Archive of Our Own

Suguru Geto is not a sorcerer anymore.

He lives in the Yoyogi neighborhood and works as a teacher in a gymnasium. Satoru Gojo keeps forgetting what he teaches. Still, these are the fragments that come to mind whenever he thinks of him.

A teacher at Jujutsu Tech? Yes. Maybe. It would suit him. A teacher at an ordinary school? The image forms, then dissolves, fading like morning fog.

Satoru's headache is building at his temples.

The bandages he wraps around his eyes help only a little; his shades did a better job, but they never stay on during fights. Phone is dead. Ichiji is god knows where and he's here. Outside the building with uneven gray patches around each window. Second floor, the one to the right. The row that has a plant pot outside hanging full of dead flowers. Satoru stares at it for a long minute, maybe two.

It's not a dorm a room away, a hallway down, a shitty hotel room in the neighboring city, or prefecture. It's an apartment rented in the same city as him, in another world.

How to rent an apartment? How to get a job? Satoru has no barest idea how to do it. Suguru mastered it in record time.

But Satoru knows Suguru's schedule. On Tuesdays he's home after five. He always has takeout, and a stack of films and a good shower, better than the one in the school. His bed is nicer than the one in his family home even though his legs dangle off the edge.

The stairs to his place have bitten edges, at least the railing is always clean but Satoru doesn't touch it either way. Ten stairs per flight. He counts them every time. Hands in the pockets deep, fisted. Head down on his feet first time for the day. It's like it's the first time he's feeling the ground under his shoes.

The doorbell is chewed up. It's a shitty place, all over.

It's close to school, Suguru said once when Satoru asked, breathing the words into the line of his throat. You wouldn't get it.

And he's right. Satoru doesn't. But he presses the doorbell anyway.

The door swings open in less than a second. Hair half down, eyes soft, only joggers on and a towel over his shoulder. Suguru smiles at him, and Satoru exhales, shoulders going down a fraction.

"You look like you need a decade of sleep."

Satoru laughs at that.

"You look like shit, too," he replies and pushes into the apartment.

Suguru gets out of the way, closing the door behind him when he's in. The hallway is always too small for both of them, no matter if they're just standing there or doing anything else. The full length mirror to his right though confirms Suguru's words. The bandage around his neck, his school uniform crumpled, his cheeks slightly sunken, and his hair sticking out in every direction. Satoru drags a hand over his face, rubbing his eyes, then his neck. Suguru hooks an arm around him, steering him deeper into the apartment.

A kitchen that doubles as a living room. A bedroom down the hall.

Satoru hates it. It's too small; nothing here suits him.

Suguru breathes into his ear, chuckling.

"They're overworking you dry, huh."

Satoru groans. Shrugs off his arm.

"Yeah, yeah. Charge this," he tosses him phone. "You were just close to me and I need my phone."

Only half a lie, if even that.

There's a lump of clothes is on the high stool in front of the counter. It's soaked with cursed energy residuals.

"How many teaching shifts have you had?" Satoru asks.

"Two," Suguru replies plugging the phone. The charger is always on the floor, the cable is too short. Satoru bites his cheek. He stepped on it once , had to change the screen but still it's a warm memory. "Have three more tomorrow, but I get a vacation, what do you get?"

"I let a curse hold my hand right before I killed it. Does that count?" he's unzipping the jacket. Satoru's undershirt is stuck to his body. The cool breeze coasting in from the outside makes him shiver a little. It was a hard fight. Harder than usual, the residue of it is still on his fingertips.

Suguru pauses.

"Did you lower your Limitless?" he asks, staying frozen by the counter.

"Yeah, it was a fun fight, I wanted to see its reaction."

Suguru hums, his brows knitting together. It's strange, but Satoru can always tell when something shifts—when the scent of his cursed energy turns foul. Suguru pulls on a dark green sweatshirt.

"It's new?" Satoru says, nodding at it.

Suguru looks down, then nods, running his hands through his hair, undoing the bun making the ponytail slide on one side of his shoulder.

"Gonna take a shower? You stink," Getou says, sounding suddenly drowsy.

"Wow, what a welcome," Satoru replies.

Some days he can't tell why they're doing this at all. Some days he can't remember what made him choose Suguru out of all the sorcerers around him. Plenty of clan sorcerers wanted to be on his right side—but they were the same ones who made him want to gag. Suguru isn't a sorcerer anymore, yet Satoru stays with him even as his name is whispered with disdain. A sorcerer who left to be human? A joke. A special grade who doesn't want to be the strongest anymore? Pathetic.

He hears it even when it isn't said aloud. It runs beneath everything a dirty undercurrent. Other names elevated. Other sorcerers crawling out of the woodwork, eager to claim his place.

Suguru opens and closes the fridge. Satoru recognizes that, too, the restless energy that has him pacing, poking at things that are perfectly still, perfectly ordinary. He knows better than to say anything.

Satoru undoes his shirt.

Suguru's shower is good because it smells like him.

He never said it out loud to anyone. He'd thought about telling Suguru, an embarrassingly soft detail, but he could already picture the reaction, the slow curl of a smirk forming behind half-lidded eyes, so he kept it to himself. It isn't as big as the school showers, of course, or as spacious as the one back home, but it had its own quiet quirks. Suguru's toothpaste sat by the sink, next to two toothbrushes—green and blue. A clutter of hair products Satoru had never seen, even back when they shared a room. Two body scrubs, too rough for Satoru but barely enough to redden Suguru's skin. And, oh yeah, he tried.

And, yes, it smelled like him.

The sharp citrus of bushukan that used to linger at the school had vanished, replaced entirely. It's here soaked into every inch of this place. The halls, the rooms, the shower, even the courtyard. Everywhere. The school felt hollow, stripped down. Empty, or worse—foreign in a way Satoru can't stand.

He thought about telling Suguru that, too. But some things were his alone. And this scent felt like it belonged to him as well.

He strips, folding his clothes over the washer. The sorcerer staring back from the mirror looks exhausted. He can fix that easily. Run RCT and be fine in less than a second.

But his phone was off. He was in the city. And while he was here, no one could find him.

So he has an hour. Maybe two. More more if he stretches it long enough. In the human apartment of the second strongest sorcerer.

Fuck.

It doesn't take enough time for his body to soak fully under the shower Suguru enters it. Hands land on his shoulders, massage them lightly. He doesn't let up yet. But it does unloop the tension gathered there.

"Hard day?" Suguru asks with a lilt.

"A walk in a park," Satoru bites back.

"Now, now," Suguru coos. He has that grating tone, the Satoru is sure he's using when he's teaching in school, and the one he doesn't remember him having. "Don't be like that."

His hands are on him carefully, as if Suguru's not fully decided whether he has the right to be there at all. Then a kiss, brief one, lands on Satoru's damp shoulder.

Satoru thinks, vaguely, that he should move away. He doesn't.

Suguru reaches past him for the scrub, then the floral body wash Satoru likes, the one he pretends not to care about but always notices when it's there. Fine, Satoru thinks. Just for today.

The smell shifts as soon as it's on his skin. It gets louder, somehow. Suguru's scent underneath it, not cancelling anything out, just complicating it. Suguru is careful, but not careful enough. There's a roughness to his hands when they pass over his shoulder blades and Satoru flinches before he can stop himself.

"It's fine," he says, or thinks he says. It doesn't really matter.

He leans forward, forehead against tile, palms flat beside it. The bathroom is too small for how quiet it is. He can feel Suguru moving behind him without looking. He thinks, very plainly, that he could sleep like this. That it would be easy. That it would be another kind of thing you don't admit to anyone afterwards.

"Are you done sulking?" Satoru says instead, just as Suguru's hand slides down his torso to reach his cock.

"Who said I am?"

"Tch, stop pretending I don't know you, it's stupid, and you're none of that," it's rough. He knows that but he's tired, so tired. Suddenly he can feel it all undoing itself under the warm water and with the help of too familiar hands.

Suguru presses his forehead on Satoru's nape, hands circling his lower waist, scrub forgotten somewhere.

"I missed you."

It's not a phrase he's ever heard from Suguru. Even lightning strikes are more subtle.

"Well, whose fault is that," he replies, a bit cruel maybe but that's what comes up, the first thought. The second one grips Satoru's hands and he's hugging Suguru right over his tight hold on his waist. Tipping his head back, presenting his face to the warm water hoping to find the shoulder to lean on, finding nothing. He sighs. Suguru sighs with him. "I want to sleep," another half truth.

He can't find the correct words. It's too much. Pressure building behind his temples, spreading into his eyes and forehead until it feels almost structural, something in his bones being pressed out of alignment.

Ah.

The taste comes first. Bitter, thicker than water, metallic. Then the realization of it in water, faintly pink, slipping away too quickly. He pinches his nose, but the blood still trickles out—warm on his fingers, then darker, then it thins into the drain.

It's strange how quickly it becomes normal. How easily the body can do this without asking permission.

He tilts his head forward and lets it happen, watching it trace down his skin in quiet lines, too bright against how pale he is. Swallowing it when it slips into his mouth.

Suguru's hand is on his shoulder. The other is at his throat. As if checking he's still real. Satoru doesn't move away.

"Give me a sec," Satoru's voice is suddenly hoarse, like he's been screaming. The salty taste lodges itself in his mouth.

Suguru comes to stand in front of him.

There's a pinch between his brows now it's different though. His forehead against Satoru's. Home again. With him again. Back in school. In the room. In the crook of the small bed pressed against the wall as though they won't be discovered if they just disappear into each other.

Suguru's hand wrapping around his, pulling it off his nose. Then his lips on his upper lip. Licking the seam, leaking the blood. Satoru's lost completely. That's what he does to him. Turns off the noise and makes the world turn into a black void that belongs only to them.

Hand slides in the wet hair, the other cupping the cheek. A step forward in the small shower then—Suguru's back to the wall and he's on Suguru. Suguru kisses him deep. Moaning into his mouth. Swallowing the blood with him. Moaning again. Hands on his ass. Squeezing. Hands up his spine, scratching up, nails in his shoulders, Suguru cups his cheeks, too, unsews their lips. A hard breath. He's staring at Satoru now. Guilty. For what. Maybe he's misreading. It happens on occasion. Suguru is hard to reach sometimes. Satoru won't ever tell him that though.

A kiss on Satoru's jaw. Then lower. A little bite. Then he's on his knees. Staring up at him. Hand fisting the root of Satoru's cock. He's stiff already of course.

"Yeah?" Satoru exhales.

Suguru is not fond of having a dick in his mouth.

Satoru never asked why but he has his suspicions.

Suguru sticks out his tongue and licks the tip of his cock. It's enough to make Satoru dizzy. The pink tongue and pink cheeks and the pink cock disappearing into the seam of his mouth. Warmth searing him, tightness, cheeks hollowing. The suction of it, hand cupping his balls. Shit, fuck, don't stop, shit, Satoru's hand sink into Suguru's hair, fisting what he can grab. Suguru's hands on his ass, kneading it. Satoru thrusts forward, hitting the back of his throat, chocking sound, fuck. He keeps it there, the heavenly tightness and the heat biting his cock. He can't open his eyes, if he does it's over.

Gagging, spit filling the mouth coating his cock, he can feel it all. Hand on the tile, forehead on the hand. Ah, Suguru. Keeps his cock like that. Teeth lightly scrape his skin, god, fuck, another thrust, hitting the wall, another shallow one. Nails on his ass dig harder. He pulls out. Suguru coughs.

Satoru dares to look.

Suguru is frustrated but his hand is back on the root. He's stroking him fast. His other hand on Satoru's thigh keeping him still. There's a grove in between his brows, but it's not anger there, no, Satoru knows this look.

Competitive fucking, Satoru called it once.

Suguru likes to win. Satoru sometimes lets him be bossed around. Suguru's squeezing his cockhead now, thumb at the slit, the spot of weakness he discovered in their dorms. Pulls the skin down and sucks only at the head while he strokes the whole length, and Satoru howls head tipping back almost choking on the water that slides onto his face. Thrust forward again. Suguru pinches his ass. Rolls his hips back. Fuck, love your mouth, he says delirious, fucking love your mouth, suck it. Thrusts again, buries himself fully into the tightness of his throat.

Stares down.

Suguru's lips stretched around his cock makes his knees weak. His hand tightens in Suguru's hair. He pumps his hips forward. Suguru chokes, blinks rapidly. He's pressed against the wall, out of the shower, droplets are on his black eyelashes, his own cock a hard spear between his legs. But Satoru wants only one thing.

It's a filthy thought. It crawls into his mind when Suguru left almost year ago.

Knuckles brush the wet skin on Suguru's cheek. He gags a little, but his breathing is even and he's staring up at him like he almost can tell what Satoru's about to do.

Satoru's thumb hooks into the corner of Suguru's mouth. Let me, please, he's begging, he doesn't care.

Satoru prods with the forefinger and middle finger, and thrust two fingers together, and, fuck. The stretch of Suguru's mouth, his cheek swelled up with his fingers. Shit. Satoru thrusts again, a micro movement. Suguru's head tips back. He moans mouth stuffed, a little hoarse thing drowns in the rush of the shower. Satoru hooks his finger in, then tries to stretch the lips more, Suguru winces, Satoru pulls, rocks his hips forward again, hitting the back of his throat.

It's an overwhelming need to be inside him. One finger and a cock is not enough. His cockhead snug in Suguru throat not enough.

Suguru's chocking and blinking away the droplets from his lashes. His cheeks deep pink. His nails on the inside of Satoru's thighs. Suguru gags throat convulsing as though he's about to spit him out and it's the image that shoots straight to Satoru's need.

He pulls out only for come to shoot out of his cock onto Suguru's pink lips. He closes his eyes but the thick pearlescent come still lands on his lids and lashes and god Satoru's all numb and dizzy and warm and his body is a frenzy.

The exhaustion is back and it drowns down the pleasure. His thighs and his stomach ache. His head is splitting properly behind his eyes and in uncomfortable fullness in his ears too.

Satoru's leaning on the tile. Suguru licks his lips and gets on his legs eyes closed he's stepping under the shower. He splashes his face, once, then twice, rubs the come away, Satoru licks his lips, missing the chance to taste them together.

"Kiss me," he says suddenly, "Kiss me, I missed you, too."

Suguru stares at him for a one second. Fire kindling in his eyes.

He dips his head. Kisses him gently. Kisses him like it's the first time under the trees haphazard and endless moment in the school yard. He dared him back then. Suguru complied. Satoru didn't think he'd say it out loud like right now. But priorities change. He needs Suguru to know this explosion in his chest. It can't be contained.

Suguru washes them both. Red droplets appear again. I'm tired, Satoru confesses. I know, Suguru replies. I wish I could help. A futile wish. He could. You could. Satoru doesn't voice that one though.

Suguru's bed is twin sized. It barely fits into the bedroom. The mattress is so soft Satoru thinks he'll sink into it and won't be able to get out. Suguru lays him down, red smears on the pillowcase the same second his head is on it. He tries to wipe it off with the back of his hand but it doesn't stop. Thick line of blood drying on his skin. Suguru gives him a pack of napkins.

"Ugh, what's the use of being the strongest," Satoru jokes.

Suguru shrugs, and stays silent at first staring out of the window, where wind is picking up and the sky has turned grayer than when Satoru has arrived.

"There is a point to it," Suguru says all sure, then sighs deeply. He pinches the bridge of his nose, looking down, shoulders slumped. "Don't put your Limitless down, okay?"

Satoru should laugh at this. If anyone else has said it, he would. But there's an agonizing tenderness in that ask, he can't ignore it. And he's seen this man, this is the sorcerer he's been accustomed to before Suguru left. A shell of the sorcerer he knew, the one who almost died, just like him. He never asked him. Maybe today, he will, right after he gets enough sleep and ignores his phone for another hour or two, the world will not explode. Satoru reaches for him, hand sliding over the soft cotton sheets, wrapping around his thigh. Suguru barely moves.

"Nothing will happen to me," he says lowly. A promise. Nothing will. Ever. Ever. Ever.

Suguru's hair are damp and down. He likes him like this. Maybe he'll say that today, too.

Suguru nods.

"Sleep, I'll—I'll be in the other room," he replies, without even looking at him.

Satoru lets him go as always.

It's the deep end of the night when Satoru wakes up. Threading the events of the day together is a struggle. Feels like he'd been through separate isolated instances outside of time and space and is now forcing them to be smashed into twenty four. His headache is gone though.

Suguru's not in the apartment, he can tell that much. There are clothes settled for him on the corner of the bed. An oversized t-shirt, joggers that are a little too short on him and wide at the hips. They fit.

Suguru's place is more pleasant in the dead of night. There's glow spilling in from the streetlights into the kitchen and the space doesn't seem as small somehow even though he bumps against the couch when he makes his way. The water is icy cold. Suguru has more bottled water in the fridge and his freezer is filled with icecubes too, and—ah, mochi for him and pre-made ochazuke. Satoru grabs the mochi.

It's too cold and too sweet. Satoru massages his jaw as though the motion will fix his freezing brain but he doesn't stop eating. It's helping with the headaches, always had, even when he pretended he didn't need anything for them and Suguru pushed the bubblegum flavored sugar-packed soda down his throat after missions.

Satoru leans against the counter.

The apartment isn't quiet. In fact it might be noisier than the school. The sound of passing car engines is hard to ignore. Someone in a neighboring unit still has the TV on, and if he weren't so deeply asleep, it might've disturbed him. Hell, it should disturb Suguru, too. He's a light sleeper, just like Satoru… but right now he understands it, or at least a fraction of it.

A room of his own. Satoru wants it too, sometimes. He's had it before under the watchful eyes of the clan. Then at school, where he had a room just down the hall from Suguru. It was fine, in retrospect, but as he swallows the last piece of the sweet he lets himself imagine himself. Having a place with a key in his pocket, where he can come and go as he pleases, where things can pile up, where all his meaningless stuff can be, where everything—every scattered object, every corner—belongs only to him.

The school is his, in a way. A domain surrendered entirely to the strongest. But… there it is again. That uncomfortable pinch in his chest. It's hollow. Satoru shakes his head.

The door opens.

What slips in first is not Suguru, but the dark tendrils of his cursed energy. It always been blue. But at times it had changed to gray-ish black, like now, crawling along the floor barely hugging the legs of the sofa.

Footsteps follow.

A fissure runs down Satoru's spine, across his chest, up along his throat.

Then it's Suguru finally.

Hood over his head. His clothes soaked in cursed energy, eyes almost glowing gold. The cursed energy spills from his eye sockets and mouth, turning him into unbearably beautiful creature.

"You're up," he says, pulling off the hood.

The cursed energy is sucked back into him.

"Where have you been?" Satoru needs to know suddenly.

"Running."

"Running," he repeats slowly.

"Running."

Suguru opens the fridge. Gets nothing. Closes it.

"I didn't know you run," Satoru says eyeing him closely. The half light of the lamp outside is enough to inspect him. He is sweaty.

"Picked up recently," he folds his hands on his chest. "Are you better?"

Satoru hums.

"That's a lot of cursed energy," Satoru says, "what exactly were you running after?"

Suguru stills. There is something there and Satoru can't tell if he should poke further or let it slide.

"Well," he exhales loudly, rubbing his forehead like he usually does. Nail digging in the center of it. "I exorcised a curse."

The pinch in Satoru's chest dissipates.

"Really?"

Suguru nods.

"Are you coming back then?" he asks without even thinking.

He has to.

"A little rest is all you needed huh? You could've asked Yaga. He's so down without you it's tragic. Shoko too. You acted like a jerk disappearing on them, more fitting for me yeah?"

Satoru's ecstatic. Words fly out of his mouth like birds.

"You can't imagine how boring it has been without you. There have been moments I wanted to blow my brains off."

Suguru grabs him by the elbow and presses to his chest.

"Shut up," he murmurs in the crook of Satoru's neck.

Satoru does so, burying his nose in Suguru's hair half undone. It's forest fire. His forest fire coming home blazing. Satoru is kissing his neck, lips finding him so easily. He kisses and his tongue slides over a random spot over and over and sucks.

Suguru's hold is tight, getting tighter. Over Satoru's shirt. Slithering then under it. Over the edge of the pants, the calloused finger running there tickling him. Satoru sucks harder, Suguru tips his head back. The overworked hand up his torso, the newly awakened touch right over Suguru's bulge.

"Hmm," Satoru nuzzles the crook of his neck. "You got it up, huh?"

Suguru huffs at that, his hands sliding upwards, pinching Satoru's nipple, then back and nails again, like vices sinking into him. Satoru cups the bulge, squeezes. It barely fits. His mouth waters. Hand sliding into the joggers, into the underwear too. The searing heat of Suguru's cock in his palm makes him dizzy. The tip weeping wet after Satoru slides his thumb over it. He can feel the salty taste of it explode his tongue. Suguru hisses. Satoru smiles, strokes him easily, licks his way across the curve of his neck then over to the other side, finding another spot to torment. Suck, kiss and lick all the way up. Hair in the way getting into his mouth. Tongue flicking the earlobe. The earring clicking against his teeth.

"Want special treatment?" he whispers.

A stuttering breath escapes Suguru, both hands on Satoru's waist now. Ah. Another pinch.

"Get on your back, pretty boy," Suguru replies, a tight orderly tone. It's fine. He did earn it.

The kitchen is tiled, but he barely feels the cool of it on.

He's watching Suguru as he grabs the hem of his hoodie rolls it up, grabbing the white-gray undershirt with it, pulls it up over his head. It gets stuck for a moment he pants as it undoes his hair more, spilling the length of it on his shoulders. The hair tie bounces off. Satoru holds the moan in, but his hips jump up, thrusting into nothing. Suguru notices the motion, smirks, lopsided, throws the lump of the clothes away form them.

Satoru swallows another moan through his sandpaper rough throat. Suguru takes a step forward. Hooks his fingers on the sides of his joggers. Slowly the fabric slides down his legs together with the underwear. There are dimples on his sides, and, a scar under his knee, from the middle of it to the ankle. Socks get tossed off, too. He takes another step toward Satoru, casually nudging his legs apart even though there's no need—Satoru isn't going anywhere. Suguru steps over him, planting his feet on either side of his torso. Satoru's hand circle his ankles.

"Come on, show me how you miss me," Satoru says, wetting his lips.

Suguru's smile is not as sharp edged anymore. He takes another step, bracketing Satoru between his legs then slowly sits on his upper torso, on his knees. Satoru's head in between those thighs. He wraps his hand around them, grabs the tender flesh on the inside. The pre-come drooling off the tip of Suguru's cock almost touching his neck.

He's barely breathing. No. It's not true. He is breathing, but his lungs are full with Suguru's scent. His forest fire. The plane of his chest expands with Suguru. They breathe together now. Satoru wets his lips again. Closes his eyes, tilts his head back as much as the position allows. Suguru groans at it, muscles tensing under Satoru's grip. A hand slides into Satoru's hair, taking a fistful and ah a little pull stings his scalp and drags the aborted moans out.

"Open your mouth," it's an airy request, and Satoru complies.

Suguru is staring.

Doesn't even touch him further. His own mouth closed, and… is that a deeper shade of pink on his cheeks, crawling down his neck and chest, and his perked up nipples. Satoru moans and his touch on the thighs gets more insistent. If he tries he can break the skin there, he can lodge his nails, pull, see how the perfect plane of it breaks and then lick it and make the groves deeper. Suguru's stoking himself, to whatever wicked image he conjured in his mind. His lips glistening with spit too. He guides his cock into Satoru's mouth, and when the scorching hot tip touches him there, all the air turns heavy in his chest and all his ears are full of is wall of white noise. Satoru moans one last time before the cock is pushed into his mouth. Fuck, Suguru's voice murders him.

Satoru swallows around it, whimpers, as the tip touches the roof of his mouth. Suguru bucks his hips forward again, his head tipping back a little more. Satoru swallows again, closing his lips around the cock, tongue working under, then over, than back under making the slide easier, and Suguru—he's watching him. Eyes black as the night, mouth a little parted like he can't believe it's happening, like he can't believe he's fucking Satoru's mouth.

Satoru whimpers, breathes through his nose, the cock almost reaching the back of his throat and he's chocking already, a little heady and eyes watering but it's a temporary thing he knows this. He breathes through his nose, swallows the overproduced spit, flicks his tongue around the cock again. God, Satoru, the words drop through clenched teeth, Suguru tips his head back, just for a second before looking back at him. Hair clenched tighter. A moan. It's not enough of a reaction for Satoru. His hands slide up Suguru's thighs. Grab flesh of his ass. Knead it, making him thrust forward pushing his cock in harder. Mmm, good boy, Suguru murmurs.

Satoru rolls his hips up into the air, and Suguru must've felt it because he thrusts his hips, lodging his cock into the back of Satoru's throat, making him gag on his breath. Spit fills Satoru's mouth again. Breath stuttering. He can't properly take it in. Mouth overstretched. Lips aching and all tense everywhere. Suguru holds him like that. Making his eyes tear up for real this time. Thighs coming in closer to his head. All surrounded by his taunting flesh. Satoru half-coughs. Tears in his nose now. He closes his lips tighter and sucks him in. Suguru's eyes roll back, the grip loosens and his hips roll away, cock sliding out of his mouth easier than it went it. The spit overflows with it, sliding onto his chin, splattering out as Satoru coughs and wipes his mouth with his open palm. Another cough and aching inhale. Suguru's breath is a wet mess too. Hand still in his hair though, scalp needling in prickling pain.

"Hey Suguru," he says his voice a rough wreck.

Suguru's zeroes down on him.

Satoru puts two fingers in his mouth, slides them in deep, keeps his lips open, makes a spectacle out of it. Licks them. Flicking his tongue. Over exaggerating the gagging sounds. Pulls them out spit-soaked. Pulls the meat of Suguru's ass, finds his entrance.

"Wanna make this more interesting?"

Suguru grabs the patch of his hair harder and pushes his cock past his lips and teeth in one searing motion. Satoru's fingers breach him. His fingers trapped in the heat of Suguru's body. Suguru's cock hitting his tonsils. There's a second of stillness. Goosebumps rise on Suguru's skin, Satoru soothes them, his other hand already moving. His mouth is full enough but his hands are just as nimble as his tongue. The angle is uncomfortable. Satoru can't reach deep enough to make Suguru writhe atop him, but the rough slide of his fingers is enough too. Pulling them out just as Suguru rolls his hips back, and thrusting back in when Suguru shoves his cock in Satoru's mouth.

Suguru's panting, his hold on Satoru's hair loosens, he pulls out and with a pained, aching groan Suguru pumps his hips forward. Spit spills out and trickles out down Satoru's jaw. Suguru moans so hard it shudders Satoru to his core. Suguru's cock seals Satoru's mouth, there's no more place for it to go and Satoru's only left with swallowing as frantically as he can, while his finger is going in and out lazily, in the scorching warmth of Suguru's body. The sorcerer above him looks incoherent. Eyes swimming and mouth loose, lower lip shaking a little with each unsteady intake of air. Satoru sucks, and pumps his fingers harder. His knuckles meet the flesh, and the other hand pulls on Suguru's ass.

"Satoru," it's a whine, rolling out sloppily from his lips.

Satoru hums. His cock-stuffed mouth too full, his cheeks strained. He thrusts his fingers in, takes a long inhale and relaxes his throat for another thrust. When another bucking of the hips comes, Satoru's ready for it to go further. He tightens his lips around the cock, swirls his tongue around the head and the underside. Nails puncture the skin on Suguru's ass, as Satoru's breath is stopped for an agonizing second. Then stillness. Blissful. Aching stillness. A moment when their heartbeat is one. Suguru lets go of his hair, and his knuckles brush against Satoru's burning cheek. Suguru lets out an unguarded moan that rakes through their bodies. Their one single connected being. It fits in Satoru's mouth and he swallows it too. His fingers hooking in Suguru's hole for no reason other than to feel him in every other way he can. And… Suguru pulls out and scorching hot droplets of come land on Satoru's lips. Suguru strokes his cock and bites out another moan and his hand is shaking. He milks come out of his length guiding it to land on Satoru's mouth, and chin and neck and Satoru lets him. Exhausted suddenly again. Wrapping his hands around the quivering thighs. Suguru murmuring indistinguishable words, mixed with his name, mixed with curses, his weight settles on Satoru's chest now, and all of him is warm and sticky on Satoru's skin. Their breath one shaking current of air. Suguru's not looking at him, his head tilted back at the ceiling. The light from the outside paints his side orange, he's like liquid gold. Satoru pulls out from his ass. Suguru hisses at it. Then he licks his lips, touches his chin and neck, smears the warm come.

"You're filthy," Suguru's hoarse voice comes.

Satoru smiles, wets his lips again. It's a taste he missed.

"You're loose. Did I finally fuck you open?" he replies instead. Suguru curses him out. "Oh, I see, you were fingering yourself thinking about me?"

"Shut up," Suguru says, breathlessly. Then slaps his cheek, hard enough to sting and make Satoru's face turns to the side. It wakes him up from the bliss.

He moves his jaw, more theatrically then out of necessity.

"If you do that again I'll fuck you so hard you'll forget how to use your technique."

A beat.

The air is damp with their want.

Suguru's hand rests on his cheek. His thumb caressing the spot he hit. Satoru leans into it just a fraction until for barely one second before the impact he knows. Suguru slaps him, harder this time.

Satoru's face burns now, scalding heat spreading over it calming the whole surface. His voice gets trapped in his throat for another second, two, before he cackles. He cups his cheek. The skin burns his palm. Suguru's looking down at him defiantly. It's another second, maybe dozen, when they stay like that, Satoru stuck between Suguru's thighs, Suguru naked above him. Another dozen. A car passes behind the windows. The light flickers. Satoru's breath comes down to normal rhythm.

He grabs Suguru's hand and topples him down in one movement. Knees parting his thighs, twisting his arm pressing it on the small of his back. Suguru grunts as his cheek meets the tiles. Satoru's hard still clothed cock presses against Suguru's ass.

Satoru leans in, tenderly tucking the black hair behind his ear.

"Love when you ask for it politely," he whispers.

Satoru tugs his T-shirt up, gripping the hem between his teeth as he pulls his pants down. His cock slaps against Suguru's ass, tip already swollen and wet. Satoru slots it between Suguru's cheeks, lets go his hand. His mouth is still spit slicked. Satoru lets the fabric go, gathers the spit, and lets it trickle down in one long string before it hits his cock and smears itself on Suguru's ass and seeps under his cock.

"Nostalgic," Suguru sigh, jutting his ass up a little.

"God yeah," Satoru mouths. "Fucking on that old bed was better than some missions."

The slide is so easy even as the spit dries up, it must be more sweat, or just Suguru's body learning to welcome his. Satoru sighs happy, elated. His cock leaks pre-come, too. He lets go Suguru's hand and presses on the small of his back still, making him jolt a little.

"Sensitive?" he asks.

Suguru shakes his head, but the pinch on his face is a dead giveaway of discomfort. He likes being tortured a little. Satoru knows this, too.

He lines himself up with the entrance, Suguru's face all scrunched up as though he's waiting for an invasion. Well, Satoru can provide.

Satoru shoves his cock hard in one thrust, their skin slaps. His stomach on Suguru's back and his hands on either side of his body. Suguru's gritting his teeth, panting and Satoru wants to—wants to—make him scream. His hands find Suguru's on the sweaty tiles, slot fingers in between his, tighten the hold, ah, fuck. The lack of lube makes the sheathing thrust rough but the heat of Suguru's body keeps him focused. Their bodies finally one. His breath feverish, his mouth close to the nape. He doesn't move. Only listens to Suguru's breathing. Feels it around himself, under, all clawing heat and pleasure and shivers and—mmhmm, uncalled for restraint.

Satoru pulls out, Suguru's ass rises with the motion, and he plunges back. Suguru's eyes snap open, his jaw still tight. Want rakes through Satoru's, down his length, searing itself into his palms and the world goes blank save for the patch of tiles in this kitchen. He pulls back onto his knees, hands greedily grabbing Suguru's ass, pulling it apart, to see every inch of himself going deep. Rim tight around his cock. Satoru fucks back into the heat, Suguru fists his hands. Satoru pulls out, leaving only the head of his dick in the tightly clenched hole, thrusts back fevered and heaving. Their skin slaps together. Sweat builds on their skin, his knees ache on the hard plane of the floor. His fingers clutch more of the ample flesh of Suguru's ass, then thighs, then hips. Finding bone, finding muscle, squeezing it. Fucking him, fucking into him. Only half moans and strangled noises. His cock is an endless pulse of want and Satoru grinds his hips against Suguru's ass with every thrust.

His shirt is on the way again and Satoru unwillingly lets go of Suguru for a second to shove the fabric in his mouth again. Satoru's cock almost till root inside of him. Suguru clenching around the length, silky vicious heat clawing up his cock into Satoru's gut, awakening pulse there. His hips gain needy motions of their own and Satoru's hands are back on Suguru's ass pulling it apart harder. He wants to see himself disappear in this body. Fill him up and fill him whole. Slap of skin, another, and the third, forth and lost count. It's a heady rush fogging his mind. His teeth are clenching around the wet cotton in his mouth, and Suguru's tightness is killing him and—he hears it then the groan that sears itself behind his eyes and then in his ears. Satoru's shuddering with the sound that runs through Suguru's body, and the succession of whimpers that follows, all glazed before his eyes. Spilling himself deep. Not deep enough.

Satoru's jaw unclenches the shirt falls down, and he's on his shins staring at the ceiling that only has the print of the window painted by the yellow-orange artificial light of the street. He pulls out slowly. Suguru flinches, and winces, and hisses. When his pink cock is out, come pulses out of Suguru's hole. Not enough.

"Turn around," he says through numb lips.

Satoru pulls off his shirt, and fumbles through pulling his joggers down. Suguru greets him on his back with a wicked smile and heaving chest. He crawls over to him. Closes his head in between his arms, kisses his dry lips. Slides his tongue past them. RCT cools him down a little. He ruts his dick down against Suguru's.

"Well rested I see," Suguru says, giving him an embrace around his shoulders, thighs closing around his waist, pulling him in.

Satoru grabs the root of his hardened cock, looks down between their bodies. Satoru smiles and kisses his wet hole with the tip.

"Ah, look how wet I got you," he murmurs against Suguru's cheek.

Suguru's cursed energy turns restless again, fills the room, hugs them both.

Satoru thrusts, makes them slide along the floor, makes Suguru whimper finally. Fills him again. Ah. He pulls back, and slams back in. Suguru grunts, nails digging into his shoulders. Satoru moans at it, satisfied. Hand twisting in his hair, ah, fuck. Satoru pulls out then, in a flickering moment, there's Suguru under him, there's the scent of his blazing cursed energy in his nose, filling his mouth, and then—there's the fire kindling in his eyes and—Satoru slams in, bottoming out completely slapping his balls against his ass.

Suguru's eyes shut then he grunts and the gentle hold on his shoulders turns vicious. Real claws of his now sink in, rip his skin, drag down, pain scattering itself on his back. Bodies clashing and melting together. Heat against heat. Strength of one turning into the strength of the other.

"More," Suguru begs, his hole clenching so tight, it makes Satoru's cock throb and hips stutter.

He's never begged before. It addles Satoru's mind.

He peels himself off of Suguru's chest, struggling against his hold only for a second before Suguru lets go, quizzically raising his brows, but Satoru doesn't let him guess more. He grabs his legs, stretches them apart, cups his knees, keeps them open, his cock lodged fully. It's a beautiful sight, the stretch of him around his dick and in his hands. Suguru torso long and glistening as though golden glitter scattered along his skin, his breath hard and happy trail running from his belly button to the thickness of the pubic hair around his cock. Still soft and pliant. Satoru's hips stutter forward just from that. Suguru moves across the floor his head hits the cabinet under the counter. Half moan half groan. Satoru rolls his hips back, Suguru plants his hand above his head against the cabinet door, wincing, then in a blistering moment, he looks at him, parting his rose-petal lips and—take what you want.

Satoru gathers Suguru's legs beneath the knees, lifting them with ease until they come to rest over his things. Suguru's body yields to the motion—shoulders anchored on the floor hips rising like a quiet cresting wave, his form folding open as Satoru's touch guides him into place. It's a new angle. Newer heat biting his cock, new depth to sink into. He thrusts forward, eyes trained only on Suguru. The way his palm is tense against the counter. The way his body glides on the floor under the force of his hips.

He keeps him spread like that. Only his. His hole stretched and pink and puffy as Satoru fucks into him in earnest. Their moans combined in one flaying breath. Satoru lifts Suguru's hips higher, hits that spot that makes his back arch and face scrunch up. Harder. Satoru whimpers at it. Angling his hips to fuck up and into him to keep him like this tortured just as he was all this time without him.

Then—he sees it, the spot on Suguru's stomach, rising with each of his thrusts. A frenzied heady heat claws at his gut and his heart turning into a riot. Satoru leaves Suguru's thigh, and reaches out to touch and the next thrust of his cock is a pulse under his hand. Fuck, take it, Satoru hears himself say, and the heel of his palm now is pressing there. And the wicked heat around his cock lashes through him. The pressure builds in his groin. His pelvis slapping against Suguru. His breath coming in rough, his cock fucking into his palm through the hard plane of Suguru's flesh. It all lays atop each other and his orgasm rips through him with a groan that rattles through his bones and wakes up fissure on his skin. He's spilling deep. His hips not stopping until he empties himself, and all the oxygen is squeezed out of his lungs.

His palm is pressed violently on Suguru's stomach. Suguru's hand in his hair, lips bitten through, blood beading on the torn skin. And Satoru thrusts one more time, weaker now, his muscles strained, and covers him with himself smearing the cold heat of Suguru's sweat onto his chest. Suguru's exhales are short and curt and burning his cheeks. Satoru nuzzles him, licks his lips, kisses, then licks again. Kisses his nose and his face and his temple, and finds his hand lacing their fingers together. I want more, Satoru mouths against Suguru's lips, both wet and dry at the same time. He hears him swallow. Hears a giggle bubble up in his chest.

Satoru pulls out unwillingly. Suguru hisses through it, his hole pinker, legs spread wide. The sweat cools on Satoru's skin, he runs an RCT. Watches how more come trickles out of Suguru's hole, painting his ass cheeks, dripping on the floor, he absentmindedly touches his dick, a little sensitive even after use of reversed technique.

"Turn around," Satoru says.

Suguru cackles, raising on his elbows.

"You said that already," he narrows his eyes, measures him up and down lingering for a second longer on Satoru's fisted cock. "Did your record broke?"

Satoru doesn't give him an answer. He grabs him by the ankle and without a single muscle of resistance turns him around arranging on his hands and knees.

Suguru laughs but when Satoru presses the head of his cock against his hole again falls silent.

He slams back into the wet blistering heat of Suguru's body. Suguru lets out a strangled grunt, his head hanging low. One of his hands is holding on Suguru's ass like a vice, the other circles his hips and finds his softened cock. Stroking him gently as his hips snap forward. Suguru's rim tightens around his dick.

Satoru withdraws, slowly, his own come smeared across his length. He slams back jealous and angry and needing more. Stroking him. Still not hard enough, silky length of Suguru's dick in his fist. Pumps his hips in, jolting Suguru forward.

It hurts a little almost sweetly when he pulls out, and strokes again, and feels the pre-come gathering at the tip of Suguru's dick, before rolling his hips. Slapping his groin against his ass. He's had him like this before. On his hands and knees, head hanging low, all wet gasps and grunts and half begging.

A friend, a lover and all the things between beneath the cruelness of his fingers. He's had him more time he can count in his apartment and in the school in every hotel room their found themselves in. He works Suguru's cock into hardness and slaps and slaps and shoves his hips until all he's made of is the raw mechanic of it all. Of owning him and taking him apart. Of making him moan and whimper and wetly sigh. Of Suguru's hole clenching so viciously it hurts and lashes long his length. And ripple on his back and hair damp and sweaty.

Suguru shakes trapped between his hand and his cock. Satoru chases his want. Demands it. Grunts and groans and feels droplets trickling down his back, feels the filthy sound of come that's pushed out with each drive in of his hips. The pearly white now over the rim and in the base of his cock. And his handprint reddening on Suguru's ass. His thumb presses on the head of Suguru's dick, teasing the slit pulling down the skin. Suguru flinches away. Can't. Fuck, let go, raspy demand. Satoru laughs. Repeats the motion. Another attempt except this time Satoru kneads his ass so rough he can't even flinch. Fucking cunt, Satoru cackles at the insult. Suguru a complete wreck. Maybe I'm a cunt, he says, licking his too-dry lips, stroking Suguru faster, fucking home. But I'm not getting railed on the all fours. Suguru grunts at that, rocks back, meeting Satoru's thrust.

Then—it's a trick that works so well—Suguru looks back at him over his shoulder.

Bright red on his cheek and eyes half closed and lips parted. Fuck, is all Satoru can say, it's a vision going straight to his gut and at his cock. His hips jerk fast without him even realizing, his hand abandoning Suguru's cock to grab more flesh. A touch misfired, his hand doesn't close into a fist his nails drag across the plane of Suguru's ass and his orgasm rushes through him again, making him fold forward and drop onto his lover's back. Hips stuttering helplessly, uselessly, and his eyes swimming as he comes and pumps Suguru's ass full again. Vicious howl claws out of his throat, rings and bounces off the walls. Then…there's silence.

Satoru's mouth open but not a single sound comes out. Suguru bucks back, and they collapse on the floor again. Sighs and shuddering exhales is all they're made of.

Satoru's hands find Suguru's on the tiles. His mouth slots on Suguru's shoulder, teeth latching on skin there. Licking, tasting the cloying saltiness of the sweat. His hips are still shaking and his breath shattering with each inhale and exhales. Sweet weakness.

The streetlights switch off outside.

It's early morning the blue sky, tinged with indigo and violet, slowly softens into pink. Blissful silence is swollen with their breaths. Satoru's tracing a line from Suguru's shoulder to his hand, kissing his nape. Suguru's eyes are closed, little swirls of black hair imprinted on his cheek.

Satoru rises slowly. Feeling the pull in his muscles. It's a pleasant exhaustion. One he'll trade with any other one every chance. His cock slides out easily. Suguru grunts this time, turning on his back, his hand shoots down and covers his hole. Satoru smooths his touch along Suguru's chest, then finds Suguru's hand and tosses it away. Suguru's helpless. Limp. His breath hard and the hand comes up to close his eyes, arms slinging over his forehead, covering half of his face. There's little resistance to him. It's unusual.

Satoru muses how far he can take this. He settles between the thighs. Touches the inside of them, silky-tender skin. Suguru's dick is hard, and pressed against the stomach and leaking a little, the taint messy with come, and balls tight. And he's warm all over. The whole room is warm with them. Soaked through completely.

Suguru all meadow-pink and blooming under him.

Satoru bends Suguru's legs, leans in, then—settles one on his shoulder opening himself the view of the flushed ass and the raw and abused hole. Suguru twitches, lets out a ragged exhale but there no more resistance in him than a moment ago. Still all loose and pliant. Satoru likes and does not. It doesn't suit him.

Satoru inhales a lungful of him.

His touch drags down the inside of Suguru's thigh, feeling the little hair there and new wave of goosebumps raising under his palm. A little moan and his hand comes down again to—stop him?—Satoru huffs a laugh and places it atop his head before his own fingers touch the abused rim.

It's red and puffy and overused. His come is all around it, on Suguru's reddened cheeks and a little pooled on the tiles too. Satoru nuzzles his balls, and Suguru flinches , but his hold is a vice on the thigh, and Suguru escapes nowhere. Satoru licks his balls, suck on them, before licking down, pulling the thigh higher on his shoulder, pressing his tongue on Getou's hole.

Suguru jolts, tries to pull away. It yields nothing. Gojou licks again, his other hand pulling at the flash of his ass opening him more, pushing forward bending him, opening him further.

He's tasted Suguru many times. He knows the tart-bitterness of Suguru's come, he can't remember tasting himself but he's not disgusted with this either. He holds Suguru up, thigh on his cheek, and he eats away as the new kind of hunger eats at him. Them together. Him inside of Suguru. Tongue flicking over the hole cleaning him up making him shake.

The tension in the tendons of Suguru's muscles is raising against his cheek. The warmth in Suguru's body scorches him, it trickles down into his neck and on his tongue and his face buried there, and fills Satoru's cock. It's not enough. Will it ever be? Satoru can't tell. You're so good, he murmurs, licks again a long stripe around it, pinches his ass, making him arch up and moan.

Satoru folds him more pressing the knees on the stomach and it gets easier to hold him like this. Both hands freed now. He slips a finger easily into Suguru's hole, not deep, and earns a stuttering violent shout that rattles through his body into Satoru's mouth.

There, there, he murmurs, returning his mouth to the hole starved for the taste again. Hurts, is a shuddering reply, and it's a heady sensation, one that spins Satoru's head, and gets him hungrier and needier. His tongue twists inside the used hole. He pulls at the entrance stretching it, letting his mouth wet around it before he thrusts his tongue as deep as he can. Kisses him. Licks into him. Pulls and hooks his finger as he slips it deeper. Suguru keens. Slides away a little but then his hips buck back into Satoru's mouth, stuffing himself back onto his fingers and his tongue. It's a victory that lashes and loosens Satoru's mind.

Suguru's thighs shaking. Whimpers simply spilling out of his mouth. The air swollen with him. Satoru's hand guided by him. Satoru pulls out just to wet two fingers. Suguru lets out a needy little sound and Satoru's fingers prod at his hole again, pumping inside with newer purpose.

Suguru's clenches. Satoru sheathes his nails in the underside of Suguru's thigh and laps at he hole. Licks in deep. Feeling him tighten and his come coating his fingers and his tongue. Satoru swallows it all, gets only the tangy aftertaste in the back of his throat. Laps again. Spit and come mingling together and his fingers slick with it.

Suguru's hand twists in Satoru's damp hair hurting his scalp and Satoru chuckles and Suguru's hole flutters again. And the tightness of Suguru is almost the same as the first time he did this to him. Back in the dorms awkwardly on the table a finger in, then two, and then ramming his cock in like there was no tomorrow. His cock aches at the memory of the tight grip of Suguru's body, and Satoru's tongue slithers in again, along with his fingers pulling at the hole. He's dazed and hungry and he rolls his hips forward into nothing as he stuffs his face into Suguru's ass and gets his nose and chin all wet and messy. He's so sloppy hearing the sounds his mouth makes, hearing the wetness squelching in the hole, hearing himself whimpering.

Satoru pulls back, leaving only his fingers in, he shoves his fingers deep, until his knuckles meet the soft flesh of Suguru's ass. Suguru throws his head from one side to the other like his neck is a bendy wire, Satoru repeats the motion. Gets a similar reaction. Suguru loosens his hand in his hair, lets them fall on each side of his head. Eyes tightly shut and his chest raising and collapsing.

Yes, Satoru wants to see this. He wants to feel him clamp down around his fingers, tight and loose then tight again. Heat scorching into his skin, come between his fingers thick and cloying and the pinch between his brows. Good. He plunges in again. Twists his fingers. Finds the spot on his walls and makes it his mission to bump and abuse it with every thrust.

Suguru sounds gutted, hands covering his face, mouth skewed, bottom lip raw and red. Satoru's hand wraps around his wet scorching length. Suguru curses out Satoru's name, it makes him smile. That's the bite I love, he says, his voice dragging like a dull blade.

He adds the third finger, all of them as thick as his dick lodging themselves into Suguru, and it's an newer image. Seeing himself inside of him like this. Stretched hole fluttering helplessly. He fists Suguru's cock, and it leaks into his palm. Suguru's moving and flinching away. His voice a rough wreck. Satoru licks his lips as he wants to kiss and bite and grab more, and all his body can do in response to that hunger is to move faster. Harder. His gaze jumps from Suguru's cockhead all wet and beading with come as Satoru strokes the full length of it, to the red chest and neck and cheeks, and the shaking hand that covers his lovers face, and the hole all open for him and his spit and come dried.

Suguru's trembling.

Satoru pulls out his fingers, slowly, lets go his cock, it's a second of respite before the rapture. Sugur's hole is lewdly open for a few seconds, all endless hunger on its own. Satoru takes a few hard breathes, watches how the pause rolls over Suguru too, how he opens his eyes. Searches for him as though he can't see, his gaze stops, the licks his lips, then—

Satoru

—no, not a curse anymore. Satoru is god for many but only now he briefly feels himself that way, the only honor he has is fucking his sorcerer open. His fisted hand slides over the length of Suguru slowly. He doesn't reply. His knees hurt on the hard tile again. But—another beat, another second, another inhale.

He shoves his fingers deep again, and lowers himself, swallowing the whole of Suguru's length in one go. An anomalistic howl and jolt travels through Suguru's body slithers inside Satoru's mouth.

He sucks in deep. Abuses the spot with his fingers. Gags and chokes as he takes as much as he can, Suguru's hips bucking up and back. In the mouth and on the fingers. It's a cycle that repeats itself, body tightening and hunger reaching its peak. Satoru hears the obscene sounds his mouth makes and Suguru's whimpers at the same time, he doesn't stop pressing on the spot over and over, sucking at the cockhead too, and it's an filthy churn of bodies trapped together finally.

And then—Suguru freezes, goes silent, perfectly suspended, surrounded by Satoru, before he comes down his throat and clenches around his fingers like a vice.

Satoru swallows it all greedily barely takes the taste in. Keeps his fingers deep. His touch finds his thighs again all little tremors running under the skin. He bobs up and down, licking Suguru clean, feeling the cock twitch in his mouth.

Suguru's pressing on the top his head. Stop, stop, it's too much, and Satoru will, of course he will, but his tongue is busy, and his mouth needs it all. Needs to feel him go softer. Soak him in himself full. He breathes the scent of him. Feels the pulse in his cock on his tongue. He retreats and hears Suguru sigh happily, exhausted. His body uncurling from the folded position he was in. There are tracks left from Satoru's nails on the inside of his thigh, Satoru sighs, too happy. He licks his balls, licks up and suckles on the tip of his cock, before finally letting him go.

It's a struggle to get to his feet and drag Suguru up with him. They cling to the counter at first, then to each other. The sky has turned baby pink, tinged with orange and blue. The water is ice-cold and pleasant in his mouth. Satoru fills a glass for Suguru too, presses it to his lips, jolting him out of the haze he's in. Suguru looks at him as he parts his lips and lets the water trickle in.

"You will come back now, right?" Satoru asks, all raspy.

Suguru turns away from the glass and moves a step away, covering his mouth.

Satoru's heart turns heavy.

"Satoru—"

He slams the glass onto the counter, a sharp crack ringing through the kitchen.

"Shut the fuck up for a second," he says.

Of course.

He rips the charging cable out of his phone.

Of course!

He turns it on.

He watches Suguru from the corner of his eye. The man stands like a statue, hands braced on the counter to keep himself upright, his whole body tense and exhausted. His lips are pursed, unsatisfied. Of course. How could he expect him to come back? Getou Suguru has built a life here, outside of sorcery—human work, a human life, a human apartment, like anyone else. Satoru is just a visitor, like everywhere he goes. He doesn't fit, won't fit, and he can't contort the shape of Suguru's life to make room for him. That's what he wants, though—for once, to hear it, to hear from him that they are the strongest together. See the shape of his mouth form those words, but—he's not a sorcerer anymore.

Notifications fill his phone. Satoru sets it down. Fills another, new, glass. Suguru's burning his cheek with his gaze.

"Are you happy here?" Satoru asks, then turns toward him.

Suguru is taken aback. He opens his mouth, closes it, looks away, at the window, out, through it. Exhale. Eyes close for a moment then open. Tired again. Satoru needs to know.

"I don't think so," Suguru replies sounding honest without bite.

"Then why are you here? Why are you not back in school with me?" Satoru jumps in, doesn't care if his voice raises in the end, doesn't care if it sounds desperate. Sets down this glass violently too, hears another crack maybe this one is in the cave of his heart.

"I'm not happy there either," Suguru says, grumbles and groans and covers his face with his palms. "It never ends. It will never end, do you understand?" his voice comes out from the inside of his palms, almost like he's wounded.

Satoru can't come up with a reply.

The words sit somewhere behind his teeth and refuse to form. He watches Suguru instead—how his shoulders shake, how his fingers press too hard into his own face, like he's trying to hold himself together or disappear entirely.

"We can handle it," Satoru says finally, quieter now. It sounds weak even to him.

Suguru lets out something between a laugh and a breath. It's hollow.

We.

The word hangs there, freezing cold, sharp edged.

"You can," Suguru says. He drops his hands, eyes rimmed red, but dry. "You always could."

That lands harder than anything else.

Satoru's jaw tightens. "That's not—" He cuts himself off, exhales through his nose. "That's not the point."

"It is," Suguru says, and now there's something sharper under the exhaustion. Not anger—worse. Certainty. "You don't feel it because you don't have to. You don't care."

Satoru steps forward without realizing it, like closing the distance might fix something, might force this back into something familiar, something they can survive.

"Then make me see it," he says. "Come back and make me feel it."

Suguru shakes his head immediately. "That's not—that won't work."

"Then how does it work?" Satoru snaps. "You just—build this—" he gestures vaguely "—and pretend none of it mattered or happened?"

Suguru flinches. It's small, but Satoru catches it.

"It matters," Suguru says, low. "That's the problem. I can't be there and watch how sorcerers die."

He's staring dead at Satoru when he says it, hard like a dagger pressing through his sternum. Satoru never saw Suguru's body. He never thought of him just once after the attack. Days after it he couldn't make sense why. Year in he maybe knows, and the answer for him seems like an insult for Getou. They are the strongest. They would survive. He's sure of it as the sunrise. But even as the morning rays spill into the room Suguru doesn't seem so compelled by anything Satoru can say.

Silence presses in again. Satoru swallows. His throat still burns, but not from thirst anymore.

"You're just giving up."

Not an accusation. None of that. Suguru looks at him—really looks.

"I'm not," he sternly. Another pause. "But I'm not strong enough. For what I want to do."

"That's bullshit," he says immediately.

Suguru almost smiles at that, but it doesn't reach his eyes. Satoru turns away again, back to the counter, finds his phone goes through the messages. Five messages from Ichiji. Satoru rolls his eyes. Something to get the edge off at least.

Ichiji >:Þ: Gojou-san, where are you?

Ichiji >:Þ: Gojou-san I came to pick you up from the sight.

Ichiji >:Þ: Gojou-san another mission. In Tokyo. One of the neighborhoods with big civilian populations and a school. There are many human deaths.

Ichiji >:Þ: Yoyogi.

Ichiji >:Þ: Gojou-san do you know where Getou-kun is?

Satoru groans.

Gojou: none of your business >:)

"They're sending me on another mission," he sets his phone down. "You can come with me or you can do whatever the fuck you want. I'll lay for a bit."

The sunrise is blinding. Suguru never bothered with thick curtains. Satoru sinks deeper into the too-soft bed, turning the bloodstained pillow over and throwing an arm across his eyes. He wishes he felt something, a flare anger, maybe, or even betrayal. Anything at all. But he’s been here before.

A month, maybe two, when Suguru left the last time. He’d gathered his things in a rush after a mission, offering half-formed explanations that didn’t hold together. Satoru had tried to press him, to get something real out of him, but Suguru slipped through every question. In the end, Satoru was the one left behind, stuck explaining his absence to everyone else.

"Childish," Shoko had called Suguru back then. Satoru disagreed.

Maybe he’s the childish one.

For believing Suguru would come back.

There are sorcerers who never return to the school at all. There are curse users.

The small of Suguru's cursed energy fills the room again. The sun and the feel of it together warm Satoru's skin. Then the door opens, footsteps, the bed dips under the weight.

"Do you have anything else to say?" Satoru says too curtly.

"No."

Suguru settles next to him.

All of Satoru's body is still. Bone-deep discomfort is everywhere, if he moves it feels like he might shatter. This can be enough too. He's too busy anyways. It's not that they were meeting often when Suguru was back at school. He knows where he is at least. Others have no such privilege. Satoru would've find him across Japan if he had to. But Suguru told him himself the address and let him leave his things and half of his fridge is Satoru's favorite and—it's all flimsy and shouldn't work, and wouldn't work but Satoru exhales the and unclenches his fists.

The sun inches forward more, and Suguru's cursed energy is subdued now. When he looks at him, it's his Suguru, and all fades away, at least for now.

Satoru turns toward him, circles his hand around his waist and drops his leg over his scratched thighs, burying his nose into the sweaty hair on his nape.

"We need to shower," he says into him.

Suguru nods, and presses himself back and closer to Satoru.

"We will, and then we'll fuck again."

Satoru laughs, and mouths okay.

Somewhere deep in the apartment his phone rings again.