair and skin, and then began thrusting again, adjusting Satoru’s position with one hand as the other still hoisted him up over Satoru’s body. He gripped Satoru’s waist and wondered how bruised his skin would be by tomorrow morning, wondered how Satoru would react once Suguru poked at them to tease him. His heart hammered in his chest and the sound of it reverbated in Suguru’s ears, his nerves alight with the need to mark Satoru further, his goal of taking back his innocence now long forgotten. His innocence be damned, Suguru thought to himself, Satoru’s ass was worth whatever had gone through his head when he let an eighteen year old into his romantic life and, frankly, Suguru did not care. Not anymore. He cared about the pretty sounds Satoru made when he got close, he cared about Satoru’s untouched, red and swollen cock bouncing between their bodies, big and useless as it slapped against both of their stomachs, and he cared about making Satoru beg for him to come as he had for him to stay. He cared about what Satoru liked, what Satoru disliked, what Satoru thought of him and any other topic he could think of, he cared about Satoru, point blank period.

Suguru leaned back, sitting on his thighs, and dragged Satoru with him, pressing his cock deeper in Satoru’s stomach, which made him wail desperately, something animalistic and guttural. “Suguru, baby… Feel so good. I missed you, I missed you so much,” he ranted, completely cock-drunk, and Suguru moaned at how easy Satoru was when it came to him. He deserved a reward, really, so Suguru wrapped a hand around Satoru’s leaking cock. He grinned as he noticed his hand really had grown in comparison to their first time, now wrapping neatly and perfectly around the shaft, and he could comfortably thumb at the swollen head. “I love you, I love you, I love you,” he mumbled, nothing if not delirious and Suguru felt every muscle in his body relax at the confession, almost like he’d been waiting to hear it, almost like this had all been a ploy to hear Satoru tell him the thing he needed most, to hear Satoru assure him that Suguru’s mistake had not cost him his adoration. Suguru let out a wet laugh, something short but full, and moved his hand faster, though slowing his thrusts, which Satoru did not approve. “No,” he whined all the way from the back of his throat. “No, Suguru, don’t stop. Need it so bad, please. Need you so bad, fuck, please, wanna feel you.”

“Yeah?” Suguru’s voice rang low and gravelly and he smirked down at how Satoru still struggled. “Wanna think about me when you’re in class, you fucking pervert?”

“Always, always thinking about my Suguru,” he said and Suguru bit back a whimper and focused on fucking Satoru again, on rolling his hips just the way Satoru had always pleaded him to. “Shit, I’m gonna… Can I? Can I, please?” Suguru himself nearly came just from hearing Satoru beg, such a precious sound that his memory had completely disregarded, something he had found himself thinking about whenever he kissed women, something he had realized time and time again he could not recreate in his mind. It had never been enough, none of it in the two years following their break-up had been enough, and Suguru hated himself more for only now realizing it had all been pointless. He belonged here—not in the arms of a stranger he didn’t care about, not in the bed of someone he had to pretend was Satoru, even if he often had lied to himself and reassured himself it was normal to picture an allegedly random man when having sex with these women. Suguru sniffed and blinked when he realized he’d been spacing out, coming to Satoru rolling his hips and pouting at him, eyes wide and red and wet. “Please, let me come. I need it, please, please.” Suguru pressed a kiss to the hurt corner of Satoru’s mouth and simply nodded, and a cut off “Ah, fuck—” was all that Satoru said before his cock jumped in Suguru’s hand and cum splattered over Suguru’s fist and chest and Satoru’s own stomach, dirtying his dress shirt.

Now, Suguru let himself be completely lost to pleasure, the part of his brain that focused solely on Satoru and his well-being and his happiness satisfied with the outcome and turning itself off. Satoru whimpered in oversensitivity, whispering praise as if Suguru could parse it (he really could only make out a few words if he pushed enough through the fog of pure elation he was feeling), and Suguru let himself open his mouth and moan unabashedly as he pounded into him, both hands back to holding Satoru’s hips close to his torso, and he stared at the way the skin turned red and then white under his grip when he could no longer stand looking directly at Satoru’s post-orgasmic face, all soft eyes and gentle smile. It was still too much, still too soon. He put his forehead to Satoru’s shoulder and allowed himself to cry silently as he had that dawn on the train, and Satoru only shushed him quietly before he kissed Suguru’s temple.

“I got you, Suguru. Come in me, c’mon. Please? I need it.” And how could he ever deny Satoru anything?

Suguru thrust once, then twice, and a final third time, balls pressing against the swell of Satoru’s ass as his cock grew before he felt his orgasm wash over him—a tsunami of a thing, destructive and too much and leaving him shaken as he wrapped his arms around Satoru’s chest and gripped the shirt on his back. His hips moved on their own as he came still, then even as he was done, though slower now, gentler, softly fucking his own cum out of Satoru, as it dripped onto the already ruined bedsheets. Suguru found himself crying as his orgasm left in waves, ugly and loud like he never did save for the solitude of his apartment, and he tried to force himself to stop. How embarrassing. Here he had come in, broken and entered into his ex-boyfriend’s apartment, tied him up and raped him, and now he was crying like a child, like the very picture of immaturity he had told Satoru he no longer was.

“It’s okay,” Satoru comforted him and this made something hideous turn in Suguru’s stomach, though he did not say anything. Satoru continued to coo at him, pressing kisses to his temple and cheek and ear, as Suguru’s crying died down and settled into softer, barely-there sobs. “Can you untie me?”

Suguru let out a long exhale, not a sigh but something close, and nodded before he let go of Satoru’s shirt and pulled out, his soft cock giving way to more of his cum dripping out. Satoru whined then turned his torso in order to facilitate Suguru’s task of getting rid of the rope binding his hands. Suguru simply tossed it to the side, the rope falling by the end of the bed, then he ran his thumbs over the raw, burned skin making Satoru hiss.

“Stop that or I’ll get hard again,” he whined, pouting at him like a kid. Suguru stared at him before a small smile crossed his lips and he didn’t say a word when Satoru used his shirt to clean them both up, though he left Suguru’s cum inside of him alone.

“Pervert,” Suguru murmured and Satoru grinned at him and held him close, taking a long sniff as he pressed his nose to Suguru’s hair. There was that lump in Suguru’s throat again and it took him several minutes of being hugged and kissed and sniffed to push it down enough to get a few words out: “I love you. I’m sorry.”

In the silence that followed, Suguru heard his heart nearly give out with anxiety, but Satoru simply laughed quietly. “I love you, too.”

“I don’t…” I don’t know why I did it, he wanted to say but that was a lie. He did know, and he’d told Satoru as much, and to take it all back would make all of it nothing but meaningless. “I tried really hard,” he said instead and the tears threatened to silence him again, so he swallowed harshly before continuing. “I think I’m gay.”

He hadn’t expected Satoru to laugh a little and so he pushed at him with no force, which only made Satoru giggle even more. “I knew that before you ever even talked to me, baby.”

“You’re a fucking asshole.” But there was no bite to it, no actual venom, not anymore. Suguru slumped into Satoru’s embrace and wrapped his arms around the small of Satoru’s back, drawing him even closer to him. “I love you,” he repeated and though Satoru didn’t say it back, he could almost hear the big, dopey grin he wore on his lips before he felt an equally delighted, open-mouthed kiss to his neck. “It’s fine that you’re old as shit.”

“Meanie. You like it.”

“You like it too, perv.”

“I like you,” and this Suguru knew to be true. No matter how much he pushed Satoru away, no matter how much he bottled his own feelings up, Satoru wouldn’t flinch and he would always find his way back to him. Something about soulmates crossed his mind but he daren’t say it: he couldn’t jinx whatever they had. He couldn’t lose it all, again.