Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The knock on the door comes sharp and impatient, like whoever’s on the other side is two seconds away from kicking it down.

You barely get a second to react before it comes again—louder this time, rattling the frame like some overdramatic debt collector. "Suguruuu, open up! I know you're in there, don't leave me out here like a stray dog."

You huff out a laugh, shaking your head as you toss a glance over your shoulder. "This has to be him," you call toward the living room, where Suguru is sprawled out on the couch, laptop balanced on his thighs, looking so relaxed it’s like the obnoxious knocking doesn’t even register. "Your incredibly subtle best friend?"

"Mm," he hums, not bothering to lift his gaze from the screen. "That's the one."

Rolling your eyes, you push off the armrest where you’d been leaning and make your way to the door. As you pass by Suguru, you dip down and press a quick kiss to his temple, your fingers brushing through his loose hair in passing. He doesn’t react much—just a slow blink, a ghost of a smirk—but the way his fingers briefly pause over the keyboard tells you he liked it.

You reach the door, smoothing a hand over your hair out of sheer reflex before unlocking it. Not that you care. Obviously.

Then, the second you pull it open, you’re met with him—Satoru Gojo in the flesh. Greeted by a blindingly bright grin and the sight of a man who is, without exaggeration, the most unfairly attractive person you’ve ever seen in real life, like he walked straight out of a ridiculously high-budget movie. 

And it’s not like you weren’t expecting him to be good-looking. You’d seen photos—Suguru had shown you a couple when he first mentioned his oh-so-annoying-but-still-my-best-friend nightmare of a person. And yeah, you’d thought, Okay, he’s hot. Whatever. But pictures? Pictures lied.

Because in person? In person is a whole other problem.

He stands there, leaning against the doorframe like he’s posing for a damn magazine spread, one hand braced above his head in a way that is very much on purpose, and the other resting lazily on the handle of a comically oversized suitcase big enough to fit a whole body. His snow-white hair is perfectly, artfully messy, slightly tousled from the wind. His designer sunglasses are way too obnoxious for the evening light, pushed up to reveal the most striking, electric blue eyes you’ve ever seen. And that smile—cocky, knowing, like he’s already decided exactly how he’s going to ruin your peace for the next few days—is aimed directly at you.

"Ohhh," he says, dragging the syllable out with obvious interest, gaze raking over you with absolutely zero subtlety. "Well, hello there."

You blink. "You must be Gojo."

"Satoru, sweetie," he corrects smoothly, stepping in a little closer, completely unbothered by personal space. "And you must be the infamous girlfriend I keep hearing about." 

Before you can answer, he tilts his head, really looking at you—like really looking, and not in a way that’s even remotely polite. His eyes drag over you, slow and blatantly appreciative, taking in the way your white top clings just enough to tease the curve of your chest, the way your skirt rides up ever so slightly on your thighs. His lips part a little, like he wasn’t expecting you to look this good, before he nods, obnoxiously pleased.

"Damn. You're hot." His grin is smug as hell as he takes another long, unashamed look at you. "Gotta say—I see what Suguru was bragging about."

You blink again. Processing. Stuck somewhere between confusion and disbelief and wondering for half a second if this is some kind of weird joke when a deep, exasperated voice sighs from behind you.

"Satoru," Suguru’s tone is long-suffering, tired in a way that tells you this is his entire life. "Can you not hit on my girlfriend before you've even stepped inside?"

Satoru’s grin only stretches wider. "Aw, c'mon, man, you can't seriously expect me not to appreciate beauty when it's right in front of me." Then, as if he hasn’t just blatantly hit on you in your own doorway, he tilts his head toward you, like you’re in on the joke. "Does he boss you around like this all the time? Bet he does. He always did have a superiority complex."

Suguru snorts. "And you don't?"

Satoru ignores him entirely, too busy leaning in just a fraction closer to you. "You put up with him for a whole year? That's impressive. You must be a saint."

You cross your arms, looking him up and down like you’re considering something. "Or maybe I just like keeping him on his toes."

His grin turns downright wolfish. "Ohhh, I like you."

At that, Suguru finally decides to get up, stretching like a lazy cat before strolling over. There’s something unreadable in his expression as he watches the exchange, but it’s not jealousy. If anything, there’s a knowing sort of amusement in his eyes, like he saw this coming a mile away. Like he knew the second Satoru stepped through the door, he was gonna be a menace.

"You gonna let him in, or are you gonna make him stand out here all night?" Suguru asks, coming up behind you and resting a hand on your waist.

"I dunno," you hum, tilting your head. "He seems pretty comfortable where he is."

Satoru lets out a dramatic sigh, pressing a hand to his chest like you’ve wounded him. "So cruel. Is this what I get for traveling all this way just to see my best friend?"

"You came to freeload and we both know it," Suguru says dryly, and you swear there’s the faintest twitch at the corner of his lips.

Satoru gasps, staggering back like he’s just been personally attacked. "I am wounded. Deeply." But just as fast as the dramatics come, they vanish, his shit-eating grin sliding right back into place, sharp and bright. "Now, are you gonna let me in, or do I have to charm my way past your lovely lady here?"

Suguru chuckles, giving your waist a little squeeze before finally stepping aside. "Yeah, yeah. Get in before I change my mind."

And with that, Satoru practically waltzes in, suitcase rolling behind him—though honestly, with how obnoxiously huge it is, it's more like he’s dragging a corpse into your apartment. He barely makes it two steps before turning on his heel, eyes lighting up as he locks onto Suguru with pure, unfiltered delight.

"Suguruuu," he croons, voice dripping with exaggerated fondness, and before your boyfriend can react, Satoru lunges.

You blink as the tallest man you’ve ever seen throws himself onto Suguru like some overgrown koala, arms looping around his shoulders, face dramatically smushed against his neck. "I missed you so much," he wails, clutching him like they’re long-lost lovers in a shitty soap opera. "Do you even know how hard it was to be apart from you? My heart? Shattered. My soul? Empty. My—"

"Get the fuck off me, " Suguru grumbles, though he doesn’t actually push him away, just stands there like he’s too used to this bullshit to bother.

You, on the other hand, are entirely entertained. You knew they were close—Suguru talked about him all the time—but seeing this? Seeing your normally composed, smug, always-in-control boyfriend just stand there while a fully grown man wraps himself around him like a needy girlfriend?

Yeah. You weren’t expecting that.

Satoru finally pulls back, but only enough to grab Suguru’s face between both hands, squishing his cheeks. "God, I forgot how pretty you are in person," he sighs, tilting his head like he’s admiring a masterpiece. "How do you do it? What's your secret? Tell me right now."

Suguru just stares at him, unamused. "Resisting the urge to punch you every day? "

Satoru cackles, giving Suguru’s face one last squeeze before finally letting go. "Ahh, I missed you."

"I didn't."

"Liar."

You watch the exchange, grinning now, because it’s genuinely funny—this obnoxious, larger-than-life idiot and your too-cool-for-this-shit boyfriend just falling right back into their old rhythm like no time has passed at all. And honestly? You like it. You like seeing Suguru like this, unbothered, a little softer in a way he usually only is with you.

Satoru must notice, too, because as soon as his eyes flick to you, that grin of his turns downright wicked. "What's that look for?" he teases. "Jealous? Wanna hug, too?"

You snort. "Of you? Not a chance."

"How dare you. And here I was, about to shower you with love and affection. You don't know what you're missing, sweetheart."

Suguru sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. "She's fine, Satoru. Can you go sit down now? Or do you want to cry about our separation some more?"

Satoru doesn’t even hesitate before flopping onto your couch like he owns the place, sprawling out with the kind of effortless entitlement that can only come from someone who has never been told no.

You close the door watching him stretch out like a cat in the sun, long legs kicked up over one armrest, torso twisted just enough to take up maximum space, one arm flung lazily over his eyes like he’s already exhausted from absolutely nothing, from all the hard work of existing. His shirt rides up just slightly, just enough to tease a sliver of toned stomach, and his other hand rests against his chest like he’s some tragic prince recovering from battle. The only thing missing is someone feeding him grapes.

You’re not even sure if he’s breathing in oxygen or just inhaling the attention, and you get the distinct impression this is just how he exists—loud, shameless, completely unbothered. The human embodiment of a smirk.

"Wow," you deadpan. "So, this is the famous Satoru."

"The one and only," he drawls, peeking at you from beneath the edge of his sunglasses. His grin is lazy, cocky, all teeth. "You've heard of me, huh?"

"Suguru doesn't shut up about you," you say, shooting a look at your boyfriend, who just shakes his head like he already regrets this whole thing.

Satoru brightens. "Aww, you talk about me? That's adorable."

"Not in a good way," Suguru mutters, yanking Satoru’s ridiculous suitcase toward the guest room like he’s manhandling a boulder.

Satoru watches him go before turning his attention back to you, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "You know, I was kinda curious about you. Suguru's all private and mysterious, like he's hiding some big secret. But you—" He grins, slow and sharp. "I like you already."

You arch a brow. "And why's that?"

"Because," he says, tilting his head, "I can tell you're gonna be fun."

He winks—a whole-ass, exaggerated, sitcom wink—and it should be embarrassing, it should make him look like a dumbass, but somehow, on him, it’s just—

Well.

Infuriatingly smooth.

From the hallway, Suguru groans again, "Stop flirting with my girlfriend."

Satoru gasps, the drama. "Flirting? Me? Perish the thought!" He turns to you with a grin that’s way too sharp, way too knowing. "I'm just making a new friend." Then, because he’s Satoru and clearly has no intention of ever behaving, he leans in slightly, dropping his voice into something low and almost dangerous. "Unless, y'know… you want me to flirt."

You narrow your eyes, but you’re already fighting the urge to roll them. This man has been in your apartment for exactly ten minutes, and he’s already acting like he pays rent here. You knew this visit was gonna be a lot. You just didn’t realize it was gonna be this much.

You exhale through your nose, shaking your head and crossing your arms as you level him with a look. "Okay, real talk—we ordering food, or do you just plan on surviving off sheer audacity?"

Satoru grins like he’s considering it. "Tempting, but I guess I could eat."

Suguru, reappearing from the hallway, snorts. "Could? You eat like you've been starved in a past life."

"You never know," Satoru says, sitting up and stretching his arms over the back of the couch. "Maybe I was. Maybe I suffered. Maybe in another life, I was a—"

"A dramatic pain in the ass?" you offer.

Satoru beams. "See? She gets me."

Suguru sighs like he’s aged ten years in the last fifteen minutes. "Just order the damn pizza."

You grab your phone, pulling up the menu as Satoru leans in way too close, chin nearly brushing your shoulder as he peers over it. His breath is warm against your cheek, his sunglasses sliding down his nose just enough for you to catch a glint of those ridiculous, smug-ass eyes. When you shoot him a pointed look, he just grins.

"You're a close talker, huh?" you muse, scrolling through the options like you’re unbothered—like you don’t feel the heat of him hovering way too damn close.

"You’re just not used to being this adored."

Suguru scoffs from the kitchen. "She is adored. By someone normal."

Satoru waves a lazy hand in his direction, still hovering. "Oh, relax, Suguru. I'm not trying to steal your girlfriend." Then, in a stage whisper, like you’re both in on some great conspiracy, "It's not my fault she's fun to mess with."

You sigh, clicking on a pepperoni pizza. "You got hella game for someone with sunglasses that ugly indoors."

Suguru finally drops onto the couch beside you, rubbing his temples. "She's not gonna fall for your bullshit, Satoru."

"I dunno," Satoru hums, tapping a finger against his chin, his other arm slung over the back of the couch just inches from your shoulder. "I think she kinda likes it."

You give him a look. "I think you're full of shit."

"And yet," he muses, reclining again, sprawled out like some ancient deity expecting grapes to be fed to him, "I'm still here. Still thriving. Still winning hearts."

You roll your eyes, turning back to your phone. "What else are we getting?"

"Extra cheese," Suguru says immediately.

"Pineapple," Satoru adds.

You pause. "Wait, for real?"

He grins, slow and deliberate, fingers drumming against the couch. "You mad about it?"

You narrow your eyes. "I should be."

Satoru leans in again, smirking. "So what I'm hearing is… you like a little danger."

Suguru groans. "For fuck's sake, Satoru."

You hum, then press order—without the pineapple. Because yeah, maybe you do like a little danger. But you refuse to let this man win.

-------------------

The pizza arrives, warm and greasy, filling the air with that mouthwatering, guilty-pleasure scent. Within seconds, Satoru has already grabbed his second slice, lounging like he’s making himself at home—because of course he is. You’re wedged between them on the couch, practically molded against Suguru’s side, his arm resting lazily along the backrest, fingers grazing your shoulder every so often. Satoru sprawls on your other side, long legs splayed out, one foot propped against the coffee table, one of his knees pressed against your thigh, casual but firm, like he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care about personal space. Judging by the way he keeps shifting every time he reaches for another slice—his knee dragging slowly against your leg, just enough to be felt—you’re betting on the latter.

"So, tell me, sweetheart—" Satoru starts, his voice slow and syrupy, halfway through a mouthful of pizza as he watches you with far too much interest. "What is it about ol' gloomy over here that got you hooked?"

Suguru exhales deeply like a tired parent. "She doesn't have to answer that."

Satoru grins around a bite, clearly delighted by how easy it is to push Suguru’s buttons. "Oh, but I want to hear it," he purrs, tilting his head. Leaning in just a fraction, his knee presses deliberately into your thigh this time, the ghost of a smirk tugging at his lips. "C'mon, gimme the juicy details. Was it the brooding? The mysterious, tortured soul act? The way he reads pretentious novels?"

You chew thoughtfully, pretending to consider. "You know, I do love a man with layers."

Satoru gasps. "Like an onion?"

You smirk. "Honestly? It was the hair."

Satoru lets out a dramatic gasp, clutching his own. "His hair?"

Suguru snorts. "Not everyone needs to have a whole-ass anime protagonist cut, Satoru."

Satoru ignores him completely, pointing at you with all the betrayal of a man stabbed in the back. "So, what, you're into the whole ‘cool and composed’ look? The low ponytail? The ‘I read philosophy for fun’ energy?"

You shrug, tilting your head like you’re weighing your options. "You know… the ponytail was a big selling point."

"You took one look at this guy—" he continues, gesturing vaguely at Suguru, who, to be fair, does look disgustingly cool even as he lounges against the couch, "—and thought, ‘Damn. That ponytail is the one.’"

You chuckle, nudging Suguru’s knee with your own. "It's a really good ponytail."

Satoru places a hand over his chest, shaking his head. "Unbelievable. Here I am, looking this fine, and you fall for the ponytail?"

You sip your drink, unbothered. "I mean, I also like his face."

Suguru rolls his eyes. "Nice save, baby."

Satoru groans, flopping back against the couch and throwing an arm over his eyes like he’s just suffered the greatest injustice. "I feel so betrayed."

"You'll live," Suguru says flatly, not even looking up.

"Will I?" Satoru whines, peeking at you from under his arm. "Or will I wither away in the presence of your disgustingly cute relationship?"

Suguru sighs like he’s debating whether it’s worth the effort to kick him off the couch entirely. Instead, he just grabs the pizza box and shoves it into Satoru’s lap. "Eat."

Satoru grins, triumphant, already reaching for another slice. "Oh, gladly."

He polishes off the whole thing with impressive speed, licking a bit of sauce from his thumb before leaning back again, looking way too pleased with himself. Without missing a beat, he turns back to you, ready to dive back in.

"And—" Suguru sighs as soon as Satoru opens his mouth again. "What's it like dating him?"

Suguru groans, pressing his fingers into his temple. "I'm right here."

Satoru ignores him, all bright eyes and interest. "Is he boring? Does he talk about philosophy at 3 AM? Does he do that thing where he stares out windows like he's in a fucking perfume ad?"

Your gaze flicks between him and Suguru. "...Actually, yeah, sometimes."

Suguru glares. "Babe."

Satoru cackles, pointing at him with his crust. "Knew it."

You smirk, nudging Suguru with your elbow just to mess with him. "It's cute, though."

Satoru wiggles his brows. "And the other stuff? He as good as he brags?"

Suguru kicks him.

Satoru dodges, laughing. "Ohh, so it's like that, huh?"

Suguru sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. "I should've locked the door."

You just grin, sipping your drink, not even trying to hide your amusement. "You invited him."

Satoru leans back, smug as ever. "And aren't you glad?"

You tilt your head. "Jury's still out."

Suguru groans again. You take another bite, amused as hell. Yeah. This is gonna be fun.

Chapter Text

The night had drifted into that hazy, carefree kind of chaos, the pizza long gone and the energy now fueled by laughter and too much alcohol. You’re all lounging around the couch like a mess of half-drunk, full-bellied teenagers, the air thick with playful tension. Satoru, never one to let a moment of quiet slip by, suddenly sits up, his eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Alright, enough of this," he announces, throwing his hands in the air like he’s about to make a grand proclamation. "Let's play something. I'm bored."

Suguru, who has been half-heartedly listening while nursing a drink, just groans and slouches deeper into the couch, covering his eyes with his arm. "Can't we just chill for once?"

But Satoru isn’t having it. He’s already bouncing on the couch like a child on too much sugar. "Nope. We're playing something. I'm feeling adventurous tonight."

You roll your eyes, knowing exactly where this is going. "What d'you have in mind, Satoru?"

His grin spreads wider, and you brace yourself. "Oh, y'know, just the classics. First up—Spin the Bottle."

You blink, deadpan. "Are you trying to turn this into a high school party or something?"

Suguru lifts an eyebrow without bothering to move his arm. "Seriously? Spin the Bottle? What are we, 12?"

Satoru laughs, clearly not deterred. "What? No one's too old for a little fun, right?"

You lean forward, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your mouth. "Are you trying to kiss my boyfriend, Satoru?" you tease, clearly enjoying watching him squirm a little.

Satoru laughs, not fazed in the slightest. "Maybe I am. What are you gonna do about it?"

Suguru rolls his eyes, finally sitting up and stretching his arms overhead. "Enough of this nonsense," he says with a grin. "Let's play something a bit more mature." He stands up and heads toward the shelf, pulling down a deck of cards with a smirk.

You raise an eyebrow, watching him walk away. "Ooh, fancy. What's the plan? Poker? Go fish?"

He turns to you, a playful smirk on his lips. "Nope, something simple. And Satoru, for the love of all things holy, don't cheat."

Satoru scoffs dramatically, throwing his hands up in mock defeat. "Cheat? Me? Never!" he says, sounding scandalized. But you can hear the sarcasm dripping off his words.

Suguru shuffles the cards expertly and then deals them out, looking over at Satoru with a pointed glance. "Remember, no funny business," he warns, his voice low but firm.

The game starts off innocent enough—simple, quick rounds of Uno. But as expected, it doesn't take long before Satoru starts getting a little too creative with the rules. He’s already hiding cards under the table when he thinks no one’s looking.

You catch him mid-move and narrow your eyes. "Nice try, Satoru," you say, pointing directly at his hand. "I saw that."

Satoru freezes, his grin faltering for a second before he leans back dramatically. "Me? Cheat? No way! I'm just... uh, strategizing."

Suguru lets out a snort. "Strategizing, huh? You mean ‘getting caught’?"

You laugh, grabbing the cards from him with a smirk. "You're so obvious, Satoru."

He pouts, looking entirely too dramatic for someone his age. "Fiiine. I'll play nice... for now."

The night drags on like a blur, filled with banter, laughter, and just the right amount of competition. You’re all completely lost in the moment—cards scattered across the floor, empty glasses piling up next to the couch—and it’s so much fun, you barely notice how late it’s getting. Satoru’s antics haven’t slowed for a second. Every time he thinks he’s gotten away with bending the rules, Suguru calls him out with a smug grin that makes the whole thing even more entertaining.

Around three in the morning, you’re half-done with your fifth glass of wine, your eyelids heavy, and you know it's finally time to bail. "Alright, alright," you say, leaning back and stretching your arms out, dropping your cards. "I think I'm gonna call it a night."

Satoru, clearly not ready for the night to end, grins up at you, leaning back into the couch. "What? Already? No! Come on! We just getting started!" His voice has that teasing lilt, like he’s plotting something ridiculous.

Suguru just shakes his head. "It's three in the morning, Satoru, and you still haven't won a game. Don't you have any sense of time?"

You snicker at Satoru’s disappointed expression. "I'll be in bed before you two can figure out who's actually gonna win," you call over your shoulder, already halfway to the bedroom.

-------------------

You’re so ready for some peace and quiet—and maybe a few more hours of sleep—so you slip into your pajamas, a cute little white silk babydoll with matching panties, the fabric cool and featherlight against your skin, falling just barely past your hips.

You're just finishing up brushing your hair when—BANG.

The door slams open, and you jump, nearly dropping your brush as Satoru’s obnoxiously chipper voice rings out. "Whoa. Look who decided to turn the heat up."

You spin around so fast you nearly give yourself whiplash, your pulse kicking up half from surprise, half from irritation. "Satoru, what the actual hell?"

But of course, he’s already leaning against the doorframe, smirking, arms crossed like he’s been waiting for this exact moment. His eyes—far too bright, far too pleased with himself—slowly rake down your body, like he’s committing every damn detail to memory, taking his sweet time with it too.

"I think I walked into the wrong room," he drawls, his voice oozing with feigned confusion as he tilts his head, scanning the room like he's genuinely lost. But you can tell from the glint in his eyes that he knows damn well where he’s supposed to be—and it’s definitely not this room.

You blink at him, unimpressed. "Yeah, you did. Yours is down the hall."

"Really? Huh, crazy. Must've gotten turned around somehow."

You roll your eyes, fighting the urge to smile at his nonsense. "Satoru."

His lips twitch, and you know—he's definitely fucking with you. But instead of backing off, he takes another step inside, easy and unhurried. His eyes sweep over you again, a little slower this time, lingering just long enough to make you aware of how very much he’s checking you out, before his smirk curves into something downright shameless.

"You know," he murmurs, his voice low and teasing, "Can't say I mind being in the wrong room after all. I gotta ask—is that just your regular bedtime look, or did you throw this together just for this very special night, hmm?"

The question is laced with enough heat to make you pause for a second, but you don't let him see it. You give him a side-eye, not letting his provocation get to you. "Suguru's one lucky man, sexy's just my default," you say casually, your lips curving into a small, teasing smile, pretending like his attention doesn't make your pulse quicken. "Not bad, huh?"

Satoru lets out an exaggerated whistle, dragging his gaze over you with even more blatant hunger. "Oh, it's real bad," he purrs, the amusement dripping from his words, practically making you melt in place. "I'm gonna need a cold shower after this—like, a really long one. Should I be worried about my heart, or are you just trying to make it stop?" His eyes roam lower, unabashed and focused.

You laugh, a little breathless, and shake your head, walking over to the bed to create some space between you and the growing heat in the room. But you can’t help the small smirk tugging at your lips. "You're such a dork, Satoru. Can't a person just get some damn sleep?"

But Satoru’s voice doesn’t let up—it follows you, thick with that same mischievous energy as he steps in even closer, and for a second, you swear the temperature in the room rises by about 10 degrees. His voice drops an octave and his grin turns into something far more suggestive, and damn, if that isn’t making you feel something. "Yeah, sure, but when you looking this hot, who's gonna sleep?"

A rush of heat crawls up your neck, but you force another roll of your eyes, determined not to let him have the satisfaction of seeing how much his words are affecting you. "God, you're such a flirt. How are you not asleep yet?"

But before Satoru can respond, Suguru’s voice cuts through the air, his words dripping with a hint of amusement that he’s trying to mask with annoyance. "Seriously? It's late. Go to bed already."

Satoru grins, unfazed, eyes dancing with mischief as he turns his attention to Suguru. "Ohhh, now I get it," he drawls, nodding toward you with a sly smile and zero shame. "Those bags under your eyes? Makes sense now—can't sleep, huh? Guess it's pretty hard to with that around."

Suguru, of course, doesn’t take the bait right away, but you can see it in the way his eyes flash. There’s a brief flicker of something—a smirk, maybe—before he goes right back to deliberately ignoring Satoru's teasing. Still, the tension in the room is thick. He knows damn well the effect you’re having on his best friend, and you know him well enough to tell—he doesn’t mind. If anything, he kinda likes watching Satoru squirm a little.

Without so much as a glance in your direction, Suguru strides into the bedroom, his usual lazy confidence in full force. He starts unbuttoning his shirt—slow as hell. Dragging it out, making every movement feel intentional, like he's playing with you. His fingers graze over his chest as he pulls the fabric away, revealing smooth skin, perfectly defined muscles that shift with each motion. He shrugs the shirt off and tosses it aside carelessly, like it’s nothing, but your gaze is already caught on the way his back flexes, the perfect sculpted lines of his shoulders, the curve of his spine.

And then—just to kill you—he runs a hand through his hair, pushing back those long, dark locks in a way that’s so effortlessly sensual you feel it straight in your gut. He knows. He fucking knows what that does to you. The way a few strands fall right back into place, how he lets his fingers linger just a second too long before dropping his hand—it’s maddening. You press your lips together, biting the inside of your cheek.

Suguru moves to his jeans, unbuttoning them at an infuriatingly slow pace before sliding them down his legs. He’s not rushing. He’s making sure you see him, standing there in just his boxers for a moment too long, like he’s daring you to say something. And god, you’re trying to keep it together, but he’s just so ridiculously sexy—tall, strong, carved from something unfairly perfect.

Finally, he pulls on his pajama pants—dark, fitted, and just clingy enough—and the moment he bends slightly to adjust them, Satoru lets out a low whistle.

"Damn, Suguru," he drawls, his tone low but amused, "Are you just gonna strip in front of us like that?"

Suguru doesn’t flinch, doesn’t acknowledge Satoru's jab, but the glint in his eyes tells a different story. The way you’re watching him, the way Satoru is clearly itching to push his buttons—he’s enjoying this little power play, even if he’s pretending not to. They’re both playing some kind of game, and you’re not entirely sure what it is, but it’s starting to make everything feel like too much—yet not enough.

"You're really showing off now," Satoru continues, his grin sharp. "Guess even you can't resist a little attention, huh?"

Suguru finally humors him with a glance, slow and deliberate, his lips curling into something dangerously amused. He looks at Satoru like he’s the most predictable creature on earth, like he’s barely worth acknowledging. And yet, that smirk says everything.

"What, are you embarrassed, Satoru?" His voice is calm, smooth as silk, but there’s a challenge threaded through it. And it’s enough to make Satoru squirm.

And Satoru? He’s not one to be outdone. 

"Embarrassed? Me?" He scoffs, dramatic as always. He stands up, hands flying to his hips. "Oh, if this is a stripping contest, you should've told me sooner."

Then—because of course—he starts yanking his clothes off too, tossing them like he’s putting on a damn performance. His shirt comes off first, dragging up over his torso in one fluid motion, and he makes sure to flex as he does it. His pale skin, lean muscle, the way his abs shift—it’s so over-the-top that you roll your eyes and bite your lip at the same time. And the bastard knows it.

"Well, if Suguru's showing off," he hums, voice all mock-innocence, "it's only fair I do too, right?"

Then his pants come off, and Satoru—shameless, cocky, deliberate—tosses them behind him without a second thought. By the time he’s done, he’s standing there in nothing but his boxers, grinning like the idiot he is—like he’s already won something.

And to make it worse? He flops onto the bed like he owns the damn thing, landing right between you and Suguru with zero shame. He sprawls out dramatically, legs spread wide, arms stretched behind his head, looking like he’s about to pose for a damn centerfold. His boxer shorts ride low— too low—just barely hanging onto his hips, exposing the deep cut of his v-line and showing off way more than you need. He knows exactly what he’s doing. And when he catches you swallowing? He smirks, cocky as ever, stretching just to rub it in.

"So," he tips his head back slightly to look at you, winking. "What's the verdict? This is the part where you're supposed to judge. Pick a winner." A pause. Then, with a slow, shit-eating grin—"Or you could always join in."

Suguru exhales through his nose, unimpressed but clearly entertained. He shifts slightly, leaning on one arm, dragging his gaze down Satoru’s body like he’s assessing the degree of stupidity he’s dealing with. "You're awfully desperate for validation tonight," he muses, voice smooth, slow, like he’s enjoying watching Satoru fish for a reaction.

Satoru just hums, completely unbothered, rolling onto his side, propping his head up on one hand like he’s settling in for something fun. His palm ghosts over the sheets between you and Suguru, fingers brushing a little too close to Suguru’s thigh as he smirks. "Not desperate," he corrects, a little too smug. "Just generous. Figured I'd give you both a little something to think about before bed, y'know?" 

His grin sharpens, ice-blue gaze flicking between you and Suguru like he can’t decide which one of you is more fun to tease. "And judging by that look on your face," he purrs, eyes locking onto yours, "I'd say you are thinking about it."

Smug bastard. You roll your eyes at the audacity of it, but damn—he looks good. Of course, he knows it too.

You fold your arms, raising a brow. "Uh, you do realize no one invited you, right?"

Satoru laughs, low and lazy, rolling onto his back like he has all the time in the world. The shift makes his boxer waistband dip just a little lower, enough to be intentional. Enough to make your mouth run dry.

"Oh, come on," he chuckles, flashing you a mischievous little grin. "We're all family here, right?" Then, just because he’s the worst, he tips his chin toward Suguru. "I mean, he hasn't kicked me out yet. Guess that means he doesn't mind, either."

You snort, rolling your eyes. "Oh, please," you say, leaning forward with a smirk. "I'm the one kicking you out."

Satoru’s eyes widen, and he lets out a dramatic gasp, clutching his chest like you’ve just crushed his soul. "You're gonna kick me out? After everything we've been through?" He rolls dramatically onto his back, hands spread wide on the bed like he’s preparing for his last moments. "Noooo! I want to stay! I want to sleep between mommy and daddy!"

He shifts closer to Suguru, dramatically wrapping himself around him like a clingy cat, and you can see the small twitch of his lips as Satoru snuggles impossibly closer to him, making a show of pressing his shoulder to Suguru’s arm as if trying to worm his way into his good graces.

"Suguru, help me, please," he pouts, his voice a mix of playful desperation and exaggerated sulking. "Tell her I can stay—I'll be so good. I promise. I'll be quiet, I'll stay still... no trouble at all." 

He bats his lashes at Suguru, looking up at him like a puppy begging for a treat. "Please? I'll even behave," he adds, dragging out the word like he’s making the world’s most difficult sacrifice.

Suguru raises an eyebrow. "You behave?" he repeats, voice dripping with sarcasm. "That's a good one."

Satoru looks at you, all wide eyes and innocent smile. "Come on," he says in that slow, sultry drawl, "just let me stay for a little while. I'll be the best little guest you've ever had." Then, turning back to Suguru, "I'll even let you boss me around if you want, Suguru."

Suguru doesn't even flinch at the attempt. His eyebrow quirks even higher. "I heard the lady here already made her decision," he says coolly, looking down at Satoru, who’s still trying to get all snuggled up. "Time for you to head back to your room, buddy."

"What?" Satoru sits up in a hurry, tossing his hands in the air like he’s being unjustly treated. "Wait, you're seriously kicking me out? After all I've done for you? After this?" He dramatically pats the bed next to him, looking between you and Suguru like he’s just been betrayed on a personal level. "I'm the best company! You can't do this to me."

You raise an eyebrow, fully enjoying the show. "Suguru's right—the lady said no. Guess it's time for you to pack up and go—mommy and daddy need some space, you know?"

Satoru groans. "Fine, fine. I get it." He glares at both of you with a pout, crossing his arms. "I'll go... but only because you're both so mean to me. You'll regret this, though." He shoots you a playful, cocky smile.

Suguru sighs. "I think you'll live. Just grab your stuff and go. It's really not that hard."

Satoru grumbles under his breath, still sulking as he starts to gather himself. "I'm taking all the blankets. You won't get them back," he threatens, clearly trying to maintain some dignity while throwing his little tantrum.

You chuckle. "Good idea, you can take your clothes with you too." You point toward the scattered mess of his clothes near the foot of the bed, making sure to add a playful smirk to your tone. "Don't forget those."

Satoru narrows his eyes, clearly not thrilled, but that smug grin never really leaves his face. "Oh, you're just hilarious, huh?" He rolls his eyes as he starts to sit up, throwing his leg over the side of the bed like it’s the most dramatic move ever. "Alright, alright, I'll take my damn clothes." He groans again, but the whole act is starting to lose steam as he sits up.

With a flick of his head, he stands, grabbing his clothes from the floor like he’s gathering his pride off the carpet. "I'll be in my room, plotting my revenge," he mutters, looking over his shoulder with a half-smile. "And don't think I forgot. I'll be back. And next time, you'll beg me to stay."

He grins at both of you, still radiating that untouchable confidence. Then, with a final glance, he heads for the door, his back straight, the way he always walks when he knows he’s almost lost—but not quite.

"Nighty-night, Mommy and Daddy," he calls back over his shoulder, voice dripping with mock sweetness before the door clicks shut behind him.

-------------------

You let out a long, exaggerated sigh, as if the weight of the night has finally hit you. Your arms stretch above your head, your back arches just enough to feel the pull, and then you flop down with a groan, sinking deeper into the softness of the sheets. 

"Ugh. That guy is exhausting," you mutter, eyes rolling to the ceiling.

Suguru watches you for a moment. His expression stays the same—calm, vaguely amused, like he’s waiting. 

"Mm," he hums, clearly agreeing but not giving it much thought.

You prop yourself up on your elbows and shoot him a look. "You did warn me, right? You told me your best friend was... particular. Dramatic, even," you admit, a little begrudgingly. "But I seriously thought you were exaggerating. I mean—come on. That was next-level." 

Suguru finally looks up, and the way his lips twitch at the corners makes something tighten in your stomach. He’s entertained. Too entertained.

"I told you," he says simply, his grin spreading like he’s about to enjoy this more than he should. "That's just Satoru. He doesn't know how to be normal."

You snort. "No shit." Then, after a beat, you add, "But you—" you narrow your eyes at him, watching closely for a reaction "—you're totally fine with him pulling all that flirty bullshit with me?" You pause, letting the question settle. "I mean, you two are best friends, and he doesn't exactly hide it when he's messing around." You tilt your head, voice teasing but curious. "That doesn't bother you? At all?"

Suguru just chuckles, slow and deep, like he’s been waiting for you to ask. "Oh, please," he drawls, shifting lazily against the pillows. "That's just Satoru. He's like that with everyone."

You scoff, rolling your eyes. "Yeah? Everyone?" You arch a brow, eyeing him carefully. "I mean, you have chased guys off for less. You won't let anyone even hug me without getting all territorial, but your best friend can throw a flirt session and a strip tease my way—right in front of you—and you're fine?" You lean in slightly, voice dropping to something softer. "How does that even make sense?"

Suguru doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he shifts, moving closer in a slow, deliberate way that makes your breath catch before you can stop it. The air thickens between you, a shift so subtle yet so obvious that your skin prickles in anticipation. Then, with the lightest touch, his fingers ghost down your spine, barely there, just enough to send a shiver curling down your back.

He hums, considering. "Because I know Satoru," he says finally, his voice quieter now, like he’s deliberately drawing you in. "That's just what he does—pushes, tests, teases. He's always looking for a reaction." His fingers drift lower, skimming over your waist, his touch featherlight, playful. Calculated.

Then, he leans in, breath warm against the side of your neck, so close that the next words are almost felt more than heard.

"But the real question," he murmurs, "is you."

His fingers slide up your back again, slower this time, more deliberate, dragging over the curve of your spine. "Because you—" he tilts his head, lips barely brush against the shell of your ear, his breath warm, intoxicating, "—you didn't exactly look like you were complaining."

A pause. Just long enough for your pulse to stutter. 

The heat of his palm settles at your lower back, fingers splayed wide, pressing, testing, like he’s measuring how your body reacts to him. Like he already knows.

"The way you smiled at him," Suguru muses, slow and smooth, each word sliding under your skin like silk. "The way you let him lean in close, how you laughed at all his dumb jokes…" He exhales a quiet chuckle, low and amused, like he’s piecing you apart in real time. "You liked it, didn't you?"

Your breath catches. Heat curls low in your belly at the way he says it, all smug and knowing, like he’s already decided the answer. But you scoff, shifting against him, pretending you don’t feel the way your skin prickles under his touch. "No," you mutter, shaking your head. "I mean, sure, he's—whatever, he's hot, but—"

Suguru’s hand slides lower.

You don’t even get to finish your excuse before his palm flattens against your hip, fingers curling, possessive, like he’s staking a claim. His other hand follows, dragging from the small of your back down to the edge of your babydoll, fingertips slipping just underneath the fabric, warm and teasing.

"But you let him," Suguru hums, a rich thread of amusement lacing his voice. "Didn't stop him. Didn't pull away." His hands move, slow and intentional, mapping the shape of you, pressing just enough to make you feel it, to make you squirm under his touch. "You liked how he looked at you. How he talked to you." His lips graze your ear again, featherlight. "Didn't you, kitten?"

You shake your head, too fast.

Suguru catches it. Catches everything.

His grip tightens. One hand gripping your waist, the other slipping down, over your thigh, fingers curling—just enough to make you suck in a sharp breath. And he hears it.

"No," you insist, but your voice is weaker now, less certain, because the way he’s touching you is too much. The way he’s pressing in close, the way his fingertips drag so slowly over the sensitive skin of your inner thigh—shit.

"No?" he echoes, teasing, fingers brushing higher.

And then—his fingertips skim between your thighs, just barely grazing the damp lace stretched over your pussy.

He freezes.

Then—he laughs.

Low, dark, smug as hell. Like he just knew it. Like he was just waiting for proof.

His lips press against your neck, the shape of his smirk sinking into your skin. "Huh." His fingers press just a little firmer against the heat pooling between your legs. "Still wet."

Your whole body tenses. Heat flares up your neck. Instinct has you grabbing his wrist, but Suguru doesn’t move away. If anything, he presses closer, mouth drifting lower, lips dragging over the slope of your shoulder.

"You were so ready to argue," he murmurs as his fingers tease along the soaked lace of your panties, slow and torturous, just barely not enough pressure. "But your body? Your body's real fuckin' honest."

His teeth graze your skin. "Satoru did this to you?" His tone is all feigned curiosity, but you can feel the possessive edge in it, the way he’s reveling in this. "Or was it me? Hm? Both?"

His fingers dip under the fabric, teasing, testing.

"You sure you didn't like it, kitten?"

His voice is a purr against your skin, rich with amusement, but there’s something else. Something darker. His lips ghost over your shoulder, featherlight, as his fingers slip just beneath the soaked fabric, dragging over slick, aching heat.

You swallow hard. "I didn't—"

Suguru just hums. Like he doesn’t believe a damn word coming out of your mouth.

"Didn't you, though?" His fingers start teasing your slick folds with the barest pressure, skimming closer and closer to where you need him the most. "Because this—" he exhales a soft chuckle as he feels the warmth and wetness against his touch, "—this soaked little pussy's telling me something else entirely."

Your breath hitches.

And he fucking feels it.

His other hand grips your jaw, thumb brushing along your cheek before tilting your chin up. His eyes burn into yours—dark, teasing, but there’s something heavier there too. Something that makes your stomach twist, makes heat pool even lower.

"You wanna try that again, kitten?" Suguru’s voice is smooth, coaxing, but there’s a demand in it. His fingers press just a little harder, still just barely touching, just enough to make you dizzy. "Or are you gonna be honest with me this time?"

Your breath comes in shallow, shaky bursts, chest rising and falling against his. He’s watching you too closely, too intently, like he can see right through the thin layer of denial holding you together. Through the way your thighs twitch and clench around his hand, the way your body instinctively reacts to him.

"I—"

You swallow. His thumb brushes over your lower lip, tracing, teasing.

"You liked it." His smirk is slow, deliberate, his thumb tugging at your lip before dragging along your jaw. "Say it."

You shake your head again, but it’s useless.

Suguru’s hand moves. Fingers sliding over your wet folds, up to your clit, tracing slow, lazy circles. He doesn’t have to rush—he’s got you exactly where he wants you.

You can’t fight it. You can just moan.

"Keep telling yourself that, kitten," he murmurs, lips brushing against your ear, "but this needy little hole? Oh, baby, it doesn't know how to lie."

His fingers slide down again, dipping just a little inside your pussy, teasing, stroking, and the sound that slips from your lips—it’s quiet, needy. Embarrassingly so.

Suguru hears it. Oh, he fucking hears it.

His smirk stretches wider, his piercing eyes locked on you, drinking in every little way you tremble beneath him. "That's more like it," he purrs. "See? Feels better when you don't fight it."

You bite your lip, trying to keep your pride intact, but Suguru’s having none of it. He tilts your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze again.

"Go on," he urges, fingers still torturously slow at your entrance, deliberate, coaxing, and you’re burning, hips twitching before you can stop yourself. "Be good for me. Say it."

"Suguru—" you gasp, but he shakes his head, clicking his tongue.

"Try again, kitten." His grip tightens, his thumb pressing into your chin, holding you still. "Say you liked it."

His voice is thick, coaxing, and your resistance is crumbling fast. Every brush of his fingers, every teasing stroke, is unraveling you, pulling you under.

You exhale shakily, biting back another whimper.

"I—" Your voice catches, soft, unsteady. Suguru waits, his eyes burning into yours, the corner of his mouth twitching like he already knows he’s won.

You squeeze your eyes shut, heat crawling up your neck.

"I liked it," you whisper.

And Suguru fucking grins.

He hums, pleased, the sound vibrating low in his throat as his fingers finally—finally—reward you by sliding inside your drenched, quivering pussy. "There she is," he chuckles, voice rich with satisfaction as he watches your eager body react, your hips jerking instinctively into his touch. "Knew you liked it, kitten."

You let out a shaky breath, trying—and failing—not to melt into his touch.

"And you liked all of it, huh?" His voice is thick, so fucking smug, basking in the way your body betrays you, how you’re this close to breaking entirely. "The way he flirted, the way he teased you, the way his stupid, pretty mouth ran…" He adds another long finger, stretching you slow, coaxing a quiet gasp from your lips. "You liked how he looked at you. How he made you feel."

You want to argue—really, you do. But your body betrays you again, your walls clenching around his fingers, your breath catching in your throat as he curls them just right, just deep enough to make your toes curl.

Suguru chuckles, his lips trailing down your jaw, warm and teasing. "Thought so."

His free hand moves, sliding up your stomach, tugging at the lace of your babydoll, palming at your breast with an easy, possessive squeeze. His thumb brushes over your hard nipple, slow and lazy, the contrast between his teasing hands and the deep, rhythmic press of his fingers inside you making your head spin.

"Bet Satoru could see it too, you know." His voice drops, velvety and dark, as his teeth scrape lightly over your pulse. "The way you looked at him. You wanted him to see, hm? Wanted him to know you liked it?"

Your breath stutters, nails digging into his wrist, but you don’t pull him away. Can’t. Not when every slow, torturous stroke sends heat spiraling through you, winding you tighter and tighter. Suguru feels it, feels how you’re starting to tremble against him, and he fucking loves it.

"But you know what's funny, kitten?" He drags his lips back up, voice a whisper against your ear, a slow, syrupy taunt. "He did all that, got you all worked up, but I'm the one who gets to touch you like this." His fingers thrust deeper, a little rougher, his palm grinding against your clit. "I'm the one making you fall apart."

Your head tilts back onto his shoulder as another wave of pleasure coils deep in your belly.

"Bet Satoru would lose his fucking mind if he saw you like this," Suguru purrs, dragging his teeth over your earlobe. "All flushed and messy, falling apart on my fingers."

You whimper—an actual, unfiltered whimper—and Suguru groans like he can feel the sound in his own damn bones.

"Oh, you like that, don't you?" His fingers work faster, his palm pressing firm against your swollen clit. "Thinking about him watching? Knowing you're this fucking wrecked because of me?"

It’s too much. The way he’s touching you, the way his words seep into your head, hot and taunting and possessive. The pressure coils tighter, heat spilling down your spine, your whole body trembling against his.

"That's it," he murmurs, his lips dragging against your temple, breath hot and teasing. "Let me feel it, kitten. Show me just how much you liked it."

And then—fuck. He finds that spot, stroking over it with deliberate, relentless precision, his free hand tilting your chin up, forcing you to look at him.

"Be a good girl," he purrs, eyes dark and laced with satisfaction. "Cum for me."

And you do.

A sharp, broken moan slipping from your lips, your body arching against his, your walls pulsing around his fingers as the pleasure crashes over you. Suguru groans, drinking it in, watching every little tremor, every sharp inhale like it’s the most intoxicating thing he’s ever seen.

His fingers don’t stop until you’re twitching from overstimulation, whining into his neck, your body limp and boneless against him.

"There we go," he breathes, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss against your jaw. "So fuckin' pretty when you stop fighting it."

You can’t even answer, your mind still foggy, your body still tingling, confusion and exhilaration tangled in a messy, breathless haze as you try to make sense of it—of him.

But Suguru just grins, his smirk nothing short of wicked.

Chapter Text

Your eyes are barely open when you shuffle into the bathroom the next morning, feet dragging against the cool tile. Still half-asleep, still wrapped in the warmth of the bed you just left, you don’t even question the thick fog clinging to the air—until the heat of it kisses your skin, sticking to your clothes, making your breath feel heavy in your chest.

You barely take another step before realization slams into you like a truck.

Oh, shit.

The shower's just stopped. The scent of Satoru’s body wash is everywhere—clean, subtly sweet, but with a warmth underneath that lingers, settles deep in your senses.

There’s a shift in the mist—movement behind the glass-paneled shower, the faint outline of a figure just barely visible through the lingering fog. And then, before your brain even fully catches up—he steps out.

Dripping.

Holy. Fuck. You freeze.

Satoru is standing there, completely bare, every stupidly perfect inch of him exposed and glistening, steam rolling off his skin in soft, curling wisps, droplets trailing lazy paths down the defined lines of his god-like body. His hair is damp, a mess of white strands sticking to his forehead in a way that makes him look even more effortlessly hot than usual—like some goddamn wet dream materialized out of the mist.

Water glistens on his skin, rolling down from his damp hair, catching on the sharp cut of his jaw, the dip of his collarbones. Droplets slide slow and lazy down the taut planes of his chest, following the defined ridges of his abs, gathering in the deep V of his hips, slipping lower—too low.

Your eyes betray you—they drop. And fuck.

There it is. Thick. Heavy. Hanging between his muscular thighs, ridiculously proportional to his absurdly long legs, still flushed from the heat of the shower. Your breath catches violently in your throat because it’s not just there—it’s goddamn gorgeous.

The curve of it. The weight. The way droplets of water trail down the long, veined shaft, collecting at the tip before spilling over, rolling down in slow, sinful streams.

Your brain just—stalls. Glitches. Malfunctions in real time. Here it is—the blatant, jaw-dropping proof that Satoru Gojo is built like a goddamn menace in every possible way.

Oh. Oh, fuck. Your brain is fried.

His lips quirk up immediately, sharp, knowing, way too fucking smug as he catches your reaction. And before you can spin on your heel and make a run for it, a lazy, teasing voice cuts through the steam. "Well, well," he drawls, shifting his weight just enough to make your stomach twist violently. "Didn't realize you were so eager for a peek, sweetheart."

Heat floods your face so fast you swear you’re about to combust on the spot. "I—I wasn't—!" You suck in a breath, fumbling to take a step back, but your heel catches on the tile, making you stumble slightly. "I didn't know you were—what the fuck, Satoru?! Put some damn clothes on!"

He doesn't. Obviously.

His brows lift, amusement glittering in those stupid, mesmerizing blue eyes peeking through damp lashes, fixated on you like he’s having the time of his life. "No? Then why are you still staring?"

"I am not—!"

"You sure?" he interrupts, taking a slow step forward. Water beads off his skin, rolls down his thighs, drips from his fingertips. "You came in here pretty fast. Almost like you were in a hurry to—"

Your pulse slams into your throat. "I needed to use the bathroom!"

He grins. "Uh-huh. And yet…" Another step. He’s close enough now that the warmth radiating off him curls into you, clashing with the chill of the tile beneath your feet. "Here you are. Just standing there. Staring."

You rip your gaze away so fast you almost give yourself whiplash.

"I'm not staring," you grit out, turning on your heel, making a break for the door. "And I'm leaving."

You barely get half a step before a warm hand catches your wrist, fingers damp and firm as they curl around your skin, stopping you dead in your tracks.

"Hold on, hold on," he laughs, that lazy, amused lilt that makes something tight coil in your stomach. "Don't run off just yet."

"Why the hell not?!" You twist, glaring. "Let me go, perv."

He leans in, and despite everything in you screaming to back away, to not let him get closer, you’re locked in place.

"Relax, princess. S'just…" His grip on your wrist shifts, fingers skimming up, brushing over the sensitive skin of your forearm, deliberate, slow, like he’s testing what you’ll let him get away with. "You wouldn't happen to know where my towel is, would you?"

You blink. "Your—"

And then it hits you.

Oh. Yeah, fuck.

And now you’re looking. Again.

Because how could you not? Every inch of him is ridiculous—broad shoulders, lean muscle, skin still damp and flushed slightly pink from the heat of the shower. The deep V of his hips. The sharp cut of his waist. And fuck, that cock, still just there, hanging heavy between his legs, almost taunting you. 

Your self-control is nonexistent, apparently—and oh, god, there’s another drop, hanging precariously from the flushed tip, glistening before it falls, tracing a slow, torturous path down the thick length.

Your throat dries up. 

He notices.

And his smirk? Oh, he’s eating this up. Damn it, the way he smiles—slow, wicked, shameless, like he’s savoring every single second of your reaction. He doesn’t even look the slightest bit ashamed. Just standing there, in all his fucking glory, completely unbothered by his own nudity.

"Oh," he muses, tapping a damp finger against his lips. "That was a nice look. Almost like you were—"

"I wasn't!" You snap out of it fast, wrenching your gaze away, scouring the bathroom for anything to throw at him—anything to cover him up before you spontaneously combust.

His chuckle is deep, smug, soaked in amusement. "You sure? You looked like you were about to start drooling—"

You let out a strangled noise. You spot a towel on the rack, grab it with a little too much force, and hurl it at his stupid, smug face. "Here! Take it! Cover up, for fuck's sake!"

He catches it easily, grinning like the devil himself, fingers curling around the fabric—but instead of immediately wrapping it around his waist, he just lets it hang from his hand, gaze flicking back to you.

"Hmm," he muses, tapping a finger against his lips. "That was a pretty intense reaction. You sure you didn't walk in here on purpose?"

Oh, you are going to strangle him.

"Go fuck yourself, Satoru," you seethe, already turning on your heel, shoving the door open so hard it nearly smacks into the wall.

He laughs behind you, deep and absolutely unrepentant. "Aw, c'mon, sweetheart. You sure you don't wanna stay? I could let you take a closer look, if you'd like—"

The door slams shut behind you before he can finish, before your traitorous eyes can betray you again.

But the heat licking up your skin, the way your heart is pounding out of control?

That stays. And so does the memory of what you just saw. Burned into your brain. Unavoidable.

Yeah. You’re so fucking doomed.

You don’t stop moving until you’re safely out of the bathroom, heart still slamming against your ribs, skin burning like you just stepped straight into hell instead of out of a steam-filled sauna of embarrassment.

Because what the fuck was that?

Your hands grip the kitchen counter, knuckles going white as you take a deep breath—two, three—trying to scrub your brain clean of the visual assault you just suffered. It doesn’t work.

Because the second you close your eyes? Boom. Satoru.

Wet. Naked. Hung.

You choke, shaking your head violently like you can physically rattle the memory out of existence. Nope. Didn’t happen. Doesn’t exist. You are not thinking about the way the water dripped down his stupidly perfect abs, or the way his smirk curled at the edges when he caught you looking at his—

Nope. Nope. NOPE.

You yank a chair out from the kitchen table and drop into it, fixing your eyes on the wood grain like it holds the meaning of life. Maybe if you focus hard enough, you’ll transcend, ascend, evaporate—

The front door swings open.

"Back," Suguru’s voice filters in, warm and low, casual as ever. "They were almost out, but I managed to grab the last ones."

You lift your head just in time to see him step inside, dark hair tied up lazily, his sleeves rolled up, a bag of still-warm croissants in his hand. He sets them down on the table with a small thud, glancing at you. "You okay? You look—" A pause. A small fucking smirk. "Flushed."

Your entire soul leaves your body.

"I—I'm fine!" you blurt, a little too quick, a little too loud, shoving your face toward the bag. "Croissants! Yum! Thanks, babe!"

Suguru raises a brow but doesn’t push, just watches as you tear open the bag like it’s your last meal on earth. But the way his dark eyes flicker over you, lingering for a second too long, tells you he definitely noticed something.

You can feel it. Like he’s putting together a puzzle. One you do not want him to solve.

Before he can say anything else, another voice—one that you do not want to hear right now—cuts in.

"Suguru, my love!"

Your entire body locks up. 

No. No way. No fucking way.

But then—you feel him before you even see him. The heat. The presence. The pure, undiluted chaos.

And then he’s there—Satoru, finally fucking dressed, but still damp, still annoyingly radiant, still insufferable, and now draping himself all over your boyfriend like an overgrown cat.

Suguru lets out a long, suffering sigh as Satoru loops his arms around his shoulders from behind, chin plopping dramatically on his head. "You're so cute, getting me breakfast like this," he sighs, nuzzling obnoxiously into Suguru’s hair.

Suguru doesn't even blink, just grabs a croissant and takes a slow, unbothered bite. "Don't get used to it."

"Too late." Satoru tightens his arms, clutching onto him like a needy girlfriend, rocking them both side to side. "You're spoiling me, Suguru. What if I start expecting this every morning?"

"You can expect all you want," Suguru drawls, barely reacting as he pries another croissant from the bag. "Doesn't mean it's gonna happen."

Satoru gasps, scandalized. "How cold! After everything we've been through?"

You stay completely silent.

You do not move. You do not breathe. You do not react.

Because he’s here.

Satoru. The same Satoru you just saw naked. The same Satoru who caught you staring.

The same Satoru whose body—whose fucking cock—you can still see in your brain like it’s been permanently burned into your retinas.

You shove a croissant into your mouth. Whole.

"You're quiet," Satoru’s voice hums, and you feel him looking at you, feel that sharp gaze cutting through you like an x-ray, peeling back layers, searching for all the little cracks.

You chew aggressively, avoiding eye contact.

Satoru grins. "She always this shy in the mornings, Suguru?"

Suguru hums, leaning back slightly against Satoru’s hold. "Nah. But maybe I should take her out for breakfast more often." He flicks you a look, amused. "She's being real appreciative today."

You inhale a crumb and nearly choke to death.

Satoru cackles. "Aww, sweetie, look at you, blushing like that." He props his elbow on the table, resting his chin in his palm, eyes flicking over you, knowing. Knowing.

"It's just hot," you mutter, reaching for your water, gulping it down.

"Oh, yeah?" Satoru muses, tapping a finger to his lips. "Funny. I thought you liked the heat."

Your entire body flashes nuclear.

Suguru glances between you two, chewing slowly.

You do not look up.

Satoru’s grin only widens.

And you? You are so incredibly, absolutely, entirely fucked.

-------------------

Satoru stretches like a cat, arms above his head, oversized shirt lifting just enough to flash a sliver of toned abs. He lets out a long, dramatic sigh, then claps his hands together, grinning.

"So," he chirps, leaning forward on the table, eyes bouncing between you and Suguru, so damn smug. "Where are we going today?"

You blink. Suguru raises a brow.

Satoru beams. "You guys are taking me out, right? I mean, I flew all this way just to see you—"

"You had a layover," Suguru corrects, deadpan.

"—and I've never been here before," Satoru continues, completely ignoring him, "so obviously, you guys are gonna show me around, right?" He tilts his head, eyes laser-focused on you now, playful, challenging. "Or were you planning to keep me cooped up inside all day? I mean, I wouldn't complain, but—"

Suguru cuts him off with a well-aimed croissant to the face.

And that’s how you end up spending the whole day dragging the world’s most unbearable tourist through the city.

The second you step outside, he’s on you.

"Hold my hand," Satoru whines, already linking his long fingers with yours before you can refuse.

Suguru snorts. "She's not your babysitter."

"She could be," Satoru smirks, swinging your joined hands dramatically. "For the right price."

You rip your hand away like it burned you. "Shut up and walk."

Satoru grins, victorious.

First stop: the local market. Satoru is immediately overstimulated.

"LOOK AT THIS!" he shouts, picking up the most random trinket he can find—a tiny porcelain cat with a comically large head. "You think this looks like me?"

"No," you and Suguru say in unison.

Satoru holds it up next to his face. "Be honest. It's the eyes, isn't it?"

You sigh. Suguru moves to physically remove him from the stall before he can bankrupt himself on useless crap. But then—he finds the sunglasses.

"OH, THESE ARE IT," he announces, sliding on a pair of obnoxiously large, heart-shaped sunglasses, striking a ridiculous pose. "How do I look?"

"Like an idiot," Suguru mutters.

Satoru grins, pushing them further up his nose. Then he turns to you.

"Hey, princess," he purrs, voice dropping an octave as he lowers the shades, piercing blue eyes peeking over the top. "Wanna make out in an alley real quick?"

You choke. Suguru pays for the glasses just to shut him up.

Next stop: a famous historical temple. Satoru, who cannot be serious for five goddamn seconds, immediately flips into fake-devout-tourist mode.

He clasps his hands together, eyes closed in mock reverence, muttering a completely made-up prayer under his breath as he kneels dramatically in front of the main shrine.

Suguru kicks him. "Get up."

Satoru sways like a fallen martyr. "You heathen," he whispers. "You dare disrupt my spiritual journey?"

Suguru rolls his eyes. You swear you see one of the monks watching you three stifle a laugh.

Then, because he’s incapable of being normal, Satoru turns to you, dropping the act instantly.

"So, if we got married, would we have the ceremony in a temple like this? Or are you more of a beach wedding kinda girl?"

Suguru pinches the bridge of his nose. "Stop proposing to my girlfriend."

Satoru smirks. "What, jealous?"

Suguru doesn’t even flinch. "No, just wondering how many times I have to turn you down before you take the hint."

Satoru pouts, but then turns to you, all charm and mischief.

"You haven't said no yet," he muses.

You walk away.

Lunch break. You end up at a street food stall, because Satoru saw someone eating something on a stick and immediately decided he needed it too.

One problem: he has zero patience.

"Hurry uuuup," he whines, leaning against you, dramatically resting his chin on your shoulder.

"They're cooking it, dumbass," Suguru says, completely unfazed by the way Satoru’s practically draped over you now.

Satoru sighs. "If I don't get food in the next five minutes, I'm gonna pass out."

"Great," you deadpan. "Less noise."

He gasps, clutching his chest. "Baby. How could you say that?"

"By opening my mouth and speaking."

Suguru snorts.

Satoru squints at you, then suddenly smirks. "Y'know, if you wanted me weak and vulnerable, you coulda just asked." He tilts his head, whispering dramatically, "You gonna take advantage of me?"

You physically shove him off you.

Afternoon: a scenic park. Satoru forces you and Suguru into a couples' boat ride.

Suguru grabs an oar to row properly. Satoru immediately leans back, sprawling dramatically.

"You row," he sighs at you, stretching his arms above his head, his stupidly long legs taking up half the space. "I'm fragile."

You glare at him. "You're not even touching the oars."

Satoru grins. "Exactly."

Suguru accidentally splashes him with the paddle.

Evening: a rooftop bar. 

The city sprawls beneath you, a glittering sea of neon and headlights, the hum of distant traffic blending into the soft music floating from the rooftop speakers. The night air is cool, crisp against your skin, a welcome contrast to the warmth still lingering in your body from the day’s nonstop chaos.

The three of you finally settle down with drinks. You lean on the railing, taking in the view, letting the cool night air calm you. Then, because of course, Satoru leans in too, right beside you, his shoulder brushing against yours.

"Good day, huh?" he muses, swirling the ice in his glass.

You nod absently, keeping your eyes on the skyline.

He tilts his head, watching you instead of the view. "Was I your favorite part?"

You snort. "Not even close."

Satoru hums, unconvinced. "Liar."

Your heart stumbles. You turn away immediately, ignoring the heat crawling up your spine. But he shifts closer, just slightly, just enough for his breath to tickle your skin, enough that you can feel the heat of him, even through your sleeves. Then, voice smooth as sin, he murmurs—

"Well, I'd say my favorite part was when you walked in on me naked this morning, but that feels kinda unfair."

You freeze. Your grip tightens around your glass. Oh, no. No, no, no.

Slowly, deliberately, you turn to face him, schooling your features into the most unimpressed expression you can manage—which is a feat, considering your entire body just went up in flames.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you say, tone flat, completely devoid of emotion.

A lie. A weak, obvious lie. And Satoru knows it. 

His smirk is slow, lazy, smug as hell. "Don't you?" he teases, tipping his head, white hair falling effortlessly over his forehead. "Because I swear I remember a very cute someone stepping into the bathroom, eyes going all wide—"

"I was half asleep."

"—face turning all pink—"

"It was hot in there."

"—staring at my dick like she'd never seen one before—"

You choke on your drink. Satoru grins, victorious.

Suguru, who has been watching this unfold with the faintest hint of amusement, finally interjects. "Satoru."

Satoru lifts a brow, unbothered. "Yeah?"

Suguru sips his drink. "Shut up."

Satoru laughs, full-bodied and bright, like he’s having the time of his goddamn life. You, on the other hand, are seconds away from throwing yourself off this rooftop.

"Relax, princess," Satoru coos, reaching up to casually flick the side of your burning cheek with his finger. Like he just knows. "I'm just saying, it's okay if you liked what you saw."

Your mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. No words come out.

And that’s all the confirmation Satoru needs. His smirk deepens. Pure, wicked delight. "Thought so."

And with that, he turns away, humming contentedly to himself as he leans back against the railing, completely and utterly pleased.

You glare at him, seething, but also mortifyingly aware of how hot your entire face feels. Suguru, beside you, sighs and shakes his head. You don’t even have to look at him to know he’s holding back a smirk.

Somewhere, deep in your soul, you just know this is only the beginning of Satoru’s torment.

Chapter Text

It’s day three with Satoru under your roof, and you’re starting to question how you ended up stuck in this mess. It’s not just that he’s bouncing off the walls like a hyperactive kid on a sugar high—it’s that he’s making it everyone’s problem. And today, for whatever godforsaken reason, he’s latched onto the idea of dragging both you and Suguru to the amusement park like his life depends on it.

"Please please please! We have to go," Satoru pouts, and he does it on purpose—bottom lip jutted out just enough to be infuriating, a glimmer in his ice-blue eyes that screams trouble. Then, as if he knows damn well how to make it worse, he pairs it with that stupidly smug grin, the one that makes your stomach flip against your will. "Come ooon, it'll be so much fun!"

You cross your arms, trying—and failing—to keep the corners of your lips from betraying you. "You serious? You're this obsessed with a damn theme park? Are we twelve?"

Satoru gasps like you just personally attacked his entire existence. "Excuse you. Amusement parks are a core childhood memory! They are magic. They are sacred. And I, my love, am a man of refined tastes."

Suguru snorts, barely looking up from his coffee. "Refined tastes? You literally had an existential crisis over which Pocky flavor to buy yesterday."

Satoru glares, but only for a second, because his mind is already back on the mission. His focus sharpens, head tilting just slightly as he turns to you, that cocky, knowing smirk taking over. His voice drops, smooth and teasing, like he’s letting you in on some wicked little secret.

"Besides," he murmurs, stepping into your space, voice low enough to make heat crawl up your spine, "I got a few ideas to make it… extra fun."

There it is. That damn grin. The one that makes your stomach flip and your thoughts derail into places you absolutely do not need them going. You hate—hate—how easily he gets under your skin.

Suguru sighs, unimpressed. "Uh-huh. Let me guess. You gonna get us kicked out in under an hour?"

Satoru waves him off, completely unbothered. Then, without warning, he reaches for Suguru’s hand, lacing their fingers together like it’s the most natural thing in the world. "Actually," he hums, batting his lashes in exaggerated innocence, "I was thinking you could hold my hand through the haunted house. Y'know, since you're secretly a big scaredy-cat."

Suguru doesn’t even flinch, doesn’t bother pulling away. He just levels Satoru with a blank stare. "I'd rather die."

Satoru gasps, dramatic as ever, clutching his chest like he’s just been shot. "So cruel," he mutters, finally letting Suguru go. But his attention flicks to you now, his lips already curling into something wicked, like you were his real target all along.

"Guess that means you're my first choice then, huh?" he purrs, tilting his head just enough that his silver-white hair tumbles into his eyes. Before you can fire back, his hand finds your arm—slow, deliberate, wickedly smooth. His long fingers glide up your wrist, featherlight but lingering, teasing, as if he’s just waiting for you to react. It’s barely a touch—but it’s devastating.

You jerk your arm back immediately, heat flashing across your skin where he touched you. "Yeah, fat chance."

But Satoru? Oh, he’s persistent. His smirk doesn’t waver for even a second. He follows your retreat, closing the distance again, his knuckles skimming over yours. "C'mon, sweetheart," he murmurs, voice dropping, smooth as silk. "Live a little. Lemme show you a good time."

"Uh-huh." You deadpan, folding your arms over your chest like that’ll somehow protect you from whatever bullshit he’s trying to pull. "And by ‘good time,’ you mean…?"

His grin turns downright sinful. "Oh, I dunno. Maybe you clinging onto me for dear life while I protect you from all the big, scary ghosts? I know you'd love that."

You scoff, but it doesn’t stop the warmth creeping up your neck. "Right. Because I totally believe you'd be my brave knight in shining armor and not the one trying to scare the shit out of me every five seconds."

Satoru tuts, shaking his head like he’s genuinely disappointed. "You wound me, baby," he sighs, but there’s nothing but mischief twinkling behind those ridiculous sunglasses. Then, before you can react, he takes your hand—fully, shamelessly, interlacing your fingers. "What, you don't trust me?"

Your whole body stiffens. "Not even a little."

Satoru clutches his chest in mock agony. "Damn. That was cold. You know, you used to be nicer to me."

Suguru, still watching this whole ordeal like it’s some kind of low-budget entertainment, finally looks up. "No, she didn't."

Satoru grins, squeezing your hand, warm and solid. "Well, since you clearly don't trust me, princess—I guess I'll just have to prove I'm reliable."

Before you can yank your hand away, he pulls you forward, arms looping around you in an exaggerated hug, pressing himself against you like a damn koala. "There, see?" he hums against your ear. "Nice and safe in my arms. Bet you're rethinking all those mean things you said now, huh?"

Your brain short-circuits for half a second before you shove at his chest, your palms burning where they meet him. "Oh my god, get off me!"

Satoru laughs, but he doesn’t let go, just sways you both side to side like he’s trying to slow dance. "C'mon, sweetheart, this is called bonding."

"It's called being an absolute menace!" you snap, struggling against him, but his grip is firm, playful, his fingers grazing the small of your back, sneaky and teasing.

"Guess that just means I'll have to work harder for your affection, huh?"

"Keep dreaming, Satoru," you snap, face hotter than it should be. You grab his wrist, moving his hand away like you’re totally unaffected. "Try harder, maybe?"

He doesn’t even flinch, just tips his head back and laughs, full-bodied and delighted, like this is the best game he’s ever played. "Oh, I will."

Fast-forward a few hours, and somehow, against all odds, you find yourself standing outside the entrance to the amusement park.

The moment you step through the gates, it’s over.

Satoru, already vibrating with energy, practically bounces on his feet, grabbing both you and Suguru by the wrists like an overexcited golden retriever dragging its poor owners on a walk. His sunglasses are already perched on top of his head, white hair catching in the wind as he spins around to face you with a grin that promises nothing but trouble.

"Alright, listen up, losers!" He claps his hands together, then immediately slings an arm around your shoulder, pressing his cheek against yours, his voice dipping into a low, honey-smooth whisper. "Time to show me a good time."

You shove at his face with your palm, peeling him off of you like an annoying sticker. "Excuse me? You're the one who dragged us here, Satoru."

"Exactly, so I expect premium entertainment in return," he chirps, completely unbothered. Then, his attention snaps to Suguru, and a sly smirk curls at his lips. "And you, dear sir, will be my loyal companion in mischief."

Suguru gives him a look, unimpressed but ultimately resigned. "You're gonna be exhausting, aren't you?"

Satoru grabs both your hands again and yanks you forward, nearly knocking you off balance. "C'mon, c'mon, first stop—bumper cars!"

It turns out, letting Satoru anywhere near a vehicle, even a fake one, is a mistake. A catastrophic one. The second you slide into your car, you just know he’s about to be a menace.

From across the arena, he sprawls in his seat, completely at ease, long fingers drumming against the wheel. He locks onto you, blue eyes glittering with something absolutely wicked, his smirk slow and predatory. When he leans forward, his voice barely carries over the music blaring through the speakers. "You ready, sweetheart?"

"To kick your ass?" You rev your engine dramatically. "Always."

But the thing is—Satoru has no honor. The countdown hasn’t even finished before he slams his foot down on the pedal, launching forward at a speed that should be illegal.

BAM! His car collides into yours so hard your whole body jerks forward.

"ARE YOU SERIOUS?" you shriek, gripping the wheel for dear life.

"Oops," Satoru says, completely unrepentant, tossing you a wink. "My bad, baby. Must've slipped."

"You—!"

BAM!

Suguru, who had previously been minding his own damn business, takes the next hit. Satoru is howling with laughter as he ruthlessly rams into both you and Suguru every five seconds, one after the other. The man has no strategy, no hesitation—just pure, unhinged chaos. Every time he slams into you, your grip tightens, your heart races.

"YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO DRIVE, NOT COMMIT ATTEMPTED MURDER!" you shout as he sends you spinning with a particularly vicious hit.

"But murder is fun!" he yells back, completely deranged. He blows you another kiss before immediately slamming into Suguru so hard you swear the whole ride shakes.

Suguru sighs deeply, cracking his neck before ramming Satoru back with just as much force. "I'm gonna kill him."

"You get left, I'll get right?" you propose.

"Deal."

What follows is nothing short of a full-blown assassination attempt. You and Suguru sandwich Satoru’s car between yours, trapping him in place and hitting him every time he tries to escape.

"Oh, wow," Satoru breathes, looking at the two of you, grinning like he’s never been happier. "That was hot. If I didn't know any better, I'd think you guys were into me."

The second round begins, but this time, Suguru pulls you into his car. His arm wraps around your waist, fingers sinking into your hip, casual yet possessive as you two race right against Satoru’s car.

"Hold this," you murmur, passing him your phone as you prepare for your next attack, all giddy for the rush of adrenaline.

"Mm," he hums, barely paying attention to anything except the way your bare thighs press together when you shift next to him. "What do I get in return?"

"Me as your personal chauffeur."

Suguru chuckles, warm breath ghosting against your ear as he leans in. "I was hoping for something better, but I guess I'll take it."

BAM! Your bumper slams into Satoru’s car, just hard enough to send him jerking forward. 

Suguru just smirks, tilting his head toward you. "That was petty."

"Yeah," you hum, grinning. "Felt good, though."

He leans over, pressing a slow, indulgent kiss to your cheek, then another just below your jaw. "Mmm. Sexy and vindictive," he murmurs, voice a low, rumbling purr. "No wonder I love you."

"HELLO?! DID YOU JUST HIT MY CAR?!" 

You turn your head just in time to see Satoru gaping at you, arms spread wide, looking like he’s about to write a police report.

"No," you lie.

Satoru’s eyes narrow. Then, before you can even think, he’s already out of his car, shoving his way into yours. "Move over, Suguru. I want a turn."

Suguru doesn’t even bat an eye. "No."

"Oh, c'mon," Satoru whines, leaning over the seat, hand already finding your shoulder. "Don't be stingy—I wanna sit with my pretty girl, too."

"I'm not your girl."

"That's not what you were saying when you were pinning me down in the bumper cars, baby," he purrs, fingers tracing slow, lazy circles along the bare skin of your shoulder.

Suguru sighs. "Get out."

"No," Satoru says immediately, leaning in even closer. When you try to shove him away, he catches your wrist, pulling you toward him with a smirk plastered on his stupid face. His grip tightens, his other hand sliding to your waist.

You squirm in his hold, but it’s no use. He’s too strong, too sure of himself. "Let go of me, asshole."

Satoru chuckles. "Nah. You're coming with me." Without another word, he pulls you out of Suguru’s car like you’re not even a challenge, arm wrapping around your waist as he hauls you against his chest. "Don't get jealous, Suguru. We'll be right back."

Suguru watches with a smirk, shaking his head, not at all bothered. "Don't break her."

Satoru ignores him entirely, too busy manhandling you across the bumper car arena like he owns you. His grip is firm, fingers digging into your wrist just enough to make you stumble slightly as he pulls you along. When you huff in annoyance, he just laughs, like he enjoys you struggling. The worst part? He does.

Then, with zero grace, he shoves you into the passenger seat of his car. His hands don’t leave you immediately—oh no. One lingers on your waist, thumb pressing into the dip of it, while the other smooths up your thigh under the guise of helping you get settled. You slap at his hand, but he just grins.

"There you go, princess," he purrs, giving your thigh a squeeze before finally—finally—letting go. "Bet my car's way cooler than Suguru's."

You scoff. "They're literally the same."

Satoru slides into the driver’s seat beside you, his long legs spreading wide, body pressing into yours in the cramped space. His arm stretches behind your head, his fingers ghosting against the nape of your neck as he leans in just enough to make you feel caged in. His breath is warm against your cheek when he murmurs, "Nah. Mine's pink."

You roll your eyes, but the tiny smile betrays you. Of course, he catches it. His smirk deepens, eyes flickering down to your lips before he turns his attention to the wheel.

The engine roars to life, the vibrations humming through the car, through you. Satoru shifts gears effortlessly, the motion smooth and practiced, and you hate how attractive it is. He floors the pedal, sending the car lurching forward with a jerk that makes you grab onto his arm instinctively. His bicep flexes under your grip, and you immediately let go like he burned you.

He notices. He always notices.

"Aww, you shy, sweetheart?" he coos, hand dropping to your thigh again, casual as hell. He rubs slow, teasing circles against the inside, fingertips dancing just a little too high to be decent. "C'mon, don't be scared. I'll take good care of you."

"Drive the damn car, Satoru," you snap, trying to shift away, but there’s nowhere to go. He’s got you completely boxed in, and he fucking loves it.

He chuckles, the sound low and smug. "Yes, ma'am."

Just when you think he’s going to behave, he slams the car straight into Suguru’s. The impact makes you jolt forward, and his arm shoots out across your torso, pressing you back against the seat protectively—but mostly just an excuse to touch you again.

You glare at him, shoving at his arm. "Stop groping me!"

"Babe, I'm saving your life right now. Show a little gratitude."

Suguru, on the receiving end of the hit, sighs dramatically, rubbing his temples like he’s questioning all his life choices. "I'm really gonna kill him."

Satoru’s grinning like an idiot when the ride slows to a stop. Before you can make a break for it, his arm hooks around your waist, yanking you against his chest. "Aw, baby, don't go yet. I was just starting to have fun. Please, I'll be gentle this time, m'kay?"

You elbow him in the ribs, and he wheezes out a laugh, but he doesn’t let go.

Suguru leans against the hood of his car, arms crossed. "Satoru, let her go."

Satoru just smirks. "Make me."

Suguru doesn’t move, just cocks his head slightly, eyes darkening just enough to make Satoru hesitate. Then, with a dramatic sigh, he finally releases you, but not before one last lingering touch along your spine, fingers trailing slow, deliberate, dipping just slightly past the waistband of your shorts like he’s testing his luck.

"See ya later, sweetheart," he winks. "Try not to miss me too much."

You flip him off. He laughs. Suguru just shakes his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose like he needs a fucking break. Honestly? Same.

By the time the ride ends, your hair is a mess, your limbs are sore, and Satoru is wheezing from laughter while Suguru looks like he needs a cigarette and a nap.

"Okay, okay," Satoru wipes at a stray tear, still grinning like a menace. "That was the best decision of my life."

Before you can retaliate, he’s already dragging you toward the haunted house, steering you through the crowd.

"Alright, rules are simple," Satoru announces, slinging an arm around both you and Suguru. "Whoever screams first has to—" He pauses, eyes lighting up with mischief before turning to you with a slow, deliberate grin. "Oh, I know. Whoever screams first has to buy the winner a drink. And," he leans in, voice low and smug, "wear whatever ridiculous hat I pick for them."

You narrow your eyes. "That's suspiciously specific."

"That's because I've already picked the hat."

Suguru hums. "Not a bad deal."

Satoru wiggles his eyebrows. "Oh, I'm sure you'll look hot in whatever I pick, Suguru."

Suguru sighs. "You need to stop flirting with both of us."

"But you love it," Satoru purrs.

"That's not the point."

You don’t have time to argue before Satoru tugs you forward, practically pressing himself against your back as you step into the dark, ominous entrance. His hands slide down your arms, his breath warm against your ear. "Hope you're not scared of the dark, baby."

The moment you step inside the haunted house, you already know you’re screwed. The haunted house swallows you whole. The air is thick and damp, the flickering lights barely illuminating the winding corridors ahead. The eerie soundtrack—whispers, distant screams, the occasional guttural growl—sends a chill straight down your spine. 

And Satoru? Absolutely thriving. He’s practically vibrating with excitement, fingers toying with the hem of your top like he’s just waiting for an excuse to latch onto you.

"Y'know," he muses, throwing an arm around your waist and tugging you closer, "if you get too scared, you're always welcome to hold onto me."

You elbow him in the ribs. Hard. "Not gonna happen."

Satoru chuckles, unfazed by the elbow. "You're so mean to me, baby. It's almost like you want me to retaliate."

And retaliate, he does.

At every opportunity, Satoru whispers in your ear, right as something creepy happens. "You hear that?" he murmurs, voice rich, low, deliciously taunting. "Something's right behind you."

You whirl around on instinct—only to find nothing. Satoru? Grinning, unbothered, resting his chin on your shoulder.

"You're an asshole," you hiss, trying to shove him away, but his body’s still glued to yours.

"You love it."

Right as you’re creeping past a hallway lined with old, rotting portraits, one of them swings open with a loud bang, revealing a grotesque figure lurking behind it. You jolt, yelping on instinct, and Satoru seizes the opportunity—his hands fly to your waist as he yanks you against him. "Relax, sweetheart," he murmurs in your ear, voice low, teasing. "I gotcha."

"Fuck off," you shove him off, heart hammering.

Suguru, who’s been casually walking ahead like he’s above all this nonsense, finally sighs. "Can you stop harassing her for five minutes?"

"Unlikely," Satoru replies.

The next corner is worse. It’s a narrow hallway, completely shrouded in fog, with red light seeping through the cracks in the walls. You’re already bracing yourself for the worst when a blood-curdling shriek pierces the air. A shadow lurches toward you from the mist—tall, grotesque, reaching.

Instinct kicks in. You grab the closest thing to you—Suguru.

"Jesus—okay, I got you," he mutters, steadying you effortlessly as your hands clutch at his jacket. His arm wraps securely around your shoulder, a firm, grounding weight against your side. He sends a glare over your head. "Satoru, if you try anything—"

"What?" Satoru drawls innocently, though you can feel him creeping closer again, his fingers ghosting over your wrist before traveling upward. "Just making sure she's safe."

"You're making sure she's traumatized," Suguru corrects.

You don’t have time to argue because the next scare is brutal. A hidden door swings open, and a decayed, hollow-eyed figure lunges at you. This time, you let out an actual scream, clinging tighter to Suguru—who, to his credit, barely flinches.

Satoru, though? He’s beaming. "Oh, sweetheart," he coos, arms wrapping around you from behind, completely boxing you in. His chin drops onto your shoulder, his lips brushing against your jaw as he grins. "Guess that means you lose."

"You are so—"

Before you can finish, Suguru finally gets his revenge. He grabs Satoru’s wrist and yanks—hard—just as another jump scare bursts from the shadows. Satoru, completely caught off guard, actually yelps like a damn kid. You and Suguru crack up at the sound, knowing you will never let him live it down.

"So mean," Satoru grumbles, but you can see the way his ears are turning red.

But of course, the worst part of all? You still screamed first. Which means you are the one forced into the humiliating bunny-ear headband. Satoru takes at least twenty pictures while you’re there, mortified, with those stupid fluffy ears perched on your head.

"You're so cute," he teases, pinching your cheek as he tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

"You're so dead."

The moment you spot the gift shop, something unholy awakens inside you.

"Alright," you announce, grabbing Suguru’s wrist with a grin that immediately puts him on high alert. "Your turn."

Suguru eyes you warily. "My turn for what?"

"You're wearing something stupid too," you declare, already dragging him toward the display of ridiculous hats.

Satoru, who is leisurely sipping the overpriced soda you were bullied into buying him, perks up instantly. "Ohhh, yes, I like where this is going!" He leans in, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Make it something humiliating. Extra points if it's pink."

"'I'm not wearing a stupid hat," Suguru states, but even as he says it, his resolve is already crumbling under the sheer force of your determination.

"You don't have a choice," you sing, pressing closer to him, fingers trailing up his forearm in slow, teasing strokes. "I suffered. Now it's your turn."

You rummage through the display with the focus of a mad scientist before finally finding it—the most ridiculous, most atrocious, most Suguru-unfriendly hat imaginable. A massive, plush, octopus-shaped monstrosity with googly eyes and limp, dangling tentacles.

Suguru stares at it. Then at you. "Absolutely not."

Satoru appears over your shoulder, his grin practically splitting his face. "C'mon, Suguru," he teases, pressing a hand to Suguru’s lower back. "Be a team player."

"Pleeease," you add, voice syrupy sweet as you sidle up to him, fingers tracing slow circles on his bicep as you bat your lashes.

Suguru exhales sharply through his nose, a flicker of something dangerous in his expression before he sighs, long-suffering, and grabs the hat. "I hate both of you."

You beam up at him, victorious, before standing on your toes to press a lingering, triumphant kiss to his lips. He hums against your mouth, large hands settling on your ass, squeezing.

"You're the best," you murmur, dragging your lips along his jaw as you pull back. "Hot, even," you add, teasing one of the tentacles with a smirk.

Satoru whistles, eyes twinkling. "Wait, wait, wait—hold up. No one told me we were giving out kisses. Damn, now I kinda want a reward too. Maybe I should start listening to you more often, sweetheart. Wanna dress me up as well?"

You roll your eyes before grabbing Satoru’s stupid face with both hands, squishing his cheeks together until his lips pout obscenely, and plant a loud, obnoxious smooch right on his nose.

Satoru flinches like he’s been struck, then immediately drops to the floor in an overly dramatic heap. "AH—!" he wails, clutching his chest. "I'm dead. I'm deceased. That was the highlight of my life."

Suguru rubs his temples. "Can we go now?"

"Only if you keep the hat on," you say sweetly, lacing your fingers through Suguru’s and pulling him toward the exit.

Satoru, still sprawled on the floor, calls after you. "Wait, baby, come back! What if I let you kiss me somewhere else?"

"Get up, Satoru."

Next comes the Water Ride. The moment you’re locked in place, you barely have time to brace yourself before Satoru—who should, for once in his life, behave like a normal person—leans in, flashing you a slow, wolfish grin that promises nothing but trouble.

"You scared, sweetheart?" he purrs, voice rich with amusement. His fingers skim along your bare thigh, featherlight, tracing slow, teasing patterns toward the hem of your shorts.

You inhale sharply, grabbing his wrist before he can get any further. "Never."

He hums, lazily draping an arm over the back of your seat, the heat of his body pressing up against yours. His sunglasses slide down just enough for you to catch the glint of mischief in his eyes. "Hmm. You're cute when you're nervous."

You scoff. "I'm not nervous."

The smirk he gives you? Unfair. Absolutely unfair. He leans in closer, lips nearly brushing the shell of your ear. "Uh-huh." His voice dips, smooth as silk, thick with challenge. "Guess we'll find out soon, huh?"

And then the ride lurches forward.

The chain clanks beneath you as you float through the darkened tunnel, the air damp, the occasional splash of water teasing against your skin. It’s eerily silent for a few moments, just the distant sound of rushing water, the faintest echo of other screams somewhere ahead. You feel Satoru shift beside you—too close, too warm—and suddenly, his fingers are lacing with yours.

You jolt. "What the—?"

"Shh," he hushes, voice lower, smoother, meant only for you.

Your lips part, but before you can protest, before you can rip your hand away—the raft drops.

The world tilts. Water slams into you, soaking your clothes, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your stomach flips, your heart lurches, and everything is wind and adrenaline and pure, unfiltered chaos as you grip the safety bar with your free hand.

"FASTER! FASTER!" Satoru howls beside you, laughing like a maniac.

"IT DOESN'T GET FASTER, YOU LUNATIC!" you shriek, practically climbing onto Suguru, arms wrapped around his like your life depends on it.

Suguru, who has somehow become your designated emotional support structure, doesn’t even blink. "You brought this on yourself."

Meanwhile, Satoru? He lets go of the safety bar entirely, throwing his arms up with a wild, unhinged laugh. His head tips back, the sheer joy radiating off him both infuriating and ridiculously attractive.

"WOOOO—!"

"SATORU, HOLD ONTO SOMETHING!"

"WHY? THIS IS FREEDOM!"

Water explodes around you, drenching everything. The raft tilts dangerously, Suguru muttering a curse under his breath as he steadies you, one strong arm wrapping around your waist as you bury your face against his shoulder. His shirt is soaked through, clinging to his hard chest, his toned stomach, water trickling down his sharp jawline, slipping over the curve of his throat—

And then you make the mistake of looking to your right.

Because Satoru—

His shirt is ruined. Soaked. Practically painted onto his body. The thin white fabric is now completely see-through, clinging obscenely to every unfair inch of him. His broad shoulders, the sculpted definition of his chest, the sharp lines of his abs, the way his torso flexes as he stretches, arms raising over his head, putting himself on full, sinful display.

Dripping. Glowing. Water beads on his skin, sliding down his throat, gliding along his collarbones, vanishing beneath the clinging fabric that does absolutely nothing to hide what’s underneath. His silver hair is soaked, strands sticking to his forehead, dripping water down the bridge of his nose, over his lips—smirking lips.

And the bastard knows. His gaze flickers to yours, and his smirk deepens as he catches you staring. "Like what you see?"

You snap out of it instantly, scowling. Your face burns. "Shut up."

But he just laughs, raking a hand through his dripping silver hair, sending stray droplets flying. "What, no witty comeback? Don't tell me I finally got you flustered."

Suguru tilts his head, unimpressed. "You're insufferable."

"But hot," Satoru points out, flexing obnoxiously. "Right, sweetheart?"

Your glare is sharp, but your lips tremble just slightly. You can’t let him know how much he’s making you feel. You refuse to let your eyes betray you. "You're gonna be dead in five minutes."

"Oh, I'm quaking," he teases as he leans in a little closer, his hand casually resting on your thigh, long fingers squeezing your damp skin. Suguru doesn’t move, his hand still steady and warm against your other thigh. Oh—okay. 

Your brain fucking short-circuits. Both of them. Touching you. You're a live wire, acutely aware of every point of contact.

Satoru hums, his voice lowering as he tips his head toward you, lips hovering just over your ear. "Y'know," he murmurs, "you got this thing about staring when I'm wet. Every single time, huh?"

Your breath catches. Your spine locks. No. You do not.

"Excuse me?" you snap, whirling on him—but the damage is done.

Because the memory slams into you at full force—the shower. The fucking shower incident. Satoru, bare and grinning, skin damp and glistening, water dripping from his hair, cock on full display.

And you, staring. Caught. Miserably, horrifically caught.

His smirk devours you. "Don't worry, sweetheart," he purrs, squeezing your thigh again with far too much familiarity, those ridiculous soaked sunglasses sliding further down his nose. "I don't mind. You can stare all you want. It turns me on, actually."

You open your mouth—to deny, to argue, to murder him in cold blood—but when he looks at you like that, so damn confident, so cocky—it’s hard to hold your ground.

Then he glances down. And his entire expression shifts.

For a second, you’re confused—until you follow his gaze. And oh, holy shit.

Because your shirt. Your own shirt is completely ruined. Soaked, thin, clinging obscenely to your skin, exposing way more than it should.

Your hands fly to your chest, heat burning up your face. "Satoru—!"

He grins like he just won the lottery.

"Well, well, well," he hums, his voice a husky drawl, his eyes roaming, feasting on your hot and wet body. "Didn't realize this was a two-way show. I gotta say, baby—you look absolutely sinful."

You nearly combust on the spot. 

By the time the ride ends, you can barely stand. Your legs are shaky, your throat dry, your clothes drenched, and every single nerve in your body is humming with a mixture of arousal and annoyance. Satoru, on the other hand, is as cool and collected as ever, stretching with a lazy grin like he's just woken from a nap. 

"That was amazing," he drawls, tossing a glance your way. "Wanna go again?"

You flick him off without thinking, but before you can even open your mouth to snap, Suguru’s there. His arms wrap around you, solid and warm, pulling you against his chest like he’s some kind of personal heater against your freezing body. His warmth is instant, his presence filling every shiver that runs through you. "You okay?" His voice is soft, like he already knows the answer, but he’s checking anyway.

You nod, maybe a little too eagerly, as you press into his body, trying to soak up all the heat. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," you smile, but it’s pretty clear you’re freezing.

Suguru's eyes scan you quickly, reading you better than you’d like, before he’s already tugging you toward a nearby shop. "I'll get you something dry," he just says, voice firm but soft, like it’s an order and a reassurance all in one as he leads you through the door.

As soon as you step into the store, the warmth hits you like a wave. The smell of fresh fabric, cologne, and something sweet fills the air. Suguru heads straight for the rack and picks out a simple black t-shirt, holding it up to you with a little smile. "Here," he says, tossing it your way. "Don't make me wait too long, alright?" He kisses your forehead lightly, his warmth still lingering from when he held you close.

Still cold, still shivering just a bit, you step behind the curtain to change. As soon as you slide on the dry shirt, the tension in your muscles starts to ease up, and when you emerge, Suguru's eyes light up, a soft laugh escaping his lips. "Look at you. All dry and cute. Perfect."

Just as you’re about to roll your eyes with a little smile plastered on your face, Satoru barges in, holding up a handful of the most ridiculous shirts ever. One’s neon pink with a giant duck face on it, another’s a tacky Luna Park Queen with sparkles, and the third? It’s got a huge picture of a rollercoaster and says Ride or Die. He grins, clearly waiting for your reaction. "What d'you think? A little more your style?"

You raise an eyebrow, giving him an unimpressed look. "Uh, no. These are... not happening."

"What? You don't like the Ride or Die shirt?!" He tosses them aside with a huff, making sure to pout extra hard, and looks at Suguru like he's been betrayed. "So, you're just gonna let her walk around with a cute, basic shirt while I'm over here still soaking wet?"

Suguru rolls his eyes, clearly done with the theatrics. "You're fine, Satoru," he mutters. "And you can fuck off about not getting anything. I'm not your personal shopper."

Satoru huffs, the picture of someone who's been wronged. "Ugh, fine, I'll just stay wet then," he says, crossing his arms with a dramatic pout. He shakes his head like he’s about to burst into tears, but then, he flexes his fucking biceps, showing off his muscles as he leans back, stretching in that annoying way of his.

"Would've been nice to, you know, not stay drenched, but whatever," he adds, voice thick with fake complaint, all while he puts on a show of pushing his chest out. His shirt's sticking to him in all the wrong ways, and he's doing that thing where he knows full well you find it sexy as hell.

You roll your eyes so hard, you almost fall over, but Suguru steps in, his hand on your shoulder, pulling you close again. His warmth is like a soft blanket, wrapping you up and making you feel safe, comfortable... and very much not cold anymore.

"Yeah, yeah, keep acting like I'm not freezing my ass off here while you two cuddle up." He gives an exaggerated flex of his shoulders, making sure you catch every muscle he’s showing off. "It's a good thing I'm this ripped, huh? Keeps me warm. Totally keeps me warm."

The night is winding down, the last traces of daylight fading as the lights of the amusement park twinkle brightly against the darkening sky, their reflections shimmering on the distant water.

Satoru, finally starting to wind down, leans lazily against the railing, his grin still wide and unshakable despite the exhaustion creeping up on him. Suguru has an arm lazily slung around your shoulders.

"You had fun," Satoru hums, nudging you with his elbow like he already knows the answer.

You roll your eyes but don’t deny it. "Yeah, yeah. It was decent."

Satoru's grin only grows as he leans in just a little too close, his voice low and teasing right against your ear. "Next time, we're hitting up the love hotel district. Waaay more fun there."

Before you can even respond, Suguru smacks him upside the head, making a noise that sounds like a mix of annoyance and amusement. "Ignore him," he rolls his eyes, pulling you closer with a chuckle.

Satoru sighs dramatically, looking between you two. "Ugh, fiiine, Suguru—you can join in too," he says with mock acceptance, his grin turning devilish. "But you better keep up."

You raise an eyebrow and smirk, the challenge in your tone unmistakable. "It's you who better keep up, Satoru," you tease, giving him a sly glance. "We're already in sync—you'd have to work to catch up."

Satoru’s eyes light up like he’s been dared, his excitement practically palpable as he wastes no time stepping in, crowding your space. His big hands find your waist and pull you flush against him with a smirk that’s pure mischief. 

"Oh, baby, I can definitely keep up," he purrs, voice thick with flirtation, and he presses himself against you, clearly not holding back. His grin is all teeth now, hands sliding a little lower, dangerously teasing. "You'd be surprised."

Suguru huffs out a small laugh, shaking his head as he tugs you back toward him with an affectionate squeeze, his tone is laced with an amused warning. "You like to poke the bear, don't you?" he murmurs near your ear, voice smooth, warm. "Keep playing along, and he'll never stop."

Satoru just grins, undeterred, his hands still lazily splayed over your hips. "Mmh," he hums, tilting his head like he’s studying you. "Yeah—and from where I'm standing, doesn't really look like she wants me to stop."

His voice dips lower, almost sultry, his fingers tightening just enough to make you aware of his touch. "In fact…" He leans in, raising an eyebrow. "I think she likes it. "

Chapter Text

The next morning starts with a groan. A loud, pitiful groan.

You barely stir at first, still wrapped up in the warmth of the sheets, tucked against Suguru’s chest. His arm is draped over your waist, keeping you snug against him, and the steady rise and fall of his breathing keeps you in that perfect half-asleep haze. 

You barely register the sound at first—probably just the wind, or maybe Suguru shifting in his sleep. Whatever it is, it’s not enough to make you move from your comfortable spot.

But then it comes again—longer, drawn out, like someone is suffering.

"Uuughgh…"

There’s an insufferable weight to the sound this time, theatrical and very intentional. You crack one eye open. "What—"

"I'm dying." 

The voice is hoarse, nasally, filled with the kind of dramatic agony only one man on this earth could conjure up.

You groan, burying your face deeper into Suguru’s chest. "No."

"YES."

Suguru exhales sharply, the warm breath ruffling your hair as he shifts just enough to glance toward the door. He doesn’t even sound remotely concerned. "Satoru, I swear to God—"

"I'm dying, Suguru," Satoru’s voice cracks from the other room, as if the sheer weight of his suffering is too much to bear. "I can feel the light leaving my body. This is it for me."

Suguru doesn’t even lift his head from the pillow. "Good," he mutters, rubbing slow circles over your back, still half-asleep. "Finally, some peace."

A loud, over-exaggerated sniffle comes right from the doorway this time. "You heartless bastard," Satoru croaks. "This—" he gestures wildly, though neither of you are looking at him, "—is your fault, Suguru. You left me cold and wet all night while you were busy cuddling her."

Suguru sighs into the pillow, clearly debating if murder is worth it. "You had your own bed."

"Which was cold and lonely," Satoru shoots back. "You should have let me in here! You know my body runs cold. What kind of best friend—"

"You were perfectly fine when we got home," Suguru interrupts flatly. "Maybe if you didn't insist on stripping your shirt off the second we walked through the door and showing off like an idiot—"

"My abs deserved fresh air," Satoru sniffs. "I was flushed from all the adrenaline."

Suguru finally lifts his head from the pillow, shooting him an exhausted glare. "You have a fever, dumbass."

"Exactly!" Satoru whines. "And now I'm weak. Helpless. Frail." There’s a dramatic thud, and you crack your eyes open just in time to see him leaning against the doorway like a dying man, his white hair an absolute mess, his face flushed in a way that would almost be attractive if it weren’t for the fever-glaze in his eyes. He sniffles again, lower lip jutting out, and oh, he knows exactly what he’s doing. "All I ask—my only wish before I perish—is for some comfort in my final moments."

You blink. "No."

But it’s too late.

"I am dying," he whines as he stumbles toward the bed like he’s on death’s door. "And all I ask is for you to hold me. Just… just for a moment." 

He collapses against your side, half-sprawled over you, his entire body radiating heat. "Oh," he sighs, cheek nuzzling into your stomach with a little hum of satisfaction. "This feels so much better already."

Suguru groans, running a hand down his face. "You're disgusting."

You try to push Satoru off, but he only shifts, his arms snaking around your waist as he buries his face against your stomach like some kind of feverish koala. "Mmh," he hums, voice thick and dangerously flirtatious despite the hoarseness. "So warm. So soft. This is exactly what I needed."

"Satoru." 

"Shh," he presses a finger to your lips before you can protest, tilting his head back just enough to look at you, the fever-flush making his pale skin even more striking. "Don't ruin this for me, baby."

You almost shove him away right then and there. But then he grins—slow, lazy, knowing—and the way his fingers trace over your lace babydoll makes your breath catch for half a second longer than it should. He's so warm, and okay, maybe he looks kinda cute when he’s all needy and fever-flushed.

"Mmh," he sighs, burying his face into your neck, voice still thick and hoarse but laced with something dangerous. "Y'know, this feels nice. Real nice. Maybe being sick isn't so bad after all."

Suguru grabs him by the back of the shirt and yanks him off you. "Get. Off."

Satoru flops onto the mattress between you two with a whine. "Ugh, so mean! I can't believe this is the treatment I get after suffering all night." He turns to you, pouting. "You wouldn't let me suffer, would you?"

Suguru groans, flopping back against the pillows, clearly over it. "If you give her your stupid fever, I'm smothering you in your sleep."

Satoru groans, rolling onto his stomach, his forehead pressing against your bare thigh, the warmth of his fever seeping into your skin. "Mmh… worth it."

"Satoru," you sigh, attempting to push his head off, but he just nuzzles in deeper, his messy hair tickling your skin. "You're burning up."

"Mmh, yeah?" He peeks up at you with a lopsided grin, eyes half-lidded, flushed all the way down his neck. "Guess I'm just—hot."

"That's not what I—" You pinch the bridge of your nose, exhaling. "Never mind."

Suguru groans from beside you before pressing the back of his palm to Satoru’s forehead, lips pulling into a frown. "Tch. He's scalding."

"Told you—" Satoru huffs, shivering slightly, instinctively pressing closer to your warmth again. "Just need—ahhh, yeah, that's the stuff…" His sentence dissolves into a satisfied hum as you palm his forehead, fingertips cool against his overheated skin.

"That's it," Suguru mutters, sitting up. "He's getting up. We're getting him food."

"Ughhh." Satoru lets himself go limp in protest, dead weight against your lap. "Noooo. I'm too weak. Just let me die here, wrapped in love and lace." His fingers trace far too close to the hem of your babydoll again, playing with the edge of the fabric, and you flick his forehead—lightly, because he’s sick.

"Get up," you say firmly. "Eat something first, and then you can die."

"Deal." Satoru grins before flopping dramatically onto his back, arms outstretched like he’s just been slain. "Carry me."

Suguru glares at him. "Not a chance."

"Oh, but you carried her last night," Satoru pouts, eyes flickering to you before settling back on Suguru with a teasing glint. "Princess treatment only applies to your little girlfriend?"

"Exactly," Suguru deadpans.

Satoru sighs. "Unbelievable. Betrayed by my own best friend. My only comfort in this cold, cruel world is—" His hands slide back onto your thighs, palms warm against your skin. "—oh, yeah, this is much better."

"Satoru."

"Mmh, what?" He grins, shifting so that he’s resting on your lap again, head tilted up toward you. "Can't a sick man get some love?"

"Get up!"

"Make me."

Suguru, already over it, grabs him by the arm and yanks him upright. Satoru lets out a pitiful whine, dramatically slumping forward until his forehead is pressing against your shoulder instead.

"Ugh, my body aches… I'm seeing the light… This is it for me, baby…" His voice is hoarse and thick, but that teasing lilt is still there, lingering under the feverish rasp. "Kiss me before I go…"

"Eat first," you deadpan.

"So heartless…"

You roll your eyes, gently pushing him back toward Suguru. "Come on, you big baby. Let's get you to the couch."

Satoru lets himself be dragged along, though he makes sure to lean entirely on you the whole way, draping himself over your shoulder like an oversized cat. "Mmh… you smell so nice…"

"You smell like fever sweat," you shoot back.

"That's hot."

"You're gross."

Suguru snorts. "He's disgusting."

The second Satoru’s dropped onto the couch, he slouches back, lips parting in a dramatic sigh. "I'm spent. That was too much effort. I need strength, baby…" He shifts, patting his lap invitingly. "Come sit on me while you make my food?"

"Yeah, that's not happening," you mutter, heading toward the kitchen.

"What if I say please?"

"Still no."

Satoru groans, flopping back onto the couch, but there’s a grin tugging at his lips. "Mean."

Suguru crosses his arms, leaning against the kitchen counter as you move around, cracking eggs into a pan. "You're really gonna let him get away with this?"

You sigh. "If I don't feed him, he's just gonna get more annoying."

"I heard that!" Satoru calls from the couch.

"Good," you call back.

A few minutes later, you return with a plate of eggs and toast, setting it on the coffee table. 

"Aww, so you do care about me," he coos, grinning up at you as he dramatically clutches his chest. "Look at this—warm food, made with love. Mommy instincts kicking in already."

But before you can even move to sit beside him, Satoru gives you the look—that pleading, fever-flushed, helpless expression, all big blue eyes and parted lips. "Baby," he breathes. "My hands… they're too weak…"

"You're lying," you deadpan.

"I'm so ill," he sniffs dramatically. "Just a bite? Feed me?"

You sigh. "Fine."

Satoru beams in triumph, sinking further into the cushions. "Ahhh—" He opens his mouth expectantly, waiting.

You roll your eyes, picking up a piece of toast and pressing it to his lips, just to shut him up. He hums as he takes the bite, chewing slowly before swallowing with a satisfied sigh. "Mmmh," he breathes, licking his lips. "You should feed me more often. Tastes better this way. Another bite, sweetie?"

You roll your eyes again, but you do it anyway, because the faster he eats, the faster this breakfast ends. He takes the next bite dramatically slow, lips just barely brushing your fingers, and you have to fight the urge to smack him with the fork.

"I'm gonna shove this fork up your nose," you mutter.

Satoru only grins. "Kinky."

"You're so fucking annoying," you mutter, grabbing your own plate to eat.

"Mmh, yeah," he hums, swallowing. "But I'm also cute."

"Debatable."

"No, it's not."

The way he grins at you is infuriating, but you refuse to let him win. You flick a crumb at him instead and finish your breakfast.

It's only after breakfast, when Satoru's eyes flicker down to your body again, that you realize you're still wearing your cute little lace pajamas, the ones that barely leave anything to the imagination.

"Oh," he hums, voice low and dripping with a kind of lazy lust as he leans back on the couch, his fever-flushed face somehow making the smirk on his lips even filthier. "So that 's what we're doing today?" His feverish eyes flare with heat as they crawl up your legs, lingering where the lace barely covers you. "Gotta say, baby—if I knew you were gonna serve breakfast like this, I would've asked for breakfast in bed. Hell, I would've begged for it."

Your stomach twists—not with embarrassment, though. It’s something else entirely. A mixture of heat and need that coils tightly in your core. He’s still sick, flushed, miserable even, but damn if he doesn't know exactly how to turn you on, even when he's barely moving.

You turn on your heel before he can push it further. "I'm changing."

"Awww, don't cover up just for me!" he calls after you. "Actually—scratch that. Cover up just for me. Let me be the only one who sees you like that."

Suguru shoves him. "Shut the hell up and eat your damn food."

When you come back, properly dressed, Satoru is sprawled across Suguru on the couch. Suguru looks like he’s contemplating how much jail time he’d get for murder, but he lets him stay there.

"This is my new home," Satoru says, cheek mushed against Suguru’s shoulder. "This is where I live now."

Suguru sighs, rubbing his temples. "You're a grown-ass man, Satoru."

"Not today. Today, I'm sick."

You arch a brow as you walk into the room. "Looks like you're doing just fine."

"Nooo," he whines, stretching his long legs out dramatically. "I feel terrible. The only thing that can make me feel better is—" he tilts his head back, spotting you "—you sitting on my lap."

"Oh my god, again?" Suguru mutters.

You ignore him, walking past them to grab a hot water bottle from the cabinet. "This is what you get for being a dumbass on the water slide yesterday," you say, pressing the bottle against his chest.

Satoru shudders at the warmth and lets out a low, pleased sound. "Mmh. Knew you'd take care of me, sweetheart."

"I regret it already."

"No, you don't."

You roll your eyes, but there’s an undeniable warmth in your chest when he nuzzles further into the couch, looking too smug for someone supposedly on death’s door.

"Okay," Satoru sighs, stretching out on the couch like a satisfied cat. "A cozy day inside, all cuddled up under the blankets, watching movies together—now this is exactly what I needed. The full experience."

Suguru pinches the bridge of his nose. "Don't say it."

Satoru grins. "With Mommy and Daddy."

Suguru looks ready to throw him off the couch, but Satoru just grabs your wrist and tugs. "C'mon, you too. You're part of the family."

You’re too tired to fight it. You settle onto the couch between them, and the moment you do, Satoru drags you under the blanket. Suguru follows reluctantly, muttering under his breath about how he never agreed to this, but he doesn’t push Satoru off.

Satoru ends up with his head on your lap, blinking up at you with those unfairly pretty eyes. "Mm, this is nice," he murmurs, nestling in. "Stroke my hair, sweetie."

"Excuse me?"

"I'm sick. I need comfort."

You hesitate. But then he shifts, cheek pressing against your thigh, his long lashes fluttering as he sighs contentedly. The warmth of him seeps into you, and even though you know he’s being a menace, you find yourself dragging your fingers through his soft, snowy hair.

He lets out the most sinful little hum of satisfaction, like you just did something downright filthy to him, and your stomach tightens. "Mm, yeah, just like that," he sighs, nuzzling closer. "Knew you'd be good with your hands."

Your fingers twitch in his hair. He’s so warm against you, his breath fanning against your sensitive skin, and you suddenly realize how intimate this is—how easy it is to touch him, how much he seems to melt under your hands.

You swallow, shifting slightly. "You're such a pain in the ass."

"Mm," he murmurs. "But you like me anyway."

Suguru shifts beside you, his arm wrapping around your shoulders in a slow, effortless pull. His fingers trace absentminded patterns against your arm, making it all the more difficult to ignore just how good it feels to be nestled between them like this.

"Alright, movie time," Suguru announces, voice low near your ear. "What are we watching?"

"Something soft and romantic," Satoru suggests instantly, eyes still half-lidded with that cocky grin of his. "Like—let's say, a slow-burning love triangle. Three very hot people, caught in a tangled little dance, each drawn to the other, but no one really sure who's gonna make the first move... you know, a slow, steamy romance that makes us all feel… closer, yeah?"

"Hm." You raise an eyebrow, the corner of your lips curling in curiosity. "And what kind of ending are we talking about here, Satoru?"

He smirks, his voice dropping low and teasing. "Oh, a very happy ending, of course. A steamy one. You know, where everyone gets exactly what they want." His grin widens as he watches your reaction.

Suguru snorts. "So, porn?"

Satoru grins up at you. "Only if you're into that, baby."

You roll your eyes and grab the remote before they can make it worse. The three of you bicker for a few minutes—Suguru wants a thriller, you want an action flick, and Satoru keeps making increasingly ridiculous suggestions until you finally settle on something neutral.

The movie starts, and Satoru doesn’t move an inch, his head heavy in your lap, letting out little hums whenever you so much as shift. Every now and then, his fingers ghost up your thigh, tracing idle patterns against your skin. He starts off innocently enough, but slowly, deliberately, he wanders higher, his touch featherlight and teasing.

When you shoot him a warning look, he just grins, unrepentant, before pressing a hot, lingering kiss against your inner thigh, his lips dangerously close to where the fabric of your shorts barely covers you.

Your breath hitches, and he smirks, triumphant. "Mmh, baby, you're so easy to mess with," he murmurs, voice low, teasing, a promise and a threat all at once. "So responsive."

"You're so easy to punch in the face," you shoot back, but your fingers are still tangled in his hair, still stroking, still indulging him, and he knows it. He presses another slow, open-mouthed kiss against your thigh, this one just a little wetter, a little bolder, letting his tongue barely graze your skin.

Suguru lets out a long, suffering sigh beside you, his arm still draped around your shoulders, fingers flexing against your bare skin like he’s debating whether to pull you away or let you fall further into whatever Satoru’s trying to start. "If you two are gonna start fucking, at least have the decency to do it somewhere else."

Satoru laughs, shameless, pressing his cheek against your thigh like he belongs there. "Nah. I'm comfy here. And I'm sick. She wouldn't deny a poor, helpless man some affection, would she?"

His fingers trail up your leg again and your stomach tightens, your breath stalls when he hooks one finger under the hem of your shorts and tugs—not enough to expose, but enough to let you feel his heat, his intent. His mouth is still dangerously close, his breath fanning against you, and he’s watching you, waiting for your reaction, waiting to see if you’ll stop him.

Suguru’s grip on your shoulder tightens. "Satoru."

"Mmm?" Satoru hums, unbothered, his fingers sliding higher, slow, lazy, deliberate. "Jealous, Suguru?"

Suguru’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t pull you away. Doesn’t stop this. "I think you're pushing it."

Satoru’s grin deepens. He’s testing you, like he always does, seeing how far he can push before you snap. But you don’t—not yet. You swallow hard, pulse hammering, trapped between heat and want and the weight of two gazes that burn. You should push him away. You should say something. But you don’t. And that’s all the encouragement Satoru needs.

"She's not even trying to stop me, though," he murmurs, his hot breath sending a wave of shivers up your spine. "What does that mean, hmm?"

You bite your lip, trying to steady your breath, but the way his fingers trail so casually across your skin, the way his lips hover dangerously close to you—it makes it impossible to think straight. The words barely leave your mouth, but you manage, voice tight with tension. "Yeah, you're definitely pushing it, Satoru."

He laughs softly, that infuriating, arrogant laugh of his that drives you insane. His fingers keep circling, teasing, and before you know it, his lips graze the soft skin just below your belly button. "Am I? Or maybe you're just enjoying this a little more than you're letting on."

Your pulse quickens, your breath unsteady. You glance at Suguru, but he doesn’t meet your eyes, his gaze locked on the screen, jaw clenched, like he's holding himself back from something. Maybe it’s the same thing you’re struggling with—wanting to say something, wanting to do something, but the pull between the two of them is too strong.

Satoru trails his fingers higher, slipping under the waistband of your shorts just enough to make you suck in a sharp breath. "Y'know, I could stop anytime," he teases, his voice low and steady. "But why would I when you're clearly not stopping me?"

It’s like a switch flicks inside you, your mind spinning between frustration and need. This time, you reach down, your fingers curling firmly around his wrist, halting him before he can go any further. "Stop," you say, your voice surprisingly steady. "I said no. Now, okay?"

Satoru freezes for a moment, his smirk still lingering but fading into something a little more teasing, a little more mischievous. He raises an eyebrow, the mock surprise in his eyes sending a surge of heat through you. "Oh? I thought we were on the same wavelength here, sweetheart."

You sigh, a mix of exhaustion and something deeper gnawing at you. "You're impossible," you mutter, still feeling the heat pooling low in your stomach. "Just watch the damn movie."

Satoru pouts dramatically, his usual cocky demeanor slipping slightly as he dramatically flops back with his cheek on your thigh. "I thought you liked it when I get... hands-on." His voice is sulky now, like a child who didn’t get their way.

You roll your eyes, fingers still running through his hair absentmindedly, trying to push down the heat building inside you. "You're delirious from the fever," you just murmur, trying to sound unaffected.

Satoru scoffs, his voice still thick with that playful arrogance. "I'm not," he insists, but the way he shifts slightly, easing back against your leg, makes you think otherwise. He doesn’t push it further, and after a few moments, you feel the tension start to ease, his teasing subsiding as he finally relaxes.

The movie plays on, but you're barely aware of it anymore. The warmth of their bodies against yours, the steady rhythm of your fingers through Satoru’s hair, it all feels so intense. You can’t focus on anything but the heat that’s coiling in your core, spreading slowly, making you feel like you’re about to burn up from the inside out.

Satoru’s breath evens out, his fever making him more pliable, his cocky attitude slipping into something more docile. It’s almost a relief. But that doesn’t stop the lingering tension in the room, the ache in your body, the fire burning through you. You’re still hyper-aware of every little touch, every shift, the way your pulse never quite slows down.

By the time the movie ends, you’re still absently stroking his hair, your fingers moving almost unconsciously over his scalp. You glance down at him to find him fast asleep, his body still hot from the fever, his breath deep and steady.

Suguru looks over at the two of you, his expression softening as he catches sight of Satoru’s relaxed state. "Guess he's out for the count," he murmurs, his tone a little amused but mostly relieved. "We should let him rest."

You nod. "Yeah, he needs it." You brush a lock of hair from his forehead, then lift your hand carefully, watching him for a moment longer. The temptation to stay close lingers, but you know he needs sleep more than anything else right now. "I'll cover him," you murmur, reaching for the blanket and draping it over his body gently.

Suguru watches you for a moment, his expression neutral but with a slight smirk tugging at his lips. "You're a real softie," he teases quietly.

You shoot him a look, lips twitching into a half-smile. "Don't need him turning into a bigger brat when he wakes up."

Chapter Text

Satoru finally knocks out halfway through the movie, sprawled across the couch like a crime scene outline—one arm over his face, mouth slightly open, those stupidly long legs taking up way too much space. His fever has him burning up, even in sleep, and despite all the whining and dramatics, you and Suguru make sure he’s tucked in tight, burying him under blankets and pressing a cool cloth to his forehead.

"God, he's insufferable even when he's unconscious," Suguru mutters, watching Satoru shift slightly, his lips parting with a little sigh. His hair is a mess against the couch cushions, cheeks still flushed with heat, but at least, for once—thank fucking god—he’s quiet.

You step back, stretching, finally able to breathe now that the human menace has shut up. "Alright. He's out. We're free."

Suguru smirks, already sliding an arm around your waist, guiding you to the bedroom. "C'mon. Let's go enjoy the peace while it lasts."

The moment you flop onto the bed, Suguru is already giving you that look—smug, amused, like he knows some shit and he’s about to say something you won’t like. You narrow your eyes. "Don't."

He just grins. "Don't what?"

"Whatever the fuck you're about to say."

Suguru hums, crawling onto the mattress beside you, one big hand finding your hip as he leans in, voice all smooth and taunting. "Just say it—you liked babying him."

You scoff. "The fuck I did."

"Oh yeah?" His fingers drag slow, teasing lines up your sides, pressing just enough to make you twitch. "You sure about that? 'Cause I saw the way you were looking at him, all soft, all doting—"

"Yeah, because he was literally dying."

"He has a cold."

"A fever."

"A fever from being a dumbass," Suguru corrects, nuzzling into your neck, lips brushing warm and soft against your skin. "And yet you still tucked him in, still stroked his hair, still let him rub all over you like a clingy little slut in heat—"

You exhale sharply, body still thrumming with leftover heat—the way Satoru’s lips had dragged slow over your thighs, the way his voice had dipped, low and thick, teasing just enough to leave you burning. And Suguru fucking knows. Of course he does.

He shifts, settling between your legs like he’s been waiting for it all night, big hands sliding up your bare thighs, parting them wide. "Bet you're still all worked up, huh?" he murmurs, nosing along your jaw. "Poor thing."

You grip his shoulders, half to steady yourself, half to keep from immediately flipping him over and taking what you need. "You're so fucking annoying."

"Mm, but you like me anyway," he throws back, all smug, all taunting, echoing Satoru’s words from earlier. His teeth graze your jaw, his smirk unmistakable. "Go on, kitten. Take it out on me."

And oh, you fucking will.

"You wanna talk shit, huh?" Your fingers twist into Suguru’s hair, tugging just enough to make him smirk against your skin. "Fine. It's your fault for bringing home a best friend who's too damn sexy and too damn clingy."

His breath stutters—just for a second, just barely—but you catch it. And you fucking revel in it.

"That so?" he muses, voice silk-smooth, but there’s an edge now, something sharp beneath the amusement. "Guess that means you got a lot of frustration to work through, huh?"

You don’t answer. You don’t need to. You just push him down, guiding him exactly where you want him, where you need him, and Suguru goes willingly. He lets you take what you want, lets you use him to burn off the heat still simmering in your skin.

His hands are strong, steady, the perfect mix of rough and teasing as he rips your shorts off, panties gone just as fast. His palms slide up your thighs, spreading them wider, fingertips pressing into soft flesh.

And then he sees. He groans, low and guttural. "Fuck, kitten," he purrs, the words a rough scrape against your skin. "You're so fucking wet."

His lips follow, pressing slow, teasing kisses along your inner thighs, chuckling at the way your breath catches. Your body betrays you, hips tilting, heat pooling hotter between your legs. His long fingers gripping just a little harder, his hot mouth lingering just a little longer, taking everything Satoru gave you and turning it up a notch.

"Good," you throw back, breathless but cocky, a challenge clear in your tone. "Then you can taste it."

Suguru fucking laughs, low and dirty, and the sound alone makes your body jolt with need. "Oh, I will," he promises, then he’s on you, kissing you like he’s trying to devour you, like he wants to drag every last moan out of your throat before even earning them. His mouth is hot, his hands rough where they grip your hips, keeping you exactly where he wants you. But it’s not enough. Your body screams for something more, something harder, something to match the pulsing ache between your legs.

You break away, panting, eyes locking onto his. A slow smirk curls your lips. "Now, who's the one that needs babying?"

Before he can get out some cocky reply, you shove him down, down, down, fingers tangled in his dark hair, pushing, guiding, forcing—until his face is flush against the wet heat of your drenched little pussy. His breath hitches, sharp, before his tongue darts out, licking the first slow, obscene stroke that makes your head tip back, a gasp of pure relief spilling from your lips.

"Fuck," you breathe, nails biting into his scalp.

Suguru groans, deep and low, the sound vibrating against your clit as he gets to work—teasing, tasting, making you squirm, mapping out every sensitive inch of your wet, swollen folds with sinful precision. He eats you like he’s starving, like he’s been waiting for this, like you’re the only thing that can possibly satisfy him. His hands grip your thighs, spreading you wider, keeping you open for him as he buries himself in you, tongue flicking, lips sucking, teeth grazing just enough to make your legs tremble.

And you watch him. Watch the way his dark eyes are hooded with hunger, the way he drinks you in like it’s his fucking job, like a man who's been denied water in the desert, the way he licks and sucks with purpose, his tongue dragging wet, messy circles around your clit, then dipping lower to taste every drop of slick you’re giving him.

You bite your lip hard to keep from screaming, fingers tightening in his hair. "Suguru—"

His mouth moves faster, rougher, tongue delving deep, nose pushing into your folds, teeth scraping gently against your sensitive flesh, heated breath sending shivers up your spine. You roll your hips, gripping a fistful of his hair and grinding down on his face, chasing more, chasing that edge, chasing your fucking release because he’s so good at this, too good at this—

You moan as he takes the hint, his mouth working faster, harder, making you quiver and whine like a needy little slut. It’s messy and sloppy and so, so good, the way he licks and sucks and nibbles, the way he worships you with his mouth like you’re some kind of fucking goddess and he’s just a mere mortal. You're shaking, your hips rolling up to meet him, urging him closer, harder, faster.

Suguru groans, the sound vibrating through his mouth and into your core, and you can feel yourself getting closer, the orgasm building like a storm in your chest, threatening to tear through you and leave you shuddering in its wake.

And then, just when you think you can’t take it anymore, just when you're about to come apart at the seams—he stops.

You almost whimper, your whole body strung tight with frustration, but when you look down, he’s smirking up at you, lips glossy with your slick. "You know what's really hot?" he purrs, his voice dark and amused, fingers digging into your thighs. "How much you fucking need it."

You growl, tugging his hair hard enough to make him hiss. "Shut up and lick me."

"What's the magic word?"

You glare, chest heaving, pulse hammering in your throat. "Fuck. You."

His laugh is rich, full of pure, smug enjoyment. "I'm waiting."

Your muscles tighten, your core throbbing, your body on the fucking edge, and he knows it. He’s playing you, stroking and retreating, building you up only to leave you trembling. He wants you to squirm, wants you to beg—

And fuck, you’re not above it. Not when you need it this bad.

So you do. You say it, you say, "Please," with all the desperation you're feeling, all the need coiled up inside you.

Suguru hums like he’s considering it, his tongue dragging one slow, torturous line up your slit. "Please what?"

You let out a desperate sound as you feel your orgasm retreat, your muscles clenching in frustration. Then you move—you swing your leg over, straddle him, press your soaked cunt right over his mouth, letting your weight settle on his tongue. His breath catches, hands gripping your ass, and you don’t wait—you grind against him, making him take you, making him fucking drown in it.

"Eat me out," you command, voice sharp, breathless. "And make me fucking cum."

Suguru’s smirk turns into a full-blown grin. "What a needy little kitten."

And just like that, he lets you have it—his mouth latches back onto your clit, sucking hard, his nose buried in your folds as you ride his face. His long fingers slide inside you, pumping in and out in a rhythm that's just right, finding that spot that makes you whimper. You grab at his hair, holding him in place as your body starts to shake, thighs twitching, hips rolling against his face like you can’t help yourself.

"Fuck, Suguru—" The words break on a gasp as he groans into you, the vibration shooting straight through your core. His fingers press harder, pumping in and out, stretching you, filling you, and his tongue is ruthless, messy, greedy as he eats you like he plans to leave you ruined.

Your whole body tightens, the pressure building sharp and hot in your gut. You’re shaking, gripping the sheets, gripping him, gripping anything as your orgasm hits like a violent wave, crashing over you in sharp, electric pulses that have you gasping, moaning, cursing his name like a prayer.

Your thighs clamp around his head, but Suguru doesn’t stop. If anything, he growls against you, tongue flicking faster, lips sucking harder, drinking every drop of you like he’s starving for it. By the time the last tremor leaves your body, you’re spent, panting, boneless.

"Fuck," you breathe, voice wrecked. You collapse forward, forehead pressing to the headboard as you try to remember how to exist. "You're so fucking good at that."

Suguru finally pulls away, slow, smug, licking his lips, his chin slick with your wetness. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, spreading the mess across his face like he fucking owns it, like he’s proud of it. And with the way he’s looking at you, all amused and dark-eyed, he might as well have just carved his name into your skin.

"Hmm," he hums, voice low, rich, arrogant. "Feel better?"

You peek down at him, body still trembling, but there’s a fire that hasn’t burned out yet—a deep, insatiable heat curling in your belly, a hunger that’s nowhere near satisfied. You shift your hips just a little, teasing, feeling the hard press of his cock beneath his pants, and you smirk.

"Much," you admit, running a lazy hand through his messy hair. "But I'm still so damn horny."

Suguru laughs, deep and dark, his hands sliding up your thighs, squeezing. He grips your hips and pulls you down onto his lap. "That so?" 

His thumbs knead slow circles into your skin, teasing, controlling, and when you roll your hips—just the slightest bit, just to test him—his jaw goes tight, a low, guttural groan escaping his throat. His cock is straining against the fabric between you, thick and hot, and when you do it again, a little more deliberate this time, his fingers dig into your skin, holding you still.  "Well, that's just fucking perfect."

You claim his mouth in a kiss that’s all tongue and heat, all filthy need and simmering impatience. His hips grind against yours from below, his hard cock rubbing just right, and you shudder at the feel of it, the promise of more. You moan against his mouth, your fingers tangling in his hair, tugging just enough to make him growl.

"You gonna do something about it?" you taunt, your lips brushing against his, tasting yourself on his tongue.

Suguru’s hands slide up your sides, over your ribs, slow, deliberate, until they reach your hair. He fists it at the roots and tugs, sharp and sudden, making you gasp. His smirk is sinful, curling at the edges, his breath hot against your lips.

"Oh, kitten," he breathes. "I'm gonna ruin you."

But before he can make good on that promise, you shove him back onto the bed, already yanking at his belt, your hands quick, impatient, ruthless. The second you get his pants down far enough, his cock springs free—thick, fat, flushed, glistening with precum, twitching in the open air like it’s been waiting for this just as desperately as you have.

Suguru’s breath stutters, his pupils blown wide, but the cocky smirk finds its way back onto his lips. "Impatient, aren't we?"

"Shut up," you mutter, rolling your hips down against him, letting the slick heat of your pussy drag along the aching length of his cock. You feel him shudder beneath you, feel his muscles go taut, and that’s all the reaction you need before you slide off him, shifting lower, your mouth already watering.

You don’t waste time. You dive in, tongue running slow and deliberate along the thick vein that throbs down his shaft, dragging from base to tip. You swirl your tongue around the swollen head, savoring the salty bead of precum that’s already waiting for you, and the groan that rips from his throat is nothing short of obscene. His whole body tenses, his hands flexing like he wants to grab your hair, wants to shove you down, but he’s waiting, watching, chest rising and falling in sharp, uneven breaths.

"You like that?" you purr against him, lips brushing over the sensitive skin, teasing him with soft, fleeting kisses. His cock twitches against your tongue, begging for more, and when you finally wrap your lips around the head and suck, his reaction is instant—his back arches, his abs tighten, and a strangled moan rumbles from deep in his chest.

His fingers fist in the sheets, knuckles going white. "Fuck, yes, kitten," he chokes out, voice wrecked, breathless. His thighs twitch, his whole body coiled tight.

You lock eyes with him as you take him deeper, your throat stretching to accommodate his size, your tongue pressing firm against the underside, tracing every ridge, every pulsing vein. His jaw clenches, his nostrils flare, his hands twitch like he’s fighting the urge to shove you down further. You hum around him, letting the vibration make his cock jerk against your tongue, and his hips buck up just slightly, like he can’t help himself.

You work him slow, deliberate, dragging your lips up and down his length, sucking just hard enough to make his breath stutter, to make his thighs tremble. Your teeth graze him, just the slightest scrape, and the sharp inhale he takes, the way his hips jolt up in response, sends a fresh wave of heat pooling between your thighs.

He groans—deep, raw, wrecked—the sound punching straight through your core, making your pussy clench around nothing, making you need him even more. You suck harder, cheeks hollowing as you take him deep, deeper, until he’s hitting the back of your throat. Your hands slide lower, cupping his heavy balls, rolling them gently in your palm, and the choked moan that escapes him is the most beautiful fucking thing you’ve ever heard.

"You're so fucking greedy," he rasps, gaze dark and heavy-lidded as he watches your other hand slip between your thighs. You slide two fingers inside your dripping, aching pussy, stretching yourself open, getting yourself ready for him.

You pull off his cock just enough to smirk up at him, lips slick, eyes glinting with mischief. "Isn't that what you love about me?"

Suguru groans, head tipping back against the pillows for just a second before his gaze finds yours again, burning, ravenous.

"Yeah," he admits, voice rough, wrecked. "It really fucking is."

You don’t just suck him—you worship him. Your mouth moves with hunger, with desperation, with the kind of greed that has him cursing under his breath, his hands flexing like he doesn’t know whether to yank you closer or push you away before he loses himself too fast.

You swallow around him, feeling him twitch, feeling him tremble with every slick, wet sound you make. And then you do it again—deeper, messier, letting spit drip down your chin, letting your lips stretch wide as you take him down to the base.

"You sucking me like that 'cause you want me that bad, kitten?" His voice is low, teasing, but there’s something sharper underneath. Something dark. "Or are you imagining someone else?"

Your lashes flutter, but you don’t stop, don’t slow down—if anything, you suck harder, dragging your tongue along his cock like you need him, like you can’t get enough.

He huffs a quiet laugh, his fingers threading into your hair, not pulling, just holding, just testing. "Yeah," he murmurs, watching you, reading you. "Bet I know who. Bet you've been dripping wet for him all fucking day."

Your stomach tightens, a fresh rush of heat flooding between your legs.

"Satoru."

The name lands like a punch to the gut, like a firework between your thighs. You whimper around Suguru’s cock, your pussy clenching at just the mention of him, and Suguru grins like he’s won something, like he’s just uncovered your filthiest little secret.

"That it, kitten?" His grip in your hair tightens just a little. "Been thinking about him all day? All week?"

Your breath stutters, your fingers digging into his thighs, but you don’t pull away, don’t deny it. If anything, your thighs squeeze together, desperate for friction.

"Come on, be a good girl and say it," Suguru murmurs, voice dripping with amusement, with something dangerously close to jealousy. "Tell me how bad you want him. How bad he's been teasing you. How wet he made you before I even got my hands on you."

Your eyes flutter closed, your body burning with shame and arousal, your mind flashing with every filthy memory—Satoru pressing close, his hands too familiar, too bold, his stupid, cocky smirk when he knew exactly what he was doing to you, his fat cock hanging right there out of the shower—

You pull off Suguru’s cock with a gasp, a slick string of spit connecting your lips to the head before snapping, and you swallow thickly, your chest rising and falling.

"He's been—" You suck in a sharp breath, your voice rough, wrecked. "He's been rubbing up against me every fucking chance he gets. Pressing that thick fucking bulge against my ass, grinding on me right before your eyes. And his hands—" Your breath shudders, your thighs pressing together. "He can't keep his fucking hands off me. Grabbing my hips, touching my waist, running his fingers up my thighs like he's just waiting for me to break."

Suguru hums, his smirk widening, his eyes glinting, dark and possessive. "And it worked, huh?" He tilts his head, watching the way you squirm. "You wanted him to bend you over and fuck you right there, didn't you? Wanted him to drag you into the nearest room and fill you up, stretch you out on his cock."

You whimper, eyes squeezing shut, your body on fire.

"Say it," he orders, voice low, dangerous. "Tell me how bad you wanted Satoru's fat cock splitting you open."

A shiver wracks through you, and the words slip out before you can stop them.

"So fucking bad," you whisper, raw, desperate. "Wanted him to fuck me stupid. Wanted him to throw me down and use me like a cock-drunk whore."

Suguru groans, something sharp flashing across his face—something hot, something wild—and then his grip in your hair tightens.

"Filthy little thing," he mutters, and before you can say another word, he yanks you down onto his cock, shoving himself back into your mouth, deep, fast, making you gag around him.

You barely have time to breathe before he starts fucking into you, holding your head in place as his hips thrust up, spearing into your throat, fucking your mouth raw. Your fingers dig into his thighs, your eyes watering, but you take it, moaning around him, the vibrations making him curse.

"That's it," he growls, voice rough, strained. "Suck me like you really wanted his cock. Make it messy, make it filthy, make me believe you were ready to get fucked stupid by him."

Your nails bite into his skin, your whole body shaking, your pussy dripping. He’s brutal, merciless, his cock hitting the back of your throat with every thrust, making you choke, making your lips stretch wide, drool pooling at the corners of your mouth, dripping down your chin.

Suguru groans, his head tipping back, his grip in your hair so tight it stings. "Fuck, look at you. Such a sloppy little thing. Gagging for me. Is this how you wanted to choke on his cock?"

Your throat clenches around him, and he groans, his hips snapping up harder, faster, dragging you down until your nose presses against his pelvis.

"Bet you'd let him ruin you," he pants, abs tensing, jaw clenched. "Bet you'd let him stretch that needy little pussy of yours until you were dripping with his cum, hmm?"

A muffled, desperate moan rips from your throat, your body trembling, your pussy aching, your mind spinning.

Suguru curses, grip tightening, cock throbbing. "Fuck—gonna cum," he grits out, his voice breaking, his rhythm stuttering. "Swallow it, kitten. Be a good girl and fucking take it."

And then he’s cumming, thick and hot, spilling down your throat as he holds you there, makes you take it, makes you drink him down like you were fucking made for it.

Chapter Text

Suguru groans, his hips pressing up, his grip tightening in your hair as he spills down your throat, hot and thick. He holds you there, making you take it, forcing you to swallow every last drop as his cock twitches between your lips. You gasp when he finally lets go, your breath coming in ragged, messy pants, your mind still reeling from the way he made you admit everything—how badly you wanted Satoru, how much he’d riled you up, how you’d fantasized about choking on his cock.

And yet… despite the sharp edge of jealousy in his voice, despite the way he’d made you confess, Suguru looks anything but angry. In fact, his dark eyes gleam with something that makes your stomach tighten, something that shouldn't turn you on more than it already has—but fuck, it does.

He grabs your chin, tilting your face up to his, his lips crashing against yours in a deep, searing kiss. His tongue slides into your mouth, curling against yours, and you can taste him, his own cum lingering between your lips. He groans into you, kissing you harder, hungrier, like he’s savoring the way he’s marked you from the inside out.

Your fingers clutch at his thighs, your body still trembling, but your mind lags behind, struggling to process what the fuck just happened. Is he really turned on by this? You’d expected some possessive, territorial display, maybe even for him to fuck you raw into the mattress just to remind you exactly who you belonged to—but this? The way he’s kissing you, like he’s reveling in the fantasy just as much as you are?

A shiver rolls down your spine, and you feel your pulse throb between your legs, the realization hitting you like a truck.

But before you can even begin to make sense of it, a groggy, slurred voice cuts through the heat between you.

"The fuck are you guys doing?"

Your heart drops straight into your stomach. Your head snaps up so fast it almost gives you whiplash. Satoru’s voice is coming from right outside the door.

Oh fuck. You’re still sprawled across Suguru’s lap, your ass bare, because—yeah, your fucking shorts are somewhere, but definitely not on you. And Suguru? His pants are still halfway down his hips, his cock just barely hidden by his waistband, looking completely unbothered, his chest rising and falling in lazy amusement.

"Don't fucking come in!" you yell, lunging off of Suguru and scrambling to grab your clothes.

There’s a dramatic thud against the door, and you can hear the pout in Satoru’s voice. "Why not? What are you two—"

"Shut up!" You wrestle your shorts back on at record speed, hands fumbling, legs barely cooperating. Suguru, the absolute bastard, takes his sweet-ass time adjusting his pants, stretching his arms above his head like he’s completely relaxed while you’re out here panicking.

"You're acting suspicious," Satoru accuses, his voice still sluggish with sleep, but carrying just enough amusement to make your eye twitch.

You yank your shirt into place, take a breath, and try to not sound completely guilty. "You're acting annoying."

He pushes the door anyways and just stands there, tousle-haired and half-lidded with fever. His shirt is loose, slipping off one shoulder, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips, and even though his usual cocky smirk is nowhere to be seen, his sharp blue eyes flicker with something suspicious, something vaguely annoyed. He rubs at one eye with the heel of his palm, like he’s still half-asleep, but there’s no mistaking the mild pout tugging at his lips.

"You disappeared," he mumbles, voice rough with sleep and congestion. "I wake up sick as shit, and you're out here having fun without me?"

Suguru doesn’t look remotely guilty. In fact, the bastard has the audacity to smirk, wiping his thumb across your lips, smearing spit and whatever’s left of him across your mouth like a brand. He meets your gaze, dark eyes glinting, challenging. What now? he seems to say.

You swallow, gripping his thigh a little tighter before tearing your gaze away and forcing your expression into something neutral. "How do you feel?" you ask Satoru, your voice a little too bright, a little too forced.

Predictably, he pouts harder, immediately switching into full dramatics. "Like absolute shit," he groans, staggering toward you with all the grace of a man on his deathbed. "I woke up alone, neglected, burning up with fever, abandoned by the two people who are supposed to care about me the most." His voice drips with accusation, but there’s a teasing lilt buried beneath it, something sharper than just feigned offense. His fingers twitch, like he’s considering reaching out to you before he settles on crossing his arms instead, looking you up and down. 

"And meanwhile, you two—" he flicks his fingers vaguely between you and Suguru, his nose scrunching like he’s just smelled something foul— "—are being fucking gross in the middle of the day."

You roll your eyes, sighing as you peel yourself off Suguru’s lap and cross the room to meet him. "You were sleeping," you point out, pressing the back of your hand against his forehead. His skin is still burning hot, heat curling against your palm like an open flame. "And you're still ridiculously warm."

Not that he gives a single shit. He just hums, head tilting just slightly—then, before you can react, he leans in. His nose drags against the side of your throat, and the shift in proximity has your breath catching.

You stiffen. "Satoru—"

He inhales.

Then he pulls back, just enough to meet your gaze, and the corner of his lips twitches. His voice drops into something lower, something smug and knowing and absolutely fucking unbearable.

"You reek of sex."

Your mouth opens, then snaps shut. Heat prickles at your ears, at the back of your neck. You shift your weight, which is a fucking mistake, because it just reminds you how messy you are between your legs—how Suguru’s cum still clings to your tongue, how your shorts stick to your skin, damp with arousal.

"You're—" You huff, jaw tightening. "You're being dramatic."

Satoru blinks at you, lashes fluttering with a mock innocence that is so unbelievably fake you want to slap him. "Am I?" His voice is a slow drawl, his body tilting toward yours again, his breath ghosting over your cheek. "Because I can smell you. And him. And all the fucking filthy things you two were just doing." His grin turns lazy, almost drowsy with amusement, his fever making his usual sharpness hazy but not dulling it completely. "Wanna let me guess?"

Your eyes dart to Suguru, but that’s a mistake too, because he’s just watching. Not helping, not bailing you out, just fucking watching, sprawled out on the bed like he’s got nowhere else to be, a slow smirk tugging at his lips. He hasn’t even bothered to pull his pants back up, the barest hint of his cock still visible, still spent, and yeah, okay, you get it—Satoru isn’t wrong. But that’s not the point.

"How about we focus on the fact that you're still burning up with fever?" you say, grabbing his wrist and tugging him toward the bed with more force than necessary. "Or should I just let you drop dead instead?"

Satoru gasps, pressing a hand to his chest, "You'd let me die? After everything we've been through?"

"I'm considering it."

But he just grins, letting himself be dragged toward the mattress. And then, the moment you shove him down onto it, he latches onto you, looping both arms around your waist and hauling you in with him.

"Satoru—!"

"Nope," he hums, pulling Suguru in next, his long limbs tangling with both of yours as he burrows in between you. His fever is like a furnace against your skin, but his body still relaxes the second he’s pressed against you, tension leaking from his shoulders like this is exactly what he needed all along. "I've decided I need to be babied. Both of you are on cuddle duty now. No complaints."

Suguru chuckles. He leans in, one arm braced against the pillows, his body angled toward yours, dark eyes hooded, thoughtful. His free hand trails up your side, deliberate and slow. "He's just gonna whine until we do it anyway."

"Exactly," Satoru mumbles into your neck, breath warm against your skin. "So you might as well make it good."

Satoru makes himself comfortable with zero shame, which is typical, really. His arms loop around your waist, dragging you deeper into his warmth as he sprawls out, long legs tangling with yours like he has no plans of letting you go, broad chest pressing against your back. He’s still burning up, feverish and restless, but it doesn’t stop him from burrowing into you, his nose nuzzling against the slope of your neck, his breath hot and damp against your skin. Even though he’s still annoyingly smug about the whole thing, there’s something genuine about the way he clings.

"Mmh," he hums, shifting just enough to slot himself even closer, fingers skimming under the hem of your shirt, tracing lazy patterns against your bare skin. "Yeah, this is more like it. This is what I deserved from the start."

"You deserved to be abandoned," you correct flatly, but you don’t push him off, relaxing into his touch instead. You should, maybe—you should put some space between your bodies because this is way too much heat, way too much of Satoru’s weight pressing into you, way too much of his scent filling your lungs. You should remind him that he’s feverish and clingy and impossibly insufferable—but you don’t. Because Satoru is always like this, tactile and greedy, taking what he wants without hesitation, and some sick part of you likes the way he does it. Likes how easy it is for him to wrap himself around you like he belongs there.

His fingers tighten at your waist, like he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

"Wow," he murmurs, lips grazing your collarbone as he exhales. "Heartless. Do you treat Suguru like this? Or just me?"

You scowl. "Suguru doesn't act like a spoiled house cat with abandonment issues."

"That's a lie. He purrs when you touch him. I've heard it."

"Oh, fuck off—"

But Suguru laughs. You twist your head to look at him. He’s been quiet this whole time, his body relaxed against the pillows, but his gaze? It’s sharp. Dark eyes flicking between you and Satoru, cataloging every little movement, every little reaction, and the weight of his attention is fucking withering. 

Your stomach flips.

Because you still haven’t figured it out.

That thing that just happened—the fantasy—that’s what it was, right? Something indulgent, something primal, something meant to be contained within the walls of a locked bedroom and forgotten after the heat of the moment had passed. That’s what you tell yourself.

But Suguru doesn’t look like he’s forgotten anything. He’s watching you with that look, all lazy amusement and quiet consideration, like he’s weighing something in his mind. Like maybe it wasn’t just a one-time thing. Like maybe he’s thinking about it.

And Satoru, oblivious as he pretends to be, notices.

"You're so tense," he hums against your skin, smooth and teasing. His hands slide up beneath your shirt, palms dragging against your bare waist, pressing into the dip of it like he’s soothing you, like he’s trying to coax you into relaxing. "A little guilty, maybe?"

You bristle. "Of what?"

His lips brush your throat, the faintest ghost of a kiss, and your pulse kicks up against his mouth. He exhales slow, nosing at the line of your jaw, nuzzling in like he’s getting comfortable. "I mean," he drawls, "I know exactly what it sounds like when you cum. And if I hadn't been running a fever, I probably would've woken up to it."

Your entire body goes rigid.

Suguru chuckles, low and entertained. He shifts, casual and lazy, a hand dragging up your thigh. His long fingers slip just beneath the hem of your shorts, and your breath stutters, because—fuck—this is not the kind of touch that belongs in a post-fantasy moment. This is something else.

Your eyes snap to his, searching. What are you doing?

But Suguru just fucking smirks.

"Oh, don't stop now," Satoru laughs, breath burning against your neck, fingers flexing at your waist. Then he tilts his head, pressing a kiss just below your ear, soft and fleeting, but enough to send a shiver rolling down your spine.

"You smell like him," he purrs, nudging his nose against the curve of your jaw, inhaling like he’s committing it to memory. "Like both of you. All over each other. Hmm—go on, sweetie. Tell me all about how you two spent your afternoon. Bet it was real sweet, huh?"

Suguru hums, his hand tightening slightly where it rests on your thigh.

"Sweet?" he repeats, amused. "That's not exactly the word I'd use."

Satoru tilts his head, still grinning against your skin.

"No?" he muses. "Then what would you call it?"

Suguru doesn’t answer right away.

His fingers tap against your thigh, lazy and thoughtful, his smirk lingering like he’s savoring the way you stiffen under Satoru’s teasing. He’s still leaning into you, still warm, still there, his hand resting a little too high to be decent, his eyes half-lidded and knowing.

You swallow. 

Because Suguru isn’t letting you off the hook.

And Satoru? Oh, Satoru is thriving.

"Not sweet, huh?" Satoru hums, his voice dipping, honey-smooth and laced with amusement. His lips are still ghosting over your neck, teasing, warm and lingering like he likes the way you shudder when he speaks. "Then what was it, baby?"

His hands tighten at your waist, fingers flexing—just for a second—just enough to make you feel it before he moves. Before he rolls his hips forward, slow, controlled, pressing himself against you—

—against your ass.

Heat floods your body. Because fuck, he’s hard. He’s so hard.

A strangled sound catches in your throat. Satoru grins.

"Ahh," he drawls, pushing in just a little more, his breath hitching the slightest bit when the friction hits just right. His voice dips lower, teasing, smug. "Not sweet, then. Rough?"

Suguru laughs. Low, indulgent.

"Yeah," he says, tilting his head, considering, fingers tracing slow circles against your thigh like he’s reminiscing. "Rough seems about right."

And fuck, that does not help.

Your thighs clench.

Because they’re both looking at you now—Suguru with that deep, lazy amusement, his fingers still pressing into your leg, still there, still reminding you of every single thing he did to you just minutes ago—and Satoru, all teasing purrs and shameless grinds, testing you, playing with you, eyes lidded and hungry.

"Huh," Satoru muses, pressing closer, his nose brushing the shell of your ear, his tone as light as if he’s discussing the weather. "Didn't know you liked it a little rough, princess."

"Satoru—"

"No, no, I get it." He rocks against you again, letting you feel it, the shape of him, the heat, the weight, and fuck, you’re dizzy. "You like it when it's a little messy, huh? A little desperate?"

Your stomach plummets. Your body betrays you. A tiny, tiny whimper catches in your throat, and the second it does—the second it fucking does—Satoru’s grin sharpens.

"Ohhh," he purrs. And then he fucks himself against you, a slow, deep rut, a deliberate grind of his fat cock against the curve of your ass, and fuck, you feel everything, feel the heat, the twitch, the slow, teasing drag that sends sparks shooting through your nerves—

"Yeah," Satoru murmurs, voice syrupy and pleased, like he’s having the time of his life. His fingers tighten at your waist, nails digging in, his breath ragged against your skin. "Yeah, I knew you liked it like that."

Suguru just watches you break—his eyes are dark, studying, testing, drinking in the way your breath stutters, the way your fingers clutch at the sheets like you need something to ground yourself.

And then, casual as anything, he moves too. Not a lot. Just enough. Just enough to shift closer, his hand dragging up, up, up, until his fingers brush against the hem of your shorts, teasing at the waistband.

Your thighs clench. And Satoru laughs, pleased as fuck.

"What's wrong, sweetie?" he taunts, voice light and dangerous. "You were all talk earlier. Where'd all that attitude go?"

"Nnnh—"

"Ohh, you're so wet, aren't you?" he moans, dramatic and obnoxious, rocking against you again, making sure you feel him, making sure you know exactly how much he’s enjoying this. "Bet it's fucking dripping, huh? Soaking through your shorts, making a mess of Suguru's hand—"

"Shut up—"

He bites you.

Not hard. Not really. But it’s a sharp, teasing scrape of teeth at the side of your throat, and your body jolts, a choked, pitiful noise slipping out before you can stop it—

Your brain is fucked.

Like, genuinely. Fucked.

Because Satoru is still grinding against you, and Suguru is still watching, their hands still resting on your hypersensitive skin, warm and heavy and casual—like this is normal. Like none of this means anything.

And that is the part that’s really messing with you. Because you don’t know what this means. Not really. Your stomach twists. You can’t tell. Suguru’s expression is frustratingly amused. But detached. Like this is all just casual, just fun, just this thing they do. Like you’re the weird one for overthinking it.

"Suguru—" your voice is quiet, uncertain, like maybe if you say his name, he’ll give you something. Some kind of tell. Some kind of answer.

But he just smirks. "Yeah?"

Fuck. 

You swallow. His hand shifts, slow, deliberate. Not up. Not down. Just there. Casual. Like it’s nothing. Like this—his hot best friend pressing into you, grinding his hard cock against your ass, Suguru’s hand teasing your thighs, the fucking arousal that’s leaking from your aching core—is nothing. Like none of it matters.

You’re spiraling.

"What are you—"

"Hm? Relax," Suguru murmurs, dragging his fingers up your inner thigh, slow and lazy, then tracing the curve of your hip, so close but still not quite crossing the line. "It's just a little cuddling, kitten."

Just cuddling.

Your pulse stutters. Because what the fuck.

Like you don’t feel Satoru’s cock straining against you, like Suguru’s touch isn’t setting your skin on fire, like your entire body isn’t trembling from how fucking turned-on you are—like none of that is even happening.

Like it’s all in your head.

"That's not—"

"Shhh." Suguru leans in, voice dipping low, smooth and pleased. "You're thinking too hard about it, baby."

And oh fuck, that’s gaslighting. That’s actual, textbook fucking gaslighting, and it’s working because your mind is reeling, caught between how intensely you’re feeling all of this and how fucking calm Suguru is acting about it. Like you’re the only one freaking out.

Satoru, though—Satoru is drunk on this.

He’s still grinding, still teasing, still mouthing at your neck like he’s in heaven—but he’s also watching. Soaking it all in.

"Ohhh," he purrs, lips curling against your skin. "Suguru, you're such a dick."

Suguru laughs.

And that’s when you fucking snap.

"I need a second."

You shove at Satoru—enough to move him, to make him let go, and before either of them can react, you’re off the bed. Out of the room.

Your legs are shaking. Your head is spinning.

By the time you reach the bathroom, your breath is ragged, your thighs clenched tight because—fuck, you’re so wet, and you hate it.

You turn the faucet on. Cold water bursts from the sink, and you don’t even hesitate before cupping your hands under it, bringing it to your face, letting the shock of it hit you.

It helps. Not a lot. But enough.

Enough to make you breathe. Enough to make you remember who the fuck you are.

You grip the edge of the sink, water dripping from your chin, heart pounding so loud you swear you can hear it echo in the small space. You meet your reflection. Your cheeks are flushed. Lips kiss-bruised. Pupils blown wide. Like you just got wrecked.

And Suguru? Suguru just smirked at you and called it cuddling.

Chapter Text

By the time you drag yourself out of the bathroom, you feel marginally more human.

Your skin is still warm, your stomach still coiled tight, and yeah, the mess between your legs is still very much a problem—but at least your head isn’t spinning anymore. At least you can think. Sort of.

You don’t know how long you were in there. Fifteen minutes? Twenty? Long enough for the ice-cold water to do something. Long enough for you to tell yourself that you’re just gonna go back to the room, sleep, and deal with all this bullshit tomorrow.

When you finally push the door open and step back into the bedroom, the air is heavy with the kind of warmth that lingers when a body’s been lying in the same spot for a while. The lights are off, the only glow coming from the soft blue of Suguru’s phone screen.

Satoru is out. Sprawled across your side of the bed, on his stomach, arm flung dramatically over a pillow, one leg bent like he was mid-crawl when his body gave up on him. He’s breathing deep and slow, silver hair a mess over his face, the flush from his fever still painting his cheekbones.

Suguru is sitting up against the headboard, scrolling.

And you? You’re still standing in the doorway, pulse thrumming beneath your skin like an echo of everything that just happened.

Suguru glances up at you. And then he smirks.

Not much. Just a little flicker of amusement before he goes back to his phone, like he was expecting you to take that long, like he knew you’d come back still looking a little wrecked.

You exhale slowly through your nose and step closer to the bed, keeping your voice low.

"We should move him," you murmur, nodding at Satoru’s deadweight of a body.

Suguru hums noncommittally. "He's sick."

You frown. "And?"

"And he can stay here tonight," Suguru says simply, still not looking away from his screen. "It's fine."

You chew the inside of your cheek. It’s not fine.

Because your head is still a fucking mess, and Satoru is half the reason why, and you don’t know if you can spend the night with him right there, radiating heat like a fucking space heater, shifting and murmuring and probably grinding against whatever’s closest because he’s Satoru.

But arguing means waking him up, and you do not have the energy for that. So instead, you take a breath. And then another. 

And yet—you meet Suguru’s gaze and say, "What the fuck was that?"

His brows lift, all mock innocence. "That?"

You resist the urge to throw something at him. "Yes, that."

He hums. Thoughtful. Casual. Annoying as fuck. Then, the bastard has the audacity to tilt his head like he doesn’t have a single fucking clue what you’re talking about. "Hmm. You're gonna have to be a little more specific, kitten."

Oh, fuck off.

Your jaw tightens, nails digging into your palms as you try not to scream. "You know what I'm talking about."

"Do I?"

"Suguru—"

He chuckles under his breath, locking his phone and setting it aside before turning to face you fully. "Come on, kitten," he drawls, "you know how Satoru is."

Oh. Oh, you hate this. That does not answer the question. 

Your jaw tightens as your frustration spikes, a white-hot flare in your chest, burning away any last remnants of patience you might’ve had. "Yeah? Well, your best friend spent all fucking evening grinding his hard-on against my ass, biting my fucking neck, and whispering about how I was probably soaking through my panties—"

Suguru snorts. Actually fucking snorts. Like this is all some joke.

"Oh, please. He likes you," he says, so casual it makes you insane. He waves a lazy hand, leaning back against the headboard. "He gets clingy. Touchy. And he's got a fever, so he's even more delirious than usual."

You blink at him. Once. Twice. Brain buffering at the sheer absurdity of what he just said.

"Suguru."

He exhales slowly through his nose, something teasing curling at the edges of his lips. "Satoru's always been handsy—"

"That was not just ‘handsy’!" you snap. "He was grinding his dick against my ass, Suguru. Right in front of you—and you were just smirking through the whole thing."

"Exactly," he just shrugs. His lips twitch, like he’s fighting a grin. "It's not that deep. We were just cuddling."

Your brain short-circuits. Oh, you could kill him. "Just cuddling?" you echo, voice shrill. 

"Mm."

"Are you fucking serious?"

"What else would you call it?"

"I don't fucking know—foreplay? Some weird mind game? A goddamn setup—"

Suguru hums, gaze dipping, fingers drumming absently against his thigh. "Setup for what?"

Oh, fuck this. 

Your pulse hammers in your throat, frustration thick in your veins, mingling with something else—something sticky, something that makes your stomach twist in ways you don’t want to acknowledge.

So you try again. Slower. More carefully.

"Suguru." You level him with a look, forcing your voice even. "Are you planning something?"

He blinks, lips curving into something lazy. "Planning?"

Your chest tightens. "You know what I mean."

A beat—and then he smiles. That slow, infuriating thing that makes you want to slap him and want to fuck him at the same damn time. "You think too much, baby."

Oh, you’re losing your fucking mind. He’s gaslighting you. You know he is.

And yet—you hate how much it turns you on.

So instead of arguing, instead of giving him the satisfaction of seeing you spiral any further, you just huff, lips pressing into a thin line as you climb onto the bed, body still buzzing with frustration and every other fucking feeling you don’t want to process right now.

"You're cute when you're flustered."

You swear your eye twitches. "Oh, fuck you."

Satoru groans in his sleep as you shove at him, grumbling something incoherent before rolling closer to the edge, leaving you in the middle, Suguru at your back.

And just as you settle, just as you start to pull the blanket over yourself, Suguru leans in, voice dropping to a whisper against your ear.

"You really think Satoru was the only one hard?"

Oh, you are going to fucking die.

-------------------

That night—you don’t sleep.

Not even for a second. Not even close.

Because the second you let yourself relax, the second you try to sink into the sheets and convince yourself you could just ignore everything—that this isn’t the worst idea in the history of bad ideas—you let out half a breath. So obviously, Satoru fucking moves.

Not a little twitch. Not a lazy shift. Not something subtle you could just brush off.

No, he rolls right over in his sleep like he owns the damn bed—like he owns you—and wraps himself around your body, chest to your back, thigh wedging itself between yours, one long arm slinging heavy over your waist with absolutely zero hesitation, zero fucking regard for personal space. Like it’s his right. Like you belong there. Like you’re some kind of personal pillow designed specifically for him.

And the worst part? He’s hot.

Like actual human furnace levels of heat, burning through the flimsy fabric of your babydoll, seeping into your skin, making it impossible to ignore his stupid perfect body settling right against you, the broad, solid press of his chest, the slow rise and fall of his breath against your neck, the way his stupid soft hair tickles your jaw.

You try to stay still. You try to pretend this isn’t a big deal.

And then he moves again.

A slow, unconscious shift—his knee pressing just that little bit harder against you, just a little bit higher between your thighs, his fingers flexing against your stomach, bare skin on bare skin, his breath dipping lower, warm and damp against the curve of your throat.

And then, because your life is a joke, he murmurs—low, rough, sleep-thick, mouth brushing your pulse point. "Mmh… bet you're soaking, huh?"

Your soul leaves your body. What the fuck is he dreaming about?

Your breath stutters, your fingers twitch, your whole body going rigid as a fresh wave of burning-hot rage and something else tears through you. You barely have time to process any of it before you feel another shift.

Not Satoru. Suguru.

Who, at some point, had apparently decided to make this worse—because now he’s behind you, arm draped slow and heavy over your shoulders, body warm and solid at your back, breath steady against your hair.

And you? You’re losing your entire fucking mind.

Every second, every slow inhale, every unconscious movement, every lazy flex of fingers, every accidental brush of skin has you teetering on the brink of insanity, nerves frayed, pulse hammering, frustration curling tight in the pit of your stomach with nowhere to go.

Satoru shifts again. His knee presses.

Suguru exhales.

Satoru’s fingers twitch, brushing lower—a ghost of a touch beneath your babydoll.

Suguru’s grip tightens on your shoulder. A slow, absent flex of his fingers.

It would be so easy—so stupidly easy—to just give in. To turn your head, let your lips brush against Suguru’s jaw, let your hips shift, let Satoru really press his dick against you, let this mess spiral into something even worse.

But you don’t. Because you have self-control.

Or at least, that’s what you keep telling yourself as you lie there, stiff and aching, overstimulated by absolutely nothing.

So instead of sleeping, instead of doing anything useful, you just suffer. Tense. Overheating.

Every inch of your body buzzing with frustration and heat, aching from holding yourself still, from refusing to acknowledge the way Satoru keeps shifting in his sleep, the way Suguru moves, the way every little fucking thing sends another pulse of unbearable tension straight to your pussy.

It’s hell. It’s agony. It’s the worst fucking night of your life.

And then—morning comes.

The first thing you feel is movement. Satoru stretching, a lazy shift of muscle and heat, his body pressing even closer for a second before he peels himself off you with a deep, satisfied sigh—like he just had the best fucking night of his life.

And you—you are wrecked. Absolutely ruined.

Your brain feels like static. Your body feels like lead. Your entire existence feels like it’s been wrung out and left to dry. And the worst part? Satoru is fine.

No fever. No sluggishness. No hint of the sick, delirious mess he’d been last night. Just fresh as a fucking daisy, stretching and yawning like he’s stepping out of a spa day.

He blinks down at you, grinning. The smuggest, most insufferable fucking grin you’ve ever seen in your life.

"Mornin', baby," he chirps. Bright. Cheerful. Like he didn’t just spend the night torturing you.

And then—then he has the audacity to say—"Sleep well?"

You are going to kill him. 

You do not answer him. Not at first. Not while your brain is still trying to catch up to reality—to the fact that you just spent the worst fucking night of your life sandwiched between these two menaces, that you didn’t sleep for a single second, that your body feels like it’s been set on fire and left to burn for hours.

And especially not while you’re looking right at it. 

Because oh. Oh. That’s—

You don’t mean to look. You really don’t. But when Satoru stretches again, back arching like some fucking lazy cat, arms reaching over his head, sheets slipping just low enough to reveal a sliver of bare hip—your gaze drops before you can stop it.

And that’s when you see it.

The very real, very obvious, very fucking hard problem straining against the front of his sweats. 

Thick. Heavy. Tent pitched high and proud, like it has no shame whatsoever, like it knows exactly what it’s doing, like it wants to be looked at.

And just when you think that this is bad, it gets worse.

Because that’s when Suguru shifts beside you, dragging a slow, sleepy hand down his face, letting out a low, gravelly sigh that sounds like sin, the sheets dipping as he rolls onto his back. And of course your traitorous eyes flick toward him, and of course—

Fuck.

Because he’s the same.

No, worse.

Where Satoru’s sweats at least try to hide something, Suguru’s do the opposite, the fabric clinging obscenely, outlining every thick inch of him in a way that makes your throat go dry, that makes heat spike up your spine, that makes your stomach tighten with a deep, visceral awareness.

And just when you think, okay, just don’t react, just don’t fucking react, Satoru laughs. A slow, low chuckle—like he’s just caught you.

"See somethin' you like, sweetheart?"

Your soul leaves your body.

Your head snaps up, heat rushing to your face so fast it burns, mouth opening and closing in horror as Satoru props himself up on one elbow, grin wide and wolfish, looking so obnoxiously pleased that you want to murder him.

Suguru makes a noise beside you—something deep and amused, something that makes your stomach tighten—but you refuse to look at him, refuse to acknowledge the way he stretches out, slow and lazy, arms sliding behind his head, making his entire perfect body shift beneath the sheets, the whole motion obscene in ways that make your skin prickle.

You need to get out of here. You need to get out of this fucking bed.

"Satoru," you snap, voice just barely stable, desperate for a distraction, any kind of distraction. "You— you seem fine."

He blinks at you. And then, to your absolute fury, his smirk widens.

"Yeah, actually," he says, stretching his arms out again, slow and languid, the motion making the dip of his waist shift just enough to draw your attention before you forcefully rip your gaze back up. "Best sleep I've had in ages."

Your eye twitches.

"You don't remember anything?" you say, suspicious now, narrowing your eyes at him.

He tilts his head. Blinks again. And then, the most innocent fucking look crosses his face, all soft confusion and zero recollection, like he has no idea what you’re talking about.

"Hm?" he hums.

You stare at him.

He stares back.

And then, like some fucking demon, he lifts a hand and rubs at his eyes, voice dipping into that perfect, sleepy mumble as he says, "Was I really that bad?"

You clench your jaw so hard you might break a tooth. Because there is no fucking way. No fucking way he doesn’t remember. No fucking way he isn’t at least a little aware of the fact that he spent half the night wrapped around you like a goddamn boa constrictor, murmuring filthy things in his sleep, heat sinking into your skin, driving you absolutely insane.

But he just blinks at you. Wide-eyed. Curious. Like he genuinely doesn’t know. Or—

Or is he faking?

Is this some kind of sick, twisted game? Is he just messing with you? Is Suguru in on it too?

Your stomach twists at the thought, gaze darting to Suguru—who is now watching you with a slow, lazy grin, like he knows something you don’t, like he can see every single thought racing through your head, like he’s just waiting to see what you’ll do next.

You need to get out of this bed. Immediately. Because between Satoru’s way too innocent expression and Suguru’s slow, amused stare, you are hanging on by a thread.

Your body is still humming from a night of restless tension, heat still curling low in your stomach, fingers twitching against the sheets like they’re desperate for something to grab onto, and you refuse to let them.

You need food. A distraction. Something normal.

"I'm hungry," you announce, abrupt, throwing the covers off and swinging your legs over the side of the bed.

Or at least—you try to. Because the second you move, they move.

Two sets of hands—one quick, one slow—grabbing at your waist, fingers curling firm, tugging you right back down before you can even process what’s happening.

"Oh, princess," Satoru purrs, low and syrup-sweet, breath tickling your ear as he presses up behind you, chest warm against your back. "Us too."

Suguru makes a soft sound beside you—something like a hum, something deep and dangerous, something that sends a slow thrill down your spine.

"Yeah," he muses, fingers dragging slow up your inner thigh, lazy and absentminded, like he isn’t even thinking about it, like it’s just natural for him to touch you like this in front of someone else. "Starving, actually."

Your stomach flips. Your pulse spikes.

"I—" You clear your throat, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your neck, trying to focus, trying to think about literally anything other than how they feel pressed against you. Because at this point you know they’re just messing with you. "I meant, like. Breakfast. In the kitchen."

Satoru makes a noise—a little hum, thoughtful and mocking, head tilting as he grins.

"Mm, dunno, sweetheart." He stretches behind you, arms wrapping loosely around your waist, his breath warm against your shoulder. "I think I like this spot just fine."

Suguru chuckles. Low. Deep. Like he knows exactly what Satoru’s doing. Like he’s going to play along.

And oh, you are so screwed.

"Besides," Suguru says, voice dipping, velvety and smooth, fingers tracing lazy patterns against your skin, "who says breakfast has to be in the kitchen?"

Satoru hums again, softer this time, closer, his mouth brushing the shell of your ear, sending a full-body shiver down your spine.

"Yeah, princess," he murmurs, voice all teasing heat, "we could just eat right here."

Your brain short-circuits. Because you know what they’re doing. You know they’re playing with you, know they’re pushing your buttons, know they’re both horrible fucking menaces who thrive on this kind of thing.

But your body? Your traitorous, useless body?

It doesn’t care. Not when Satoru’s stupid mouth is this close, not when Suguru’s fucking fingers are right there, close to where you need them the most, not when you’re still so fucking wet from the whole night, every nerve still buzzing, every inch of you still aching from trying so hard to ignore them.

You inhale sharply, forcing yourself to move, forcing yourself to snap out of it. "No."

And then you shove them off. 

Or at least, you try. Because Satoru? Satoru just laughs, loud and shameless, arms locking tight around your waist as he flops back onto the mattress, dragging you with him, grinning like a fucking idiot.

"Aw, c'mon, baby." He pouts, bottom lip pushing out, blue eyes sparkling with delight. "Don't be mean."

"You're both the worst," you hiss, squirming, desperate to get away, but he just tightens his grip, holding you right where he wants you, smirk sharp and smug as you struggle.

Suguru, to your absolute fury, just watches. Like he’s enjoying the show, like he’s waiting to see how much worse this will get.

"Let go," you snap, wriggling, trying to shove Satoru’s arms off, but he just grins, stretching obscenely, making a big show of keeping you there, the hard press of his body making everything so much worse. And then, to your absolute horror, he leans in close.

"Only if you ask nicely," he murmurs, voice all low and sweet, lips just barely brushing your cheek.

You glare at him. Hard. "I don't know if I hate you more when you're sick or when you're healthy," you sigh, shoving him. "Get off me, perv."

He yelps, arms loosening just enough for you to yank yourself free, scrambling off the bed so fast you nearly trip over yourself, feet hitting the floor with a sharp thud as you make a beeline for the door.

Behind you, they laugh. They fucking laugh. 

Soft, slow chuckles from Suguru, rich and deep, like he’s savoring the whole damn thing. Loud, delighted cackling from Satoru, absolutely unrepentant, like he thinks this is the funniest shit in the world.

You grip the doorknob hard, heartbeat hammering in your skull, hands clenched at your sides as you fight the overwhelming urge to turn around and—

And what? 

Slap them? Fuck them?

Both?

"Fuck both of you," you growl, voice tight, furious, still shaking from too much heat and not enough sleep.

Satoru, the menace, singsongs back, "You wish, princess."

You slam the door.

And outside, as you stomp toward the kitchen, you can still hear them laughing, voices warm and wicked, like they know.

Like they know exactly what they’re doing to you.

Chapter Text

Morning comes slow and lazy, the kind of morning that lingers, stretching out into the late hours because no one’s in a rush. Which, honestly, is probably for the best, considering that you’re running on exactly zero hours of sleep and approximately infinite hours of being edged into a state of near-insanity.

Your body is aching from exhaustion, from the sheer fucking torture of being sandwiched between those two, trapped in a mess of heat and limbs and teasing touches that never went anywhere—except straight to your damn core. Your mind is still foggy with the weight of no sleep and too much pent-up frustration. But at least one of you is feeling fucking fantastic.

Satoru, fresh as a fucking daisy, is back to draping himself all over you at every opportunity, arms slung over your shoulders, chin hooked over your head, shamelessly leeching your warmth like he wasn’t a feverish, delirious mess less than twenty-four hours ago. He’s not just better—he’s glowing, practically bouncing, stretching his long limbs like he’s had the best rest of his entire damn life. And of course, he’s only in the loose drawstring pants of his pajamas, hanging low on his hips, leaving way too much of his stupidly perfect torso on display. Defined abs, toned arms, smooth, pale skin that catches the morning light just right. He’s all lean muscle and long lines, looking every bit like a fucking painting, and the worst part? He knows it.

So does Suguru.

Because Suguru, still moving slow and indulgent like a jungle cat, is just as shirtless, just as perfect. Unlike Satoru’s sharp elegance, he’s broader, heavier, his muscles thick and defined under golden skin, long, sexy hair still a little messy from sleep. His pajama pants hang just as low, teasing just as much, the waistband dipping dangerously whenever he stretches or shifts in his seat, and the lazy little smirk he gives you every time he catches you looking makes you want to strangle him. Or maybe climb him like a fucking tree.

It’s too early for this. Or maybe too late. Either way, you hate them both.

And they don’t make it any better, because the second you sit down for breakfast—well, brunch, really—Satoru is right there, pressed up against your side, stealing bites off your plate like it’s his by right.

"You know, I had the best sleep of my life last night," he hums, voice low and content as he stretches again, arms going up over his head, making his abs flex, his V-line dip lower, like he’s doing it on purpose. Which, knowing him, he is.

You glare at him. "Oh, really?"

Suguru snorts, stirring his coffee lazily, watching the two of you with an amused glint in his eyes. "Must've been the fever."

You resist the urge to stab something.

Satoru just grins, tilting his head at you as he watches you attempt to butter a slice of toast with all the grace of a zombie. "What about you, princess? You look exhausted."

"Wow, thank you for that brilliant observation," you deadpan, scowling at your food. "Wonder why."

"Dunno," Satoru hums, arms tightening around you as he nuzzles right into your neck, voice dropping into something light and teasing. "Maybe you just had trouble sleeping?"

You stiffen. Oh, he’s playing dumb. You shove a forkful of food into your mouth so you don’t say something that’ll only encourage them. You need fuel. Energy. You need to recover from whatever the fuck last night was and move on.

Satoru sighs dramatically. "You should've said something, sweetheart. We could've—"

"Finish that sentence and I will actually stab you with this butter knife," you cut in, tone deadly.

He laughs, loud and delighted, and Suguru just shakes his head, like he’s watching something mildly entertaining instead of your slow descent into madness.

Despite the absolute shitshow of a night you’ve had, brunch turns out surprisingly nice. Warm sunlight filters through the curtains, the scent of coffee and fresh fruit fills the air, and even though Satoru refuses to detach himself from you for more than a second, there’s something almost… easy about the whole thing. The kind of slow, lazy morning that makes it feel like you belong here, like this is really normal, like this isn’t the most chaotic situation of your entire life.

Which is exactly why you should’ve known better than to let your guard down.

Because the second you actually start to relax—the second you think maybe these two will actually behave for once—

—Satoru disappears.

You notice it too late, blinking as the absence of his weight registers. Suguru doesn’t even look up, completely unbothered as he scrolls through his phone, which means this is normal, which means you are the only one out of the loop, which means—

"Where did he—"

And then, from the direction of your bedroom, you hear it.

"Ohhh, baby, what is this?"

Your stomach drops.

You move fast, nearly tripping over your own feet as you rush down the hall, because you already know. You know it’s something bad. Something humiliating. Something—

—Something that makes you want to commit a crime.

Because there, in the middle of your room, standing in front of your open closet, is Satoru.

Holding a bikini.

And not just any bikini. Oh no. It’s that bikini. The one you bought on a whim because it made you feel damn hot—barely more than a few scraps of fabric and strings, something that has no business existing outside of a private villa with absolutely no one else around.

And now it’s dangling from Satoru’s fingers, bright against his pale skin, held up by the strings like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.

"This is cuuute," he muses, turning it over in his hands like he’s appraising the stitching, like he’s not an absolute menace about to ruin your entire life. "Really cute. Adorable. This—this is what you're wearing today."

You choke. "Excuse me?"

Suguru leans against the doorframe, looking entirely too entertained. "Now what's he found?"

"This adorable little thing," Satoru sing-songs, shaking the offending garment in your direction with a grin that should be illegal. "What d'you say, Suguru? Don't you think our girl should wear this today?"

Suguru takes one look at it and huffs a laugh. "Bold choice."

Satoru nods sagely. "I do have impeccable taste."

"You have no shame," Suguru corrects, smirking.

He grins wider. "That too."

You snatch the bikini from his hands, glaring. "Where the hell do you think I'm wearing this?"

Satoru’s grin is all teeth. "The hot springs, duh."

You blink.

You blink again.

"What."

"The hot springs," he repeats, slow, like you’re stupid. "Y'know, big steaming pools of mineral-rich water, usually involving minimal clothing, very relaxing, perfect for soaking your poor, sore muscles after a long, hard night—"

"I know what hot springs are," you hiss. "I meant why—"

"Because I wanna see you in this," he interrupts, all innocence, blue eyes wide and guileless. "And I feel great now, so obviously we should go out and do something fun. And what's more fun than getting half-naked and wet together?"

Suguru hums, tilting his head. "It does sound nice."

Satoru nods. "Right? Relaxing. Healing. Very traditional." Then he looks back at you, gaze dropping to the bikini in your hands, before he adds, "And with that? Fucking perfect."

You cross your arms, bikini crumpling in your grip. "I am not wearing this to the hot springs."

Satoru pouts. "Why not? You'd look so cute."

Suguru chuckles. "Cute's not the word I'd use."

Your stomach does something stupid. Annoying. Like a flip or a twist or some other traitorous bullshit. You scowl. "I hate both of you."

Satoru gasps. "And yet you love torturing yourself by keeping us around. Interesting."

You consider murder. Deeply. But then—you look at them. At Satoru’s bright, relentless grin, at Suguru’s warm, easy amusement, at the way they just—

They just are. Completely unbothered, like they belong in your space, like they aren’t making your life a thousand times more complicated, like they know you’re just going to say yes.

And the worst part? They’re right.

Because you do want to go. And you do want to wear that bikini. And you do want to see what happens when you do.

So you sigh, loud and dramatic. "Fine," you say, pointing a finger in Satoru’s face. "But if you get handsy, I'm drowning you in the hot springs."

Satoru’s grin turns downright wicked. "Looking forward to it, baby."

-------------------

You sigh, long and deep, staring at your reflection in the mirror of the changing room, hands braced on the counter like you need the support.

How the fuck did they talk you into this? Standing there now, staring at yourself in this barely there bikini, it’s clear that this was the worst decision of your life.

Or maybe the best.

Because you look good. No—fuck that—you look dangerous.

The bikini is an insult to modesty, if not outright defying the very concept of clothing. The top is two pathetic triangles of fabric, held together by strings so thin they might as well be dental floss. It barely—barely—covers your nipples, and the deep plunge makes your tits look unreal, pushed up like a fucking offering. The bottoms are even worse. A minuscule scrap of fabric at the front, an even smaller one at the back, the strings riding scandalously high on your hips, making your legs look long, your waist tiny, and your ass like a fucking crime scene.

You shift, turning slightly, watching the way the curve of your hip leads into the ridiculous swell of your backside. This bikini isn’t just revealing—it’s weaponized. No sane person would willingly wear this in front of—

Your core clenches. 

Oh. 

Oh, so that’s why you said yes.

You exhale through your nose, ignoring the heat pooling low in your belly, the slight, unbearable throb between your thighs. You should be horrified at the idea of walking out there in this. You should be throwing on the nearest towel and running for the hills.

But you’re not.

Because deep down—under the pretense of hesitation, under the self-preservation instincts screaming at you that this is a terrible fucking idea—you’re excited.

Your mouth is already dry at the thought of Satoru’s reaction.

That sharp inhale he’ll take. The way his grin will go from playful to feral in an instant. The heat that will darken his too-pretty eyes, the way they’ll drag over you slowly, drinking you in like a fucking miracle.

And Suguru—fuck. Suguru will be the problem. Because he won’t grin, won’t tease—no, he’ll just look. He’ll hold your gaze like he knows exactly what you’re thinking, exactly why you’re standing here gripping the counter, why your thighs are pressed together like you’re trying to stop something.

You grip the edge of the sink harder, exhaling shakily. This is so stupid. And yet.

You step back, tilting your head, giving yourself one last once-over in the mirror.

Fuck it. If you’re going to make a bad decision, you might as well commit.

You step out of the changing room with an entirely necessary towel wrapped tight around you, gripping the edge like your life depends on it. Because it probably does. And then you see them.

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

It’s almost offensive how good they look.

Suguru is lounging against the wooden railing, arms crossed, exuding that effortless, lazy confidence that makes him unbearably attractive. His swimsuit—black, of course, because he has taste—is sitting low on his hips, the sharp V of his abs disappearing beneath the waistband in a way that makes you clench your teeth. His body is all hard muscle and smooth skin, every inch of him looking like he was sculpted to ruin lives—your life, specifically.

And then there’s Satoru.

This menace is standing with one hand on his hip, the other raking through his snowy hair, every flex of his torso making his abs shift in an obscene, show-offy way like he’s posing for a damn photoshoot. His swimsuit is a joke. A tiny little thing, white with some ridiculous blue pattern, so fucking tight that there’s absolutely nowhere for his ridiculous bulge to hide. And damn does it not even try. 

You force yourself to look away from that particular problem before you do something stupid—like openly stare, or worse, adjust the towel higher to cover how your thighs just clenched together.

Satoru grins, tilting his head. "Why're you wrapped up like a little burrito, princess?"

"Because I like burritos," you snap back, tightening your grip.

Suguru chuckles, stepping closer, his gaze warm and knowing. "C'mon, pretty girl. Show us."

You hesitate. Just for a second. Because fuck, the way Suguru is looking at you, like he already knows exactly how fucking dangerous you look under this towel—it makes your stomach flip, makes the heat between your thighs throb just a little harder.

And Satoru? He’s vibrating. Practically salivating.

You swallow. Take a deep breath. And then—you let the towel drop.

And the reaction is immediate.

Suguru smirks. Full-on, dark-eyed, devastatingly slow. His gaze drags over every inch of your body, taking his time, savoring it, like he’s enjoying the way your thighs press together, the way your breath catches just slightly under the weight of his attention. Then he exhales a quiet, appreciative hum. "Damn," he murmurs, tilting his head. "Now that's a fucking sight."

Satoru, on the other hand—

"Jesus fucking Christ."

His reaction is so fucking ridiculous that, for a second, you think he might actually drop to his knees in sheer worship. 

His mouth actually drops open. Like, gapes. His head falls back, one big, dramatic hand running down his face like he’s just been personally victimized by how hot you look. "Holy shit. Are you kidding me?" he demands, eyes snapping back to you, dragging over you like he doesn’t know where to look first. "What the actual fuck is this? Where the hell has this been my whole life? Suguru, are you seeing this?"

Suguru lets out a quiet chuckle. He’s savoring this, relishing it. "Oh, I see it."

But Satoru? He’s in crisis mode. "You let her wear this?" he accuses, pointing at Suguru like he’s just committed a federal crime. "Out in public?"

Suguru just smirks, reaching out to slide a warm, heavy hand down your spine. "Why wouldn't I?" he murmurs, voice possessive but amused. "She's mine. I like showing off what's mine."

You swallow hard. Because fuck, the way he says it, the weight of those words curling around you—no. Focus.

You roll your eyes, even as heat pricks your skin. "Oh, please, Satoru. You forced me into this thing!" 

"Forced?" He echoes, scandalized. Then he laughs, nudging Suguru with his elbow. "You hear that? She's blaming me for her own crimes. Sweetheart, I simply encouraged you to embrace your full potential. And god, did you exceed expectations. I mean—" He whistles low, stepping closer, tilting his head as he blatantly eyes you up and down. "I knew you'd look good, but this? This is illegal. This should be illegal."

Suguru exhales a slow breath, eyes flicking from Satoru to you, then down your body again. "That should be illegal," he repeats, chuckling.

"Fucking finally, something we can all agree on." 

Suguru hums in agreement, his gaze heavier, more indulgent than Satoru’s theatrics. "Mmh. Dangerous. If I weren't here, he'd be on his knees already."

"I still might be!"

You huff, shifting your weight, crossing your arms over your barely-covered chest in a pathetic attempt at shielding yourself from their very obvious, very shameless attention. "Are we getting in the water or are you two just gonna stand there and drool?"

Satoru immediately wipes his mouth, as if to literally check if he’s actually drooling. And by the way his brows shoot up—he fucking is.

"Oh my god," you mutter, already turning towards the steaming water, desperate to escape their burning stares—

But before you can take a step, Satoru snatches your wrist, tugging you back toward him. "Nuh-uh, sweetheart, not so fast." His voice is silk and sin, laced with something dangerous. "Gimme a spin."

You blink at him, incredulous. "What?"

He grins, too wide, too satisfied. "C'mon, lemme see all of it." His fingers toy with your wrist, featherlight, but there’s a barely restrained hunger in his touch, in the way his other hand ghosts over your hip, teasing the thin strap of your bikini bottom. "You owe me, baby. I handpicked this look, and I'd like to fully appreciate my work."

Suguru hums, eyes hooded, dragging a lazy gaze down your legs. "He does have a point."

Your face burns, but the heat rushing through your veins isn’t just embarrassment—it’s something darker, something wanting. Because fuck, the way they’re both looking at you—like you’re something precious and obscene all at once—

Maybe it’s a terrible idea, but you let out a sharp exhale, snatch your wrist from Satoru’s grip, and give them a quick, sharp twirl—

And that is when all hell breaks loose.

Satoru makes a choked sound, somewhere between a groan and a laugh, running a hand through his hair like he’s physically struggling to hold himself back. "Yeah, no, I actually think I'm in pain right now. This is unfair. What the hell," he says, voice rough, eyes pinned to the way the bikini barely covers your ass. "This is a targeted attack."

Suguru, on the other hand, has gone terrifyingly quiet—his tongue running slow over his bottom lip, jaw tight, fingers flexing at his sides like he’s tempted to just grab you, bend you over and fuck you right there.

Satoru recovers first, smirking as he steps in closer, one hand trailing up your waist, the other ghosting over your hip. "Y'know," he drawls, voice dipped in mischief, "if you didn't wanna make me fall to my knees, you really shouldn't have worn this."

You scowl, shoving at his chest, playing unimpressed, though the way his fingers linger at your hip makes your core fucking twitch. "Oh my god, just get in the water before I actually kill you both."

But as you step toward the steaming pools, you hear Satoru mutter under his breath, "Swear to god, if she bends over, I'm gonna fucking lose it."

And you do not turn back to see their reactions when you very deliberately sway your hips on the way in.

Chapter Text

The heat hits you first—thick, sultry steam curling in the air, wrapping around you as soon as you step into the hot spring. The stone edges are warm under your bare feet, and the water, crystal clear but darkened by the depth, swirls invitingly. It’s quiet, save for the distant murmur of other guests further off, but here, in this private little corner, it's just you and them.

You know they’re watching.

Even before you step into the water, you can feel their eyes on you—burning, searing, following every slow, deliberate sway of your hips as you sink into the steamy pool. The warmth engulfs you, a shiver running down your spine, but it’s not from the temperature. No, it’s the thrill, the anticipation, the weight of their stares pressing against your skin like a touch.

You smile to yourself, stretching your arms along the rocks at the edge, letting the heat seep into your muscles. Letting them look. You can practically hear Satoru’s dramatic gasp behind you, and sure enough—

"Fucking hell." His voice is almost reverent, but still dripping with that signature Satoru disbelief, like he’s just been personally attacked by your existence. "Are you—do you even understand what you look like right now?"

A chuckle rumbles low from Suguru, and then the sound of water shifting—movement. A slow, measured approach. "She knows," he muses, voice rich with amusement, thick like honey. "She's enjoying this."

You tilt your head, glancing at them over your shoulder just in time to catch the way they step into the water—slow, unhurried, muscles flexing, the steam clinging to their skin, droplets tracing down sculpted abs and broad shoulders like something out of a thirst trap. And their trunks—god. Clinging low on their hips, wet fabric molding against their bulges in a way that leaves nothing to the imagination.

They look unfair. Like some kind of divine punishment crafted specifically to ruin you.

And you? You’re reveling in it.

"You think so?" you muse, tilting your chin up just slightly and stretching languidly, letting the water lap higher against your chest, the tiny scraps of fabric barely covering you shifting and clinging to your curves. You offer a slow, honeyed smile. "Maybe a little."

Satoru snorts, making his way toward you with long, lazy strides, like he’s already decided that you’re not getting away. "You little minx. After all that fuss, you're loving this, huh? Teasing us?"

You bite your lip, all wide-eyed innocence. "Mm, maybe. Feels fair, considering how much you two love teasing me."

Satoru makes a low sound in his throat—half a groan, half a laugh—shaking his head like he can’t believe you right now. His big hands are on your waist before you can even think about slipping away, long fingers curling around your slick skin, pulling you in just enough to make it clear you’re not going anywhere unless he says so. 

"You're so fucking cruel, baby," he whines, all dramatic, like he’s truly suffering. His gaze drags over you, eating up every inviting inch, drinking in the way the water makes your soft skin glisten, the way your slutty little swimsuit clings. "Looking like this. Making us suffer. This is a crime against humanity."

You arch a brow, lips twitching. "Is it?"

"Yeah. Because look at you," he continues, voice slipping lower, rougher, as his fingers ghost over your waist, skimming against your ribs. "How the hell am I supposed to behave when you're sitting here looking like that?"

You suck in a breath, tilting your head just slightly. "Who said you had to behave?"

Suguru chuckles. His hand slides up your spine, slow and deliberate, fingers tracing your ribs before settling low, right on your ass. His palm is broad, warm, the contact smooth but firm.

"Let her have her fun," he muses, watching you with dark, knowing eyes. "She likes the attention."

You smile sweetly. "You're not wrong."

Satoru groans again, his grip tightening as his head falls back. "I swear to god—" He exhales sharply, looking back down at you with something new in his gaze, something sharper, more impatient. "You wanna play, sweetheart? You really wanna test me?"

You hum, slow, shifting just enough that Satoru’s fingers dig in tighter at your waist and Suguru’s palm drags lower on your ass. "What if I do?"

Suguru chuckles again, this time softer, more indulgent. "Then we might have a problem."

But before either of them can do anything about it—before they can flip the game on you, before Satoru gets any ideas about throwing you over his shoulder, before Suguru decides he’s done letting you tease—you slip out of their grasp, wading through the water with slow, deliberate steps. You make sure they get the perfect view as you go, hips swaying just a little extra, water gliding down your bare skin like something out of a wet dream.

"Hold that thought," you toss over your shoulder, voice smooth as silk, amused. "I'm getting a drink."

You don’t have to turn around to know they’re staring, eating you alive. You can feel it, the hunger of their gazes trailing along your bare skin, the way their conversation dies out for just a second too long.

The bar is tucked along the edge of the springs, a smooth, polished counter lined with glowing lanterns built right into the water. You lean forward against it, stretching slightly and arching your back, knowing exactly how that must look from behind. And you swear you hear a curse from somewhere behind you.

A few moments later, they’re beside you again, moving in on either side, both still looking far too pleased with themselves—but there’s a raw hunger in their eyes now, something darker, more intent.

You order something light and refreshing, sweet on the tongue. Satoru, being Satoru, gets the most ridiculous drink on the menu—bright, colorful, garnished with an entire wedge of pineapple skewered on the rim. Suguru keeps it classic—something dark and strong, the kind of drink that burns on the way down.

You raise an eyebrow as Satoru takes a sip through the ridiculous curly straw, his lips wrapping around it like it's the most natural thing in the world. "Seriously?"

He flashes you a grin, unbothered and smug as ever. "What? It's delicious."

Suguru snorts, shaking his head as he swirls the liquor in his glass. "You do realize that's basically a piña colada in disguise, right?"

Satoru gasps, hand flying to his chest. "First of all—how dare you? Second of all—so what? You're just mad I have the superior drink."

You pluck the tiny paper umbrella from his glass, twirling it between your fingers. "You're literally sipping a beach cocktail through a curly straw like some rich housewife on vacation."

Satoru narrows his eyes at you, leaning in just slightly. "Careful, sweetheart. You're looking real cocky for someone in your position."

You don’t back down. You just hum as you take your time swirling your own drink before wrapping your lips around the straw—slow, deliberate, never breaking eye contact. You make a show of it, lips parting just a little too much, tongue flicking against the tip before you pull back, catching a stray drop with the swipe of your tongue.

Suguru shifts beside you, just barely, but you feel it—the way his gaze lingers, the way his fingers ghost over your thigh under the water, warm, firm, teasing. "You're playing a dangerous game, kitten."

You tilt your head. "Am I?"

Satoru exhales, sharp and audible, before taking a long sip from his ridiculous drink as he watches you, watches Suguru. His tongue swipes over his bottom lip like he’s already thinking about things he shouldn’t.

Suguru chuckles, shaking his head as he drags his fingers up the side of your leg. "Yeah," he muses, tilting his glass. "You definitely are."

You hum, unbothered. And then you reach out, plucking the fat, juicy wedge of pineapple straight off the rim of Satoru’s glass. His eyes flick to your fingers, but he doesn’t stop you. 

You bring it to your lips, taking a slow, indulgent bite. The juice drips sweet onto your tongue, sticky and ripe—but the real satisfaction comes from the way Satoru immediately bristles, sucking in a dramatic gasp like you’ve just committed a heinous crime.

"Are you serious right now?" he demands, looking personally offended. "That was my pineapple!"

You smirk around your bite, chewing slow just to drag it out, before sticking your tongue out at him. "Oh, boohoo," you mock. "Cry about it."

His eyes flash, and then his grin spreads—lazy, dangerous. "Oh, sure, sure," he says, head tilting, voice turning smooth as silk. "Take whatever you want, sweetheart." A pause. Then, lower, smug and all-knowing— "Just remember—I like taking bites too."

The words barely have time to settle before a firm hand wraps around your wrist.

Not Satoru’s.

Suguru’s.

Before you even have time to react you’re yanked straight into his lap, no effort at all. Your drink nearly spills as your thighs spread over his, heat radiating from his body, from the firm press of his chest against yours. His hands settle on your ass, big palms cupping you shamelessly, fingers digging in, holding you there, keeping you close.

"Too bad," he murmurs in a low, sinful drawl, lips grazing the shell of your ear. His breath is hot, teasing, full of promises he fully intends to keep. "Because I think I'll be the one taking a bite."

And then—his mouth is on you.

Wet, deep, fucking relentless.

He kisses you like he’s making a point, like he’s claiming you right then and there, tongue sliding past your lips in a kiss so deep, so hungry, it knocks the breath right out of you. Your mind is dizzy from the way he pulls you down onto him—strong hands gripping your ass, dragging you flush against his lap—and a sinful moan bubbles in your throat.

You feel him. His dick. Every thick, throbbing inch pressing right against you through your soaked swimsuit, the heat searing even through the fabric. A sharp gasp escapes you, but Suguru swallows it, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, to take even more.

It’s obscene. The way he kisses you, the way he groans low in his throat, the way his fingers dig into the curve of your ass as he grinds you down against him. The friction sends shivers licking up your spine, makes your thighs tighten around his hips, your pussy clench into nothing. You can’t help it—the way your body reacts, the needy little whimper that slips out as his cock throbs right against your folds—

"Fuck," Suguru mutters against your lips, voice rough, strained. He pulls back just enough to catch his breath, but not enough to let you go. His forehead presses against yours. "You feel that, kitten?" His voice is a purr, dark and full of something filthy. His fingers flex against your skin, pulling you impossibly closer. A smirk. "That's what you do to me."

And when he finally pulls away, just barely, you’re breathless, lips slick, chest rising and falling against his. But he’s not done. His mouth moves lower, tracing down your jaw, down the column of your throat, and then—

Teeth.

A sharp nip right over your pulse, followed by the soothing drag of his tongue, breath so damn hot against your damp skin. His fingers flex against your ass, squeezing, dragging you even closer. His cock twitches beneath you, pressing right up against where you’re already so fucking soaked. He knows it too—you can tell by the way he smirks against your skin, by the low chuckle that rumbles from his chest.

A groan—loud, exasperated, suffering—erupts from beside you.

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me."

Satoru sounds wrecked, like he’s barely keeping it together, and when you glance over, yeah—he looks it, too. Fingers white-knuckling his stupid drink, lips parted, tongue swiping over them like he’s trying to refocus, but his blown-out eyes are glued to Suguru’s hands still gripping you, his mouth still dragging slow, lazy kisses against your throat.

Suguru hums, smug as ever, licking over the fresh mark he just left before locking eyes with him. "What?"

Satoru scoffs, downs the rest of his drink like it’ll help, then slams the glass down at the edge of the pool. "You know what? Yeah, actually," he huffs, voice sharp, but his eyes—god, his eyes—are fucking starving. "This is bullshit. If you get to have a bite, so do I."

Suguru just chuckles against your skin, his grip on your ass flexing as he kneads shamelessly. "She's not a fucking snack, Satoru."

"Yeah? Then why the hell are you eating her like one?"

Heat licks up your spine at his words, something tight and needy curling low as his frustration leaks through. He sounds like he’s suffering, like he’s barely holding back, and it’s almost cruel how much that turns you on.

You bite your lip, reaching for him with one hand, fingers grazing up his arm, teasing. "You really wanna taste that bad?"

His jaw twitches. Pupils blown. "Don't test me, sweetheart."

Suguru hums, completely unbothered. "That's not how this works, and you know it."

Satoru glares. "Then how the fuck does it work, huh?"

Suguru acts like he’s considering it for a second, then, just to be a dick, he sinks his teeth into your neck again, biting down slow and deep, making you jolt in his lap. One hand slides up from your ass, groping your tit like he owns it.

The moan you let out is all breathless, unfiltered, thighs squeezing tight around him as his cock presses thick and heavy right against your soaked swimsuit.

"Well," Suguru muses. "If you're that frustrated, you could always go take care of it yourself, y'know."

Satoru blinks. Stares. Then gapes. Then narrows his eyes, lips parting like he might argue, but nothing comes out at first. He looks between you—breathless, flushed, grinding down on Suguru’s lap—and Suguru himself, utterly smug as he licks over the fresh bite marks on your skin.

"You're fucking joking."

Suguru’s fingers toy with the edge of your swimsuit, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. "Not even a little."

You let out a shaky breath, barely holding back a moan when Suguru squeezes tighter around your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers. Your brain is foggy, drowning in sensation, pleasure sparking at every little touch.

"S-Suguru," you murmur, half-teasing, half-breathless. "Aren't you going a little overboard?"

His lips curve into something almost possessive as he kisses the edge of your jaw. "What's wrong, kitten? You're my girl, aren't you? Nothing wrong with me playing with what's mine."

You shudder, body tingling at his words, mind spinning—but Satoru groans, dragging a hand down his face and whining like an impatient child. "You're disgusting, Suguru. I wanna have fun too!"

Suguru exhales through his nose, amused. "Fine. But only this." He lifts his head, pinning Satoru with a lazy stare. "You can bite… her shoulder. That's it."

Satoru squints. "Shoulder?"

"Shoulder."

A beat of silence. Then Satoru grins. "Deal."

He’s on you immediately, like he’s been waiting for the green light all damn day. Warm hands skim up your arms from behind, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring every sweet inch of skin under his fingertips. But he’s taking his time, just to fuck with you, just to make you want.

His touch ghosts over your collarbones, teasing down, fingers barely grazing the soft curve of your breasts before they settle at your throat. He lingers, pressing the heat of his palm there, testing. Daring you to react.

Then his fingers tighten—just a little. Just enough.

The pressure is dizzying—your lips part on instinct, pulse jumping right beneath his hand. And fuck, he knows it, because his smirk deepens, his grip tightening just enough to make your head spin. And then—

His teeth sink in.

Sharp. Deliberate. A little mean. 

The sting shoots straight to your pussy, heat curling low and fast, and the moan that spills from your lips is downright filthy. Satoru holds it, his bite firm and claiming, like he wants to leave a mark that won’t fade for days. His tongue flicks over the fresh imprint, soothing, savoring, before dragging slow and wet over your pulse.

But he doesn’t stop there.

No—he presses deeper, mouth trailing up your throat, open-mouthed kisses that are hot and wet and dangerous. Each one makes your pulse stutter, each one sends another shiver straight down your spine. He’s not stopping. He’s not even pretending to listen to Suguru’s limits anymore.

"Satoru," you exhale, trying to sound warning, but it comes out shaky, needy.

He just laughs against your skin. Smug. Unbothered.

"What?" His voice is a breath against your throat, all teasing arrogance. "Suguru never said I had to stay put."

Suguru chuckles, his fingers flexing against your ass and your breast, gripping as he watches Satoru push his luck. "You're such a fucking menace," he mutters. But there’s no real bite to it—just indulgence. Just satisfaction. Just the thrill of watching you writhe, helpless, caught between them, between their mouths, their hands, their heat.

Satoru grins, dragging his lips up to your ear, his breath hot as he murmurs, "You love it."

And fuck—he’s right.

You don’t even realize you’re doing it until it’s too late—until your hips are moving in a slow, needy roll against Suguru’s dick, the thick, heavy press of him straining against his swimsuit, solid and so fucking there. And behind you? Fuck. Satoru’s heat is searing through you, his cock pressing hot and huge against the curve of your ass, rock-hard and demanding.

It’s too much. It’s not enough. Your body can’t figure out what it wants more.

A helpless, breathy moan slips out before you can stop it, your head tilting back against Satoru’s shoulder, arching into Suguru’s touch like you need him, like you need them both. Suguru’s grip shifts, fingers teasing up your ribs, palm slipping beneath your top—and then he’s cupping your breast, thumb rolling over your nipple, slow and lazy.

Satoru scoffs, but his voice is rough, strained. "Oh yeah? That how it works?" His fingers dig into your waist, holding you right against him, as he rolls his hips forward—slow, deep—dragging his cock against your ass in a way that makes your brain short-circuit.

You keen, soft and wrecked, body aching, desperate. Suguru just hums, pinching your nipple between his fingers just to hear the sound you make, just to remind you who’s in control. "That's exactly how it works."

His head tilts, dark eyes flicking between Satoru and the dazed, helpless expression on your face, his smirk stretching lazy, smug. Indulgent.

"You good, kitten?"

You try to focus, try to be sharp, try to tease him back, but your head is foggy, drowning in heat, in sensation, in them.

"Suguru—" you manage, swallowing thickly, but the rest of your words dissolve into a needy little whimper.

Satoru groans against your ear. "Fuck, sweetie. You sound so pretty when you're wrecked."

Your body jolts when Suguru’s hand drags lower, fingers grazing the inside of your thigh—slow, lazy, deliberate. He’s not in a hurry, and that makes it so much worse. He knows what he’s doing, knows exactly how to wind you up until you’re shaking apart in his hands. His knuckles brush over your bare skin, teasing the edge of your swimsuit, tugging, just enough to stretch the fabric, to make you hyper-aware of every bit of friction.

Satoru’s fingers flex around your throat, not quite squeezing—just enough to remind you he’s there, just enough to feel your pulse jump under his palm. He hums, thumb skimming along your jaw, tilting your chin.

"Mmm. So sensitive," he muses, smirking. "You always this needy, or does Suguru have you trained real nice?"

Suguru chuckles, his touch getting bolder, tugging just a little more. "Oh, she's a good girl," he muses, voice thick with satisfaction. "Knows exactly what I like." 

His fingers dip higher, brushing against the fabric covering your desperate, aching little pussy. "Isn't that right, kitten?"

Your breath stutters, thighs parting instinctively, and Suguru smirks against your throat, dragging his lips along your skin, slow and warm. "That's my girl," he nods approvingly.

His hand shifts, finger hooking under your swimsuit, tugging again—the fabric dragging right over your clit before snapping back into place.

And the sound you make? Downright fucking filthy.

Satoru groans, deep and rough, his grip tightening around your throat just for a second before he exhales sharply, like he’s trying to hold himself back. Barely.

"Jesus fucking Christ."

His free hand moves, grazing down your arm, over your ribs, trailing lower, lower—skimming just above where you need him. Not quite touching, just ghosting over the fabric in a way that makes your breath hitch, a delicious shiver racing down your spine.

He hesitates. A second, maybe two, waiting for some kind of signal. But Suguru? He just watches. Amused. Expectant. Knowing.

Satoru scoffs under his breath, lips curling. "Fuck it."

His hand dips lower, spreading wide over your stomach, fingers flexing just above your desperate little cunt. His touch is firm but exploratory, like he’s seeing exactly how much he can get away with.

When he presses down, just a little, just enough to make you squirm, another long, needy moan spills from your lips.

"You letting him have his fun, kitten?" Suguru chuckles against your neck, fingers now fully under your swimsuit, dragging the damp material left and right, so fucking slow it’s torturous. "How generous of you."

"Mmm, well," Satoru’s lips ghost over your ear, fingers creeping lower, digging into the plush of your inner thigh. He presses—urging your legs that little bit wider. "I'd hate to be rude, y'know?"

But he’s testing, pushing, seeing exactly how much Suguru will let him get away with—how much you’ll let yourself unravel in their hands. His fingers hook into the edge of your swimsuit now, pulling the thin fabric tight against your cunt, making you feel everything—the stretch, the friction, the pressure.

Your breath hitches at the way it bites into your needy, aching flesh, hips tilting without a thought, chasing just a little more. Suguru’s watching, sharp-eyed, assessing, but he doesn’t stop him. Not yet.

"You gonna stop him, kitten?" His voice is smooth, laced with something dangerously indulgent. "Or do you like the way he's playing with you?"

You barely even hesitate. Can’t help the way you whimper, the way your hips grind against the stretched fabric, desperate for anything. Heat coils low, pooling heavy and sweet in your gut, because fuck, you do like it. Satoru’s touch is teasing, toeing that line between playful and mean. And Suguru knows exactly how to let you hang there, how to keep you on the edge of needing things you maybe shouldn’t.

Satoru chuckles, full of smug satisfaction as he tugs the swimsuit just a little harder, letting it dig in, watching the way you react. "She's not stopping me," he points out, cocky as hell, pulling the fabric tighter. "Think she likes it, actually."

Suguru hums in consideration, and then, suddenly, his fingers wrap around your jaw, tilting your head until you’re trapped in his dark, hungry gaze. "Do you?" His thumb drags over your bottom lip, pressing just enough to make your mouth part slightly. "You like having both of us on you like this?"

Your breath stutters, but before you can find an answer, Satoru suddenly lets go of the swimsuit, snapping the fabric back against your soaked pussy. The sharp little sting makes you jolt, a whimper spilling from your lips as your thighs twitch. But he’s not done—his teeth find your neck, sinking in enough to make your skin burn, a silent little challenge to Suguru.

Suguru exhales, slow and measured. "She likes that," he notes, almost lazily, but his fingers are anything but. They slip beneath the flimsy fabric, finally, finally pressing against your drenched folds. "Think she likes knowing she's got you this worked up."

Satoru groans as his other hand skims down your stomach, teasing over the soft plane of skin just above your core. "Yeah?" he muses, lips grazing your ear, his voice all honey and heat. "That true, sweetie? You like making me lose my mind a little?"

He doesn’t wait for an answer—his fingers flex around your throat, squeezing a little more, and his tongue traces slow over your jaw. His breath is hot, ragged, a sharp exhale spilling against your damp skin.

"Fuck," he mutters, like he’s feeling it just as much as you are.

Suguru chuckles, pleased. "Told you she was sweet," he murmurs, breath warm against your cheek. Then—finally, fucking finally—his fingers press right where you need them, slow, deliberate circles over your clit, and you jolt.

The filthy little sound that spills from your lips wrecks Satoru. He groans, deep and needy, hips pressing forward, his cock straining against you. "Oh, fuck, baby," he breathes, his voice rough, already a little desperate. "You really gonna let him have all the fun?"

His teeth find your earlobe, biting down, and you gasp, while Suguru’s fingers push—dragging over your soaked folds, spreading you open.

"Oh fuck," Satoru exhales, pressing himself harder against you, like he can’t stand being left out. "She wet?"

Suguru hums in appreciation, taking his time, savoring every little reaction, every twitch of your hips as he circles your clit again, slow, lazy, maddening. "Course she is," he purrs. "She loves this. Being in our hands. Getting played with, spread open, nice and slow—don't you, kitten?"

His fingers dip lower, teasing at your entrance but not giving—not yet. And Satoru? Oh, Satoru’s starving for it. You can feel it in the way he presses against you, his hands restless, his hips grinding slow, deliberate against your ass.

"Move over," Satoru grits, nudging Suguru’s wrist like he’s daring him to move aside. "Lemme feel her."

Suguru doesn’t even look at him. Just smirks against your neck and drags his fingers lower, teasing at your entrance, spreading your slick with agonizing patience.

"Mm. You wanna touch her here?" Suguru muses, letting his fingers dip in just enough to make you gasp, then pulling away again, denying you.

"Obviously," Satoru snaps, hips bucking against you, frustrated. "C'mon, man, don't be a dick—"

Suguru’s fingers press down hard against your clit, a sudden jolt of pressure that makes your whole body shudder. Your sweet moan spills out before you can stop it, back arching, fingers digging into Satoru’s wrist where he’s still trying to sneak past Suguru’s grip.

"Think she's enjoying herself just fine," Suguru murmurs, dark amusement laced in every syllable. "And you? You're being awfully greedy, Satoru."

Satoru makes a frustrated sound in the back of his throat, teeth gritting. His fingers tighten around your waist, his cock pressing hard against you through his swim trunks. "Greedy?" he echoes, his breath hot against your jaw. "You feel how soaked she is? That's for both of us, dumbass."

Suguru chuckles, unbothered, fingers dipping back down, pressing just a little deeper—but not enough, not nearly enough to satisfy the ache curling in your gut.

"Mmm, is it?" Suguru hums, teasing slow circles around your entrance, never pushing inside. "Because I don't think she's begging for you. I think she likes knowing you're all worked up. All desperate. Just like she is."

Satoru lets out a low groan, grip on you tightening, his jaw clenching. His frustration is palpable—he’s practically vibrating with it, hips twitching against you as he watches Suguru’s fingers move, his breath going ragged.

"How wet is she?" Satoru demands, his voice rough, strained, like it’s killing him not to touch you himself. "Tell me."

Suguru smirks, then spreads his fingers just a little, a filthy little squelch under the water as he dips in and drags your slick up to your clit again. Your gasp turns into a whimper, thighs trembling, back arching against Satoru’s chest.

"You hear that?" Suguru murmurs, voice syrupy with satisfaction. "She's soaked. Dripping all over my fingers. Bet you wish you could feel it, huh?"

Satoru shudders against you, a ragged, desperate groan spilling from his lips, fingers digging bruises into your hips like that might be enough to satisfy him. Like just pressing himself against you could compare to actually having you under his hands, open and trembling, soaked and needy.

"Fuck, Suguru," he grits, his breath hot, desperate against your ear. "Wanna touch her so bad."

A whimper claws up your throat, frustration making your whole body tighten, making your fingers snatch at Suguru, grip the back of his hair, yanking him closer until your lips almost brush his.

"Please," you whisper, breathless, shaking, your voice cracking under the weight of everything you need. "Suguru, please—make me cum. Fucking touch me."

And god, he loves it. You can see it in his eyes, in the way his lips curl. "You're so needy, aren't you?" he chuckles, fingers cruelly absent between your legs now, making you suffer in the emptiness, in the ache. "Both of you. Whimpering. Grinding like this—"

"Yes," you gasp, hips jerking, thighs trembling, dying to close around nothing, to grind against nothing. "Yes, I like it, I need you, but please—"

"Fuck—" Satoru snaps, his restraint shattering. His hands shove your thighs apart, spreading you open for Suguru’s gaze. His own fingers dart down, desperate, reaching for you—

But Suguru catches his wrist.

Satoru growls, literally growls, jaw clenching so hard you swear you hear his teeth grind. "You fucking—"

"Did I say you could touch her?" Suguru murmurs, calm, smooth, completely in control. His grip on Satoru’s wrist tightens, pushing it away, forcing him to stay right there—so close he could feel your heat, your slick, your need, but not close enough to touch.

Satoru groans, pressing his forehead into your shoulder, tortured, his hips still rolling, still grinding against your ass in sheer frustration. "You're a fucking asshole, Suguru."

"Open your legs wider," Suguru commands, his lips ghosting over yours, teasing, mocking, not giving you the kiss you crave. "Show me how much you want it."

Your breath shakes as you do it—spreading wider, trembling, completely exposed beneath his slow, cruel gaze.

And finally, finally, his fingers return, slow, deliberate, pressing down against your swollen clit, and a desperate cry spills from your lips as your fingers tighten in his hair.

"Oh, god— Yes, please—!"

"Shh," Suguru hushes, lips dragging against your jaw, pressing the lightest kiss to the corner of your mouth, teasing, mocking. "Good girl. That's it."

Satoru shudders behind you, rasping against your throat as he devours every little sound spilling from you. His hands roam, shake, stroking your stomach, squeezing your waist like he can’t stand how much he wants you. His mouth is everywhere, hot and open, sucking bruises onto your neck, collarbone, shoulders, anywhere Suguru will let him. His teeth scrape, his tongue soothes, licking the seam of your lips, begging for a kiss he’s not getting. But it’s not enough—not for him, not for you, not for the aching, pulsing, throbbing need sitting heavy and tight between your legs.

And Suguru knows it.

Knows it, and takes his fucking time. His fingers press, stroke, tease, slow, lazy, dipping just inside before pulling away, drawing circles against your clit, barely-there touches that have you jerking, sobbing, aching.

"Please," you gasp again, begging, your nails digging into his shoulders, into his hair, into anything you can grab. "Please, please, Suguru—fuck, I need it—"

"Hmm," he hums, considering, dark eyes gleaming as he watches you, as he soaks in every desperate, ruined inch of you. "You're so pretty like this. All open and desperate, squirming on my fingers."

"God, just—fuck—!" Your hips jerk, trying to chase more, trying to grind against his hand, but he just pulls back, just denies you again, just fucking smirks when you whimper, when your thighs shake, when you all but sob his name.

"Suguru!"

And Satoru is fucking losing it, too. His breath shudders, his fingers clench tight around your waist, forcing your legs even wider, like he needs to see, like he needs to burn the sight of you into his brain.

"Damn, Suguru, stop teasing and just—fuck, listen to her," he growls, desperate, wrecked, his cock twitching against you, leaking into his swimsuit like he’s the one getting fucked. "She's fucking begging, man—"

"She can beg louder," Suguru murmurs, dark and pleased, his fingers lingering, hovering, denying—and it’s too much, too fucking much, it’s not enough, it’s—

"Please," you sob, your head falling back, your entire body on fire, trembling, aching for him. "Please, Suguru, please make me cum, I need it, I need—"

His fingers plunge inside you.

"Oh, fuck—!"

Your whole body shudders, back arching, mouth open, a wrecked, desperate, high-pitched moan ripping from your throat as he gives in, as he gives you what you need.

His fingers stretch, fill, fuck into you, deep and perfect, curling right against that aching, sweet, fucking devastating spot inside you.

"That's it," Suguru praises, slow and dark, his breath warm against your ear, his fingers unstoppable as they pump, press, fuck into you harder, his palm grinding against your clit. "That's what you needed, huh? My fingers fucking you open. Fuck, kitten, you're so tight, squeezing me so good—"

Satoru snarls, his mouth everywhere, greedy, sucking bruises into your throat, your shoulders, his hands gripping, touching, taking everything he’s allowed.

"God, listen to her," he gasps, his voice hoarse, wrecked, his hips rolling harder, chasing anything, everything. "Listen to those fucking sounds—fuck, baby, you sound so good, feel so fucking good—"

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, please—!"

Your thighs tremble, hips jerking, grinding down onto Suguru’s hand as he fucks you harder, faster, his thumb rolling against your clit, every movement perfect, devastating, too much, too good, too perfect—

"Yeah, baby. You gonna make a mess, hmm?" Suguru breathes, watching you fall apart, his fingers tightening, fucking into you deep. "Cum for me, kitten."

And you do.

You shatter.

Your entire body seizes, pleasure crashing, burning, exploding inside you as you sob, whimper, scream, clenching tight around his fingers as he works you through it, as Satoru moans, open-mouthed and ruined against your throat, his teeth sinking into your pulse, taking, devouring, obsessed with every fucking second of it.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Satoru gasps, his hands shaking, his own hips jerking, rutting against you as you fall apart, as your whole body shudders in their hands. He’s so close it’s painful, his cock throbbing where it’s pressed tight between your ass and his stomach.

"Ohhh, fuck— fuckfuckfuckfuck—!" he groans, hands gripping, clawing at your waist, grinding up against you like a fucking animal. You feel him shudder, his cock twitching, spilling hot and thick into the tight heat of his swimsuit, his breath breaking apart in wrecked, helpless moans against your neck.

"God, Suguru—fuck, that was the hottest fucking thing I've ever seen—"

"Mmm," Suguru hums, pleased, satisfied, pressing one last slow, cruel thrust inside you before he finally pulls back, his fingers slick, glistening, soaked.

He lifts them, deliberate, teasing, watching the way your wrecked, trembling body twitches as he presses his fingers against Satoru’s lips.

"Open," he smirks.

Satoru's lips part instinctively, hungry, pupils blown wide as Suguru slides his fingers between them, pressing against his tongue, slick and sticky with your sweet juices.

"Hmmm fuck," Satoru groans, his lashes fluttering, his lips closing around Suguru’s fingers, sucking, tongue curling, obscene and filthy, breath ragged as he finally gets to taste you, as his hips twitch, as his entire body shudders.

Suguru chuckles, his other hand curling firm around Satoru’s jaw, holding him there, forcing him still, thumb stroking over his cheek as he watches him lick, suck, moan. Satoru growls, muffled, hot against Suguru’s palm, teeth scraping, like he wants to bite, like he wants to fight back, but he doesn’t—not really.

Because he likes it.

Because he’s just as wrecked as you are.

"Messy little things," Suguru chuckles, his fingers slipping free, glossy, connected to Satoru’s mouth by a thin, filthy strand of spit. "Both of you."

Chapter Text

You stretch out across the bed, lazy and satisfied, letting the post-onsen haze settle in your limbs like molten gold. The sheets are soft, cool against your overheated skin, and you know you should be exhausted after the kind of evening you just had—but nah, you’re still wired, still humming with leftover adrenaline, your body sore in all the best ways.

Suguru is standing by the window, bare-chested, arms crossed, looking like the most self-satisfied bastard to ever walk the earth. Smug. Pleased with himself. Like he didn’t just spend the last hours playing with you like a fucking toy, drawing things out until you were a trembling, whimpering mess. Until Satoru was reduced to nothing but breathless moans and desperate ruts against your ass, spilling all over himself like a damn virgin.

So, naturally, you gotta poke the bear. Just a little.

"So," you start, voice all syrupy-sweet, dragging a lazy finger along the edge of the blanket and pretending like you’re not watching him out the corner of your eye. "Didn't know you were into sharing, huh? Guess I should've known, though. You seemed to really enjoy yourself back there."

Suguru quirks a brow, barely sparing you a glance. "That so?"

You hum, shifting onto your stomach, propping your chin up on your hands as you watch him, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Mhm." You bite your lip, drawing it out, just to be a little brat. "You had fun watching Satoru rut against me, weren't you? Holding him back, making him beg—fuck, you edged him just as much as me." 

You tilt your head, biting back a smirk. "Didn't know you liked seeing him all needy like that. Does it turn you on, Suguru? Having that kind of control over him?"

That gets his attention.

He exhales a quiet chuckle, shaking his head like you’re amusing. But you don’t miss the way his jaw ticks, the way his fingers flex just a little at his cuffs. "You got a sharp tongue, kitten," he muses, voice smooth, patient. Too patient. "Careful how you use it."

"Oh, I'm just curious," you say, letting your voice dip into something sultrier, knowing damn well what you’re doing. "I mean, I get why you like controlling me. But watching Satoru like that, making him whine, keeping him on the edge while he was grinding against me all desperate…" You trail off, grinning when Suguru’s gaze darkens just a fraction. "I dunno, babe. Looked to me like you were enjoying it just a little too much."

Silence stretches between you. Heavy. Charged. Suguru tilts his head slightly, as if considering something, his expression unreadable—but his eyes? Oh, they’re dangerous.

"You really wanna poke me tonight, don't you?" he says, voice velvety, laced with quiet amusement.

You flash him your sweetest smile. "Just trying to understand my man better. It's important, y'know? Open communication in a relationship and all that."

Suguru moves then, slow, deliberate, crossing the room until he’s standing at the edge of the bed, towering over you. His weight shifts onto the bed as he leans down, palms pressing into the mattress on either side of your body. You turn on your back and he reaches down, grips your chin between his fingers, tilts your face up. His hold isn’t rough, but there’s unmistakable control behind it, a silent reminder of exactly who’s in charge.

"You wanna run your mouth, little girl?" he whispers, thumb dragging lazily over your bottom lip. "Go ahead. But I hope you remember what happens when you push me too far."

You blink up at him, feigning innocence, parting your lips just slightly. "I'd never dream of pushing you too far, Suguru," you say, voice saccharine. "I just think it's interesting, is all. Seeing you play with him like that. Watching you toy with him the same way you toy with me. Makes me wonder…"

Suguru doesn’t take the bait—not outright—but the way his grip on your chin tightens just a little? The way his thumb presses against your lips, almost slipping into your mouth? Oh, he’s feeling it.

"Wonder what?" he asks, voice quiet, deceptively calm.

You tilt your head just enough to brush your lips against his thumb, not quite a kiss, not quite nothing. "Wonder if it was me getting you off more," you say softly, eyes locking onto his, unflinching. "Or if it was Satoru."

His eyes flash, a split-second reaction he tamps down almost immediately, but you catch it, and your stomach clenches with pure, wicked delight. You don’t even get a chance to revel in it before he’s flipping you onto your stomach, pinning you down beneath his weight, his knee pressing between your legs.

"You really think you're cute, huh?" he breathes, fingers digging into your thighs, prying them apart. "Provoking me like this. Testing me."

You swallow, pulse hammering, but your lips curl into a smirk anyway. "Think?" you echo. "Or know?"

Suguru laughs, dark and low, and fuck, it’s such a pretty sound. "Oh, kitten," he murmurs, dragging his lips down the side of your neck, sharp teeth grazing your skin, making you shiver. "You wanna talk about control? Let me show you exactly how much of it you don't have."

You wiggle beneath him, hips shifting, trying to get closer, to push back against him, but he’s got you pinned, his hand firm on the small of your back, keeping you just out of reach. "Suguru—" you breath, a plea and a taunt all rolled into one.

"You think you can tease me like this and get away with it?" he chuckles into your ear, breath burning against your neck. His knee presses harder against your core. "You're just a little slut who loves to be taught a lesson, aren't you?"

You bite your lip, fighting the urge to push back against him harder, to prove you’re not scared. "I do," you just purr. "I love it."

He chuckles again and you feel him move, the bed shifting slightly as he reaches for something—what, you can't quite tell. But then something cool and metal hits the back of your thigh, and you realize with a gasp that he's got the handcuffs from his bedside table.

And before you can so much as blink, he’s snapped one around your wrist, tightening it with a deft twist.

"Now, now," he says, his voice like a caress as he straddles you, his rock-hard cock nudging against the curve of your ass, "let's see how much you really like being taught a lesson."

And with that, he secures the other hand to the headboard, leaving you spread out and open for whatever he’s got planned. And, oh boy, do you want it.

You arch your back, pushing your ass up, silently begging for his touch, and you get it—his hand comes down with a firm smack, making you yelp. The sound echoes through the room, and you know Satoru can hear—but fuck, you just get wetter at the thought.

"Be still," Suguru orders.

But you wiggle your hips, silently daring him to do it again. He chuckles, and with a swift move, his hand cracks against your ass, much harder this time.

The sting sends a bolt of heat through your body, and you moan, needy and filthy, the sound muffled by the pillow you're biting down on. You feel him lean down, his breath hot against your ear. "Keep it up, and I really gonna give you something to scream about, kitten."

And with that, he starts peppering your ass with slaps, alternating between cheeks, each one harder than the last. The pain is a delicious ache, building, growing, until it’s all you can think about, until your pussy is slick and begging for more than just his hand.

But he’s playing you, you can feel it. He’s drawing it out, enjoying the dirty little sounds you make, the way your hot body responds to his touch. And you’re loving every fucking second of it.

"Ready to behave?" he asks, smiling down at you, all sharp teeth and glittering eyes.

"Fuck no," you gasp, sticking your ass out even further. "Keep going, Suguru. Make me scream."

And with a growl that sends a shiver down your spine, he does.

The slaps come harder, faster, painting your ass a glowing shade of red. Each smack makes you moan, mixing with the sharp sting in a delicious cocktail that has you writhing beneath him, begging for more. Suguru's eyes are dark, almost black with lust, and you know you’ve pushed him to the edge—exactly where you want him.

"Keep it up, little tease," he murmurs, his voice thick with desire as he runs a hand over your reddened flesh. "Keep provoking me. See how much you can really handle."

You whimper into the pillow, the heat from your ass spreading through your body like wildfire, making your skin feel tight and sensitive. Your pussy is aching, begging to be filled, and you know exactly what you want—what you need.

"Oh, Suguru—" you mewl, voice shaking with need. "Fuck me, please?"

He doesn't say anything, just shifts his weight, and you feel him line up the head of his cock at your entrance, the slickness there making it easy for him to slide in. But he doesn’t. He just hovers, the tip of him pressing against you, and you're pretty sure you're going to lose your fucking mind if he doesn’t push in.

"Beg for it," he says, his voice low and gruff. And you do, because apparently, that’s what you’re into now—being a hot mess for this man.

"Pleeeease, Suguru," you whine, pushing your hips up to meet his. "Need it so bad. I'm so desperate for your cock—need you inside me—"

Suguru laughs, a sound that's half a growl. "Oh, you do, huh?" He slaps your ass one more time, the sting mixing with the sweet ache of need. "What do you say, little kitten?"

"Please, just fuck me—" you beg, your voice muffled by the pillow. "Please, fill me up, Suguru—"

He chuckles, the sound dark and possessive. "Such a needy little slut." 

And with that, he slams into you, no warning, no hesitation. You scream into the pillow, the sensation of being so completely filled overwhelming. Suguru’s fat cock stretches you, fills you, and it’s all you can do to not cum right then and there.

Your fingers claw at the sheets, white-knuckled, back arching as the force of him slamming into you leaves you reeling. Broken moans rip from your throat, muffled by the pillow, and he holds your waist, your wrists straining against the cuffs that keep you right where he wants you—helpless, spread, his.

A rough palm presses down on the small of your back, pushing you deeper into the mattress. "That what you wanted?" His words are mocking, dripping with condescension.

Metal bites into your skin as he rolls his hips, slow and deliberate, making you feel every fat inch of him dragging through your walls. "Huh, kitten? You beg so pretty, but I don't think you really get what you're asking for."

Your whimper is automatic, needy, hips pushing back instinctively, desperate for more, for anything—but his grip is unforgiving. You’re not moving unless he lets you.

A dark chuckle rumbles in his chest as he leans down, his breath warm against the shell of your ear. "What was it you said earlier?" he murmurs, mock thoughtful. "You wanted to tease me, right? Wanted to run that pretty mouth, see how far you could push me?"

You don’t get the chance to respond—his hand slides to your throat, pressing hard, making your pulse flutter beneath his fingers, and he pulls back, his cock dragging out so slow it’s agonizing. Your whole body tenses, waiting for it—

And then he slams back into you, a single brutal snap of his hips that sends you lurching forward, wrists tugging helplessly against the restraints, a strangled cry tearing from your throat.

"There it is," he groans, more to himself than to you. His fingers dig into your hips, keeping you still as he sets a punishing rhythm, each thrust knocking you further into the mattress. "That's the sound I like."

You try to bite back a moan, try to push out some bratty remark—but all that escapes is a broken sob of pleasure, your body arching, desperate for more.

Suguru laughs, mean and satisfied. "What's that?" he taunts, punctuating each word with a deep, measured snap of his hips. His fingers tighten around your throat, just a little more. "You were saying?"

Your mouth opens, but nothing coherent comes out, just gasps, desperate little noises that only stroke his ego further. The only thing you can do is take it—his cock hitting so deep it’s dizzying, his voice a low purr in your ear, feeding off every little noise you make.

"Mm, that's what I fucking thought."

His free hand ghosts down your spine, teasing, taunting, before his nails rake over your skin just to make you shudder, and his cock fucking throbs. "You run your mouth when you think you've got the upper hand, act all fucking bratty, but the second I got you like this? Spread out, dripping, taking everything I give you?" He grips your throat, squeezing hard. "You're just a dumb little thing, aren't you?"

The shame hits like a drug, dizzying, scorching through your veins, making everything pulse hotter.

He feels it. He knows. You can feel the smirk on his lips as he presses a wet, open-mouthed kiss to the side of your neck, voice all honey and condescension.

"But tell me, kitten," he breathes, voice all syrupy-sweet mockery. His lips drag along your jaw before he nips at your earlobe. "Was it me drooling over Satoru's desperate cries back at the springs, or was it you?"

You moan. He grins.

"Oh, I saw you alright," he coos, fake sympathy laced with vicious satisfaction. "Eyes all hazy, mouth hanging open like a thirsty little slut, pussy fucking drenched and gushing—you were begging to get fucked by him, huh? Aching for his dick to fill you up, weren't you?" His tongue clicks, slow and condescending. "You were dying for me to let you have him."

His hand fists into your hair, yanking your head back as he slams into you with a brutal jerk, his length impaling you in one swift motion. You scream out, thighs shaking.

"You wanted his hands on you," he groans as he rolls his hips deep, grinding into you, stretching your wet walls to the point of painful ecstasy. "Wanted his fingers stuffed inside that greedy little cunt along with mine, didn't you? Fuck—you just wanna be our little plaything, huh?"

His palm cracks against your ass—once, twice, hard and punishing.

"That's what you want, isn't it? To be used like a fuck doll, passed around like a desperate little whore?"

Another slap, this one making your eyes water.

"Then you better be a good little whore and fucking take it."

Your eyes roll back in your head as he starts to fuck you like an animal, the slaps falling in time with his thrusts—pain and pleasure mixing into one delicious symphony that sends your senses reeling. You can't even think, can't even breathe—his grip on your throat is too tight, his cock too fucking deep.

"Cum for me, kitten," he growls. "Cum all over my dick."

Your body tightens around him, your pussy spasming in a mind-shattering climax that has you screaming his name, begging for more. You cum so hard you think you might pass out, body shaking, muscles clamping down on his cock like a vice.

"Good fucking girl." 

He fucks you through it, slapping your ass until your cheeks are a deep, bruised red and your throat is raw from screaming. His thrusts become erratic, his breathing heavy, and you know he's close—so you push your greedy cunt back onto his cock, dizzy with lust. 

"Beg for it, my desperate little kitten. Beg for my cum."

"Oh god, Suguru, please—please, cum deep inside me—please, flood my cunt—"

That’s all he needs. With a roar that shakes the room, he drives into you like a beast, his fat cock pumping wildly as he reaches his peak, filling you with his hot, thick cum. You feel it hit deep, feel it coat your walls, painting the insides of your pussy with his claim. You scream his name, your body arching off the bed, contorting in ecstasy as he marks you as his.

You’re a mess. You know you are. But you don’t fucking care. You're his mess to clean up, his little slut to use and abuse, and fuck, you love every second of it.

You're so lost in pleasure that you barely feel it when he lets go of your throat, when he wraps a hand around your jaw, turning your head so he can kiss you hard, bruising your mouth with the force of it. You kiss him back with everything you have, tongue slipping between his teeth, tasting his lust.

With a final, guttural grunt, he pulls out, leaving your pussy gaping and leaking. And for a moment, there's nothing but the sound of your ragged breathing.

Then, he laughs. "Cheeky little thing," he says, his voice still thick with lust. "But I guess I can't stay mad at you."

You roll onto your side, still bound to the headboard. You meet his gaze, your own eyes dark with satisfaction. "You like it," you purr, voice low and sultry. "And don't even try to deny it."

Suguru leans in, capturing your mouth in another kiss that's all teeth and passion. His hand trails down, finding your soaked pussy and delving into it with greed. 

"Oh, I fucking love it," he confesses, his thumb tormenting your throbbing clit with leisurely circles before plunging into your cum-drenched pussy. "But don't you ever forget, kitten—" He breaks the kiss to bite your bottom lip. "You're still mine."

Chapter Text

You’ve figured it out by now—Suguru likes to play with his food. 

The teasing, the edging, the slow-burn torture. He lives for it. You’ve seen it before, in the way he lets Satoru flirt like it’s his damn job, lets him touch, lets him hover just close enough to drive you both insane—but last night? He confirmed it.

At the springs, he let Satoru get a taste. Let him touch you, let him bite, let him press up against your ass while Suguru’s fingers were buried deep inside you, fucking you apart—but the second Satoru tried to kiss you? The second his hands wandered too far? Shut down. Just like that. Like he was only ever gonna let him have the scraps, a bite but never the full meal.

Because that's what Suguru loves. Dragging you and Satoru right to the edge, then pulling back like the smug bastard he is. Watching you both suffer. He gets off on the power, the control, the way you beg without even realizing it. And yeah, he likes sharing you, too—but only on his terms. Watching, orchestrating, dictating exactly how much you get, how much you don’t. Controlling every little reaction like he’s some kind of sex god.

And then, after it was all over—when it was just the two of you back in the room, when you’d pushed and prodded and gotten under his skin just enough to make him punish you for it—Suguru had finally fucking admitted it.

No smirks. No what do you mean? fake innocence. No more gaslighting or deflecting or playing dumb.

"Oh, I fucking love it."

Just a simple, filthy confession. That yeah, he likes watching Satoru squirm, likes watching you fall apart between the two of them, likes making Satoru want what he won’t let him have.

And you? You’re his faithful, devoted girlfriend. Obviously. You love him more than anything. But boring? Yeah, not a fucking chance.

So after all the teasing, the mind games, the so-close-but-not-quite bullshit he's pulled these past few days, you decide—without a shred of remorse—that it's time for a little payback.

You’re gonna push him this time. Turn the tables. Give him a taste of his own medicine.

Because if Suguru loves to watch, if he loves the torture, if he gets off on watching Satoru get all worked up over you—then fine.

You’ll make sure he gets a show.

And you’ll make sure he fucking feels it.

It starts with a little outfit change.

You’re feeling hot today—literally and figuratively—so you dress the part. Skimpy little top, short enough to show your abs, paired with a skirt that hugs your hips just right, leaving plenty of leg on display. You know exactly what you’re doing.

And judging by the way both of them look at you when you step into the living room, they know it too.

Suguru is lounging on the couch, lazily flipping through his phone, but the moment his gaze drags up your body, his fingers pause over the screen. Just for a second. Then he smirks, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek.

Satoru, on the other hand? No fucking shame. He lets out a low whistle, tipping his sunglasses down to get an unfiltered view of you.

"Damn, princess," he drawls, all teeth and amusement. "Is it my birthday, or are you just feeling generous today?"

You strut over, hips swaying deliberately, and perch yourself on the armrest right beside him, leaning in just enough that he definitely gets a whiff of your perfume. "Generous? Maybe. Or maybe I just felt like dressing cute."

Suguru hums from across the room, entertained. His eyes flicker from you to Satoru, but he says nothing. Just watches.

You turn to both of them, fingers toying with the hem of your skirt like an afterthought. "I was thinking… tonight, I wanna go dancing."

Suguru raises an eyebrow. Satoru immediately perks up.

"Oh?" Satoru shifts closer, voice dipping into something smoother. "Dancing, huh? You trying to get all hot and sweaty with me on the dance floor, sweetheart?"

Suguru makes a sound that might be a chuckle, but it’s too soft to tell.

You roll your eyes—but you don’t pull away. Instead, you lean in further, fingers grazing Satoru’s forearm, your voice sweet as sugar when you say, "Mmm, maybe. But first, I need something to wear. So I figured"—your gaze flickers to Suguru, slow and purposeful—"we could go pick something out together."

Suguru watches you closely now, the faintest glint of interest in his eyes. His lips twitch like he’s fighting a smile. He’s not saying anything, but the silence speaks volumes.

Satoru, on the other hand, lights the fuck up.

"Oh, we're dressing you up?" His grin stretches wide. "Now that sounds like fun. I love this game."

"Well," you muse, tilting your head in mock thoughtfulness, "you had so much fun picking my bikini for the springs, I figured you'd like the chance to choose again, hmm?"

You see it—that flicker in Suguru’s expression. The way his eyes sharpen just slightly. Oh, he knows what you’re doing.

Satoru, of course, is already up on his feet, thrilled. He grabs Suguru’s keys, a look of pure glee on his face. "You are so fucking right," he says, grinning at you like a kid with a brand new toy. "Let's go, princess. I am about to make you look so fucking good."

Suguru finally stands, stretching with all the grace of someone who’s already five steps ahead of whatever game you’re playing. He slips his hands into his pockets, studying you with a gaze that feels like it’s stripping you bare. "So," he murmurs, voice smooth and low. "You're feeling bold today, huh?"

You bat your lashes, all innocent. "What do you mean?"

Suguru’s smile widens, and your heart skips a beat. It’s the kind of smile that promises trouble.

But Satoru grabs your wrist and starts dragging you toward the door. "Who cares? We're going shopping, and she just handed me full creative control. Let's move before she changes her mind!"

You huff in mock annoyance, but you let him pull you along, casting one last glance at Suguru. He’s still watching, still smirking, still amused as hell.

"Fine, fine," Suguru drawls, following behind at his own leisurely pace. "Let's see what our dear Satoru picks out for you."

And with that, you’re off.

The second you step into the first boutique, it’s over for you.

Satoru is in his element, bouncing from rack to rack, tossing hangers over his shoulder, making little hmm noises as he sizes up dresses, skirts, tops—whatever catches his eye.

"Too tame."

"Too much fabric."

"Ugh, no, this one's ugly—why do they even make things like this?"

Suguru, trailing behind with his hands in his pockets, watches the whole thing unfold with pure amusement.

"You know," he muses, "I'd be worried, but honestly? This is kinda fun."

You let out a long-suffering sigh, arms already full of the things Satoru keeps tossing at you. "He's enjoying himself way too much."

"Shhh," Satoru waves you off, already pulling another dress off the rack. "This is an important moment, baby. Don't ruin my artistic vision."

His artistic vision, as it turns out, is pure insanity.

The first dress? Obscenely short. Black, silky, clinging to your body in a way that makes you feel like a sin waiting to happen. Low-cut in the front, backless as hell.

You step out of the fitting room, one eyebrow raised. "Are you serious?"

Satoru is dead fucking serious. His expression? Utter bliss. "Ooh yeah," he purrs, grinning wide enough to show his teeth. "Damn, I love this. Look at you. You're gonna kill someone in this. Might even be me."

Suguru—who had been leaning against the wall, arms crossed, watching the whole ordeal unfold—finally tilts his head.

"Not bad," he muses, dragging his gaze over you so slowly that heat prickles down your spine. "But I think you can do better."

"Better?" You blink. "This barely qualifies as clothing."

Satoru grins. "Exactly."

Better, apparently, means skimpier.

Because the next thing Satoru shoves at you? A red number so tiny you actually laugh.

"You're fucking kidding," you say, holding it up by the thin little straps.

"I am not kidding," Satoru beams, practically shoving you back into the fitting room. "Put it on, put it on, put it on—"

So you do. And when you step out, you know you’ve won.

The moment Satoru sees you, he gasps—hand over his chest, full dramatics.

"Jesus fucking Christ." His eyes are huge, borderline scandalized.

Suguru, on the other hand? Silent. Which is worse. Way worse.

The dress—if you can even call it that—is practically lingerie. Some designer probably called it sheer minimalism or some other bullshit, but in reality? It’s short enough that bending over would be a felony, the thin lace overlay giving just enough of a peek at your thighs to be criminal.

Suguru tilts his head.

"Bold choice," he muses, voice so fucking smooth you swear the air gets thicker.

Satoru nods aggressively. "Oh, yeah, totally bold. A real fashion statement. And that statement is: ‘arrest me, officer.’"

You snort and twirl, letting the hem of the dress skim over your thighs, feeling the heat of their eyes on you as the fabric flutters. "Okay, maybe this one's a bit much."

"Bit?" Suguru repeats, amusement curling at the edge of his wicked little smirk.

Satoru gestures wildly. "This is one wardrobe malfunction away from a public indecency charge!"

You roll your eyes, but Suguru steps in behind you, voice lower, thoughtful.

"I mean…" His fingers trace the edge of the fabric at your hip, a feather-light touch. "If you wanted to make sure all eyes were on you tonight…"

Your breath hitches. Because suddenly, this dress feels even more scandalous.

Satoru groans. "Oh my god, don't say it like that—she's already impossible to deal with!"

You grin, twirling one last time before shoving yourself back into the fitting room.

"Alright, alright, next one!"

The final dress—the one that seals the deal—almost doesn’t make it past the fitting room.

Mostly because it’s entirely too much.

Or, well. Too little.

It’s black, mesh, and basically nonexistent. The hem is criminally short and the back completely gone. A sliver of fabric that barely holds it all together. The material? Way too sheer—just enough that you immediately realize, the second you slip it over your head, that your black thong is very fucking visible.

You step out slowly.

And they both fucking react.

Satoru—jaw dropped, hands on his head like he's trying to process the overload of sexy coming his way. His mouth opens and closes, words totally failing him, but the hunger in his eyes? That’s loud and clear.

Suguru, though? He’s quiet. Still. Too still. You feel his gaze slide from your exposed back all the way down to your thighs, lingering on your ass just enough that you know he’s taking his time appreciating the view.

You turn, giving them the full show: the bare skin of your back, the high cut of the hem that practically frames your ass like a damn gift. Every curve, every line, put on display for them, knowing full well they’re fucking starving.

"Okay," you hum, innocent as you adjust the hem, teasing them just a little more.  "Thoughts?"

Satoru finally makes a noise. It’s somewhere between a strangled laugh and a desperate groan.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" His voice cracks on the last word.

Suguru, meanwhile, remains cool—too cool. He tilts his head, that look on his face like he's debating whether he’s going to keep it together or completely lose it. His gaze drags over your body, slow and deliberate, drinking in every delicious, inviting inch. When his eyes meet yours, there’s something darker, something deeper in them.

You tilt your head, feigning curiosity. "What do you think, Suguru?"

He hums, slow, deliberate—pretending to consider it, when really? You already know what he thinks. 

"You want my honest opinion?"

You shrug, biting back a smirk. "Obviously."

He takes a single step forward, closing the space between you just enough.

"You look delicious."

Boom. Satoru loses it.

"Why do you get to say that shit all smooth like it's nothing?!" He throws his hands in the air, dramatic as ever. "I say it, and she rolls her eyes, but you say it and suddenly it's all sexy and mysterious?! Bullshit."

Suguru just chuckles. "Because you try too hard, Satoru."

You laugh, loud and shameless, because this—this is what you love. The teasing, the fun, the way Satoru flirts like it’s a competition while Suguru watches with that look—the one that tells you he knows exactly what you’re doing.

And you love that he knows.

So you step forward, fingers trailing up Satoru’s chest, tilting your chin up just enough to be dangerous. "Aw, don't be mad," you purr, voice as sultry as you can manage. Your nails drag, slow and teasing, over the fabric of his shirt. "I think you're sexy too, Satoru."

His pupils fucking blow.

"This one," Suguru grins, voice smooth as fucking sin. "This one is the winner."

You grin back, eyes flicking between the two of them. Shifting your weight ever so slightly, you make sure the light hits the sheer fabric of the dress just right—watching their eyes dip, drag, linger.

"Only thing is," you muse, drawing out the words like honey, fake pensive, toying with the strap at your shoulder in a way that makes the material stretch, almost too tight on your breast. "Not sure if it's better with or without underwear. The thong's a little too obvious."

Satoru makes a noise. A real, actual, tortured fucking noise. Halfway between a groan and a desperate whimper, like he just short-circuited, like you’ve fried his last working brain cell. 

Suguru? Smirks. And then—he steps forward.

Not as rushed as Satoru, not as chaotic, but calculated. Measured. Deliberate enough that when he reaches you, you already feel like you’ve lost.

"I think," Suguru murmurs, his voice low, smooth, and dangerously close to your ear, "you should try both. Just to be sure."

Chapter Text

You slip the dress on slow, savoring the way the delicate black mesh clings to your skin like it was painted on. It’s sheer as hell, barely even pretending to offer coverage—just enough of a tease to make it obvious that you’re not wearing a bra. Your nipples show faintly through the fabric, and lower? Well. The tiny scrap of your thong is practically a beacon, visible beneath the mesh like it’s part of the outfit rather than underwear.

It’s criminal. It’s scandalous. It’s exactly what you wanted.

You turn in front of the mirror, arching a little, twisting to check yourself from all angles and letting every little movement exaggerate just how sinful this dress is. The back is nonexistent, dipping low, leaving your spine bare all the way down to where the hem barely skims the swell of your ass. Any shorter and you’d be breaking public decency laws just by existing in it.

You grin. Perfect.

Because if Satoru was reckless enough to pick this out, then he should’ve known what he was getting himself into. You check the back view again—yeah, this is evil. A perfect little tease, enough to make them both suffer.

Reaching for your highest, most impractical heels—the ones with razor-sharp stiletto points and delicate straps wrapping around your ankles—you slide them on, rising effortlessly into them. Your legs? Long as sin. Sculpted, toned, like they belong wrapped around someone’s waist, pressed against someone’s shoulders. You admire yourself shamelessly, smoothing a hand up your thigh, loving the way the dress rides up just a little too much when you do.

Satoru is going to lose his fucking mind.

Which, of course, is the entire point.

Smirking, you lean in toward the mirror, dragging a dark kohl pencil along your waterline. The smokiness makes your eyes pop, sharpens your already lethal expression. You add a touch of gloss to your lips, just enough to make them look like they’d shine under low light, like they were made to be bitten, kissed until swollen.

You fluff your hair, letting it fall in soft waves over your shoulders before gathering it all to one side, exposing more of your sexy bare back.

You look like a fucking meal.

You press your hands to the vanity and lean forward, tilting your hips just so, arching enough that the dress strains dangerously over your ass. The move is pure sin, pure fuck me energy. You watch your reflection, watch the way the sheer mesh shifts, the way every single line of your body is visible through the thin fabric.

You’re still admiring yourself in the mirror when the door creaks open.

Suguru steps inside, casual as hell, but you know better. That slow, deliberate stride? The way his hands are tucked into the pockets of his black slacks like he owns the whole damn world? Yeah. That’s calculated.

And fuck—he looks good enough to ruin.

Total black, sleek, with that lazy, effortless heat only he can pull off. Loose silk shirt hanging open just enough to tease those firm lines of muscle, sleeves rolled up, veins on full display. Hair loose, thick waves spilling over his shoulders, framing that gorgeous, sharp jaw, like he didn’t even try and still ended up looking like temptation itself.

His eyes land on you, and he stops. Just for a second. Just long enough for you to know you’ve got him. 

You smirk, arching your back a little more, letting the hem of your dress ride up as you reach for an earring. "See something you like?"

Suguru exhales sharply through his nose, like he’s amused but also maybe suffering a little. "I'd have to be blind not to."

You take your sweet time turning to him fully, fingers skimming down your waist, drawing attention exactly where you want it.

"C'mere," you purr, stepping forward just enough that you can hook your fingers into the loose edges of his unbuttoned shirt. "You can't go out like this."

He chuckles, but there’s a rasp to it, low and thick, as you start fastening the buttons, taking your time. Purposefully dragging your knuckles over the warm skin of his chest, the firm muscle beneath. Watching the way his throat works as he swallows, jaw ticking.

"You're dangerous, kitten," he murmurs, slow, voice so deep it shivers straight through your spine.

You smirk, shifting your weight to make the sheer fabric stretch, to make his gaze drop lower. "Yeah? Like the dress Satoru picked out?"

Suguru exhales, jaw ticking, his knuckles just barely grazing the side of your thigh, like he can’t help himself.

"You're gonna start something you can't finish," he chuckles, voice all warm, teasing warning.

You grin. "Who says I won't finish it?"

And before he can respond—the door slams open.

"Alright, I wanna see—HOLY FUCK."

Satoru stops dead. Which is already a win in your book.

His mouth actually falls open. Blue eyes go wide, like they don’t even know where to look first. Sunglasses perched low on his nose because he probably yanked them down the second he saw you. His hands lift, like he might physically need to grab onto something to stay standing.

You spin on your heel, slow, making sure he gets the full, devastating view. The sheer cling of mesh, the way it barely covers you, the unapologetic tease of lace underneath.

"What," you tease, letting the mesh flare out around your thighs, "too much?"

Satoru makes an actual strangled noise. "Too much?! No. Not enough. Maybe illegal. Maybe—I don't know, but Jesus Christ, you're so hot I think I forgot my own name for a second."

Suguru exhales, long-suffering. "You had to barge in right now?"

"BABE." Satoru ignores him completely, stepping closer like he’s in a trance. "Babe. Baby. You cannot wear that out. You understand me? You cannot. I will start throwing hands with strangers in the street."

You blink, all innocence. "You picked it."

"YEAH, BUT—BUT—!"

You grin, stepping closer, resting your hands on his chest, trailing them up slow—slow enough to feel his heartbeat hammering under your palms. "Aww, you don't like it?"

Satoru lets out a broken, tragic laugh. "LIKE IT? I WANNA FRAME IT. I WANNA LOCK YOU IN A ROOM. I WANNA—" His hands drop, gripping your hips, fingers pressing into sheer fabric, into skin. "You can't go out in this."

You smirk, leaning up, lips just a breath away from his. "Why? Jealous?"

His fingers tighten. "I'm five seconds from losing my fucking mind."

You giggle, spinning again, just to be cruel. "It's a little transparent, isn't it?" Your fingers trail over the high-cut sides, the sheer mesh that does absolutely nothing to hide the shape of your perfect ass. "I feel like it's a bit... revealing."

Satoru’s pupils are huge. "BIT?! Woman, that is a one-way ticket to getting worshiped in public—"

Suguru sighs. "You're making it worse."

"I AM NOT MAKING IT WORSE. SHE IS MAKING IT WORSE."

You laugh, and to really make it worse, you grab his shirt next. "Let me help you too."

You drag your fingers down the open edges of his shirt—black and silky like Suguru’s, but of course, this one is covered—fucking covered—in tiny Swarovski crystals, catching the light every time he moves. A stupidly dramatic, expensive-ass shirt that only he could pull off. You start buttoning it, deliberately slow, dragging your fingers over his stomach, feeling every tense muscle under your touch.

He lets out a sharp breath, hands still locked onto your hips, his thumbs rubbing slow circles, like he’s trying to keep himself grounded.

"Y'know," you hum, pretending to be innocent, "I don't know if this suits you all closed up. Maybe we should leave it open. Show off a little skin."

Satoru makes another sound—something between a whimper and a groan. "Okay, you're playing dirty."

You smile. "You love it."

Suguru chuckles, folding his arms. "We're never making it out the door at this rate."

"Good," Satoru huffs, staring at you like he wants to eat you whole. "I didn't wanna go anyway."

-------------------

The club is everything you could've hoped for—dark, sultry, pulsing with low, thrumming bass that vibrates straight through your bones. Velvet and leather, gold accents catching in the dim light, bodies moving together like something primal. The kind of place dripping in luxury, but with just enough edge to keep things interesting. A place where the drinks are expensive, the lighting is decadent and low, and the clientele is dressed like sin.

Exactly the kind of place where a dress like yours fits right in.

The second you step onto the floor, heels clicking against the sleek black marble—heads turn. Men and women alike, eyes drawn like moths to flame. You’re draped in nothing but sheer black mesh and audacity, the soft lighting making your skin glow through the fabric. The moment you step under the spotlight of the chandelier overhead, your nipples tighten from the temperature shift, standing out against the barely-there material. The dress clings, hugs, barely conceals—no, it doesn’t conceal shit, and that’s exactly the point.

Satoru groans. "I've made a grave mistake."

Suguru exhales slowly, dragging his eyes up the length of your body like he’s committing every inch to memory. "Yeah, no shit."

You grin, stepping between them, pressing up onto the tips of your heels and tilting your chin at Satoru. "What was that about getting worshiped in public?"

His hands land heavy on your hips, firm and possessive, fingers flexing like he’s resisting the urge to do something reckless. "Oh, don't tempt me, sweetheart. Not unless you wanna find out just how serious I was."

Suguru’s hand skims up your spine, feather-light, teasing, and you swear you hear the smirk in his voice when he murmurs, "I think she wants to find out."

You let out a breathy little hum, rocking back slightly against Suguru, dragging your fingertips down the hard line of Satoru’s chest. "Maybe I do."

His grip tightens. Suguru’s hand slides a little lower, settling just above the dip of your ass, fingers playing idly with the thin straps of your dress. You revel in the way they look at you—like they could devour you whole, like they already are.

And then—

"Fucking hell," Satoru snaps out of it, straightening up, pulling his hands off you like he needs the distance to think straight. "Dunno if I can let you walk around like this."

Suguru, of course, is the picture of composure—except for the slight twitch of his jaw when your hip shifts against him. "It's a little late for second thoughts."

Satoru levels him with a look. "You say that like you're not five seconds from throwing your jacket over her."

Suguru chuckles. "I'd be lying if I said the thought hadn't crossed my mind."

You roll your eyes, stepping forward, letting their hands fall away as you toss them a playful glance over your shoulder. "I think the two of you just don't know how to share."

The way their gazes darken in unison sends a delicious shiver down your spine. You don’t need to turn around to know they’re following close behind as you step further into the club, heels clicking against the polished floor.

The night is young, the drinks are waiting, and you’re exactly where you want to be—between two men who look at you like they’d burn the world down just to keep you close.

And oh, how you love making them burn.

The beat shifts—deep, pulsing, something slow but sinful, designed for bodies pressed close, hands wandering, teasing, playing at the edge of something dangerous. You start to move, rolling your hips, letting the rhythm take over, the sheer fabric of your dress sliding like a second skin over your body. Every movement is deliberate, every shift in weight designed to tease. You stretch your arms up, letting your fingers tangle in your hair, knowing exactly what it does—how it arches your back, how it makes the hem of your dress ride even higher.

Satoru groans, hands gripping your hips almost instinctively, fingers pressing in. "No. Nope. This is illegal. Someone's gonna die tonight."

Suguru is smoother, always. He watches, smirking, but his hands aren’t idle. No, one of them trails up your spine, fingertips tracing over the exposed skin, slow, torturous, sending a shiver racing down your back. His other hand slides around, low on your stomach, holding you steady as he leans in, lips brushing your ear.

"You love this, don't you?" His voice is like silk and smoke, a dangerous caress. "The way people are watching you? Watching us?"

You sigh, low and sweet, rolling back against him, feeling the heat of his body through his still half-unbuttoned shirt. "Mmm. Maybe."

Satoru growls. "Okay, nope, that's it—" He spins you, hands firm on your waist, pressing you chest-to-chest with him, his breath hot against your lips. "Do you even realize what you're doing to me?"

You smile, lazy, wicked. "Oh, baby, I know exactly what I'm doing."

Suguru laughs, slow and indulgent, before stepping in behind you, sandwiching you between them, his lips grazing the side of your neck, his hands sliding over your hips. "Then let's see how much you can handle."

The bass thrums deep in your chest, a slow, filthy rhythm that seeps into your bones, into your bloodstream, into every slick, charged moment between you and them. Suguru is at your back, Satoru in front, both of them wound tight around you, trapped in your gravity.

You move first, rolling your hips in time with the beat, arching into Suguru’s solid chest behind you. His hands snap onto your waist, strong and sure, fingers spreading like he’s trying to memorize the shape of you through the nearly nonexistent fabric of your dress. His grip tightens when you roll against him, slow and teasing, your ass fitting perfectly against the hardness pressing into you.

"Dangerous game, kitten," he groans into your ear, voice thick with warning and want.

You just laugh, dragging your hands up Satoru’s chest in front of you, nails scratching lightly over the Swarovski-studded silk. "I like playing with fire."

Satoru’s grin is sharp, wicked, eyes glinting under the dim lights as he watches you through pale lashes. "That why you wore this dress, princess? To see how long we'd last before losing our fucking minds?" 

His hands slide up your sides over the sheer mesh, thumb barely brushing the curve of your breast, deliberately slow, and his pupils blow wide when he sees the way your breath hitches.

Behind you, Suguru’s lips brush against your neck, the heat of his breath so hot. "It's working." 

His voice is lower now, rougher, his hands gripping you tighter, holding you against him as he rocks into you, guiding your movements, making you feel every hard inch of him. "You wanted our attention, kitten? You got it."

You arch back against him, one hand reaching up to tangle in his dark, loose hair, tilting your head just enough to bare more of your throat. "Mmm, dunno," you purr, feigning innocence, but the way you push back against his cock gives you away. "I feel like you could try harder."

Suguru growls—a deep, possessive sound that vibrates against your skin. His teeth scrape along your jaw before he catches your throat in a slow, claiming bite, just enough pressure to make you shudder. His fingers dig into your hips, his grip unrelenting, as he forces you to grind back against him, his huge body caging yours completely.

Satoru watches with a sharp inhale, his hands never stopping their slow exploration. One hand curls around your throat, thumb ghosting over your jawline as he tilts your chin up, forcing your gaze on him. His lips hover just over yours, teasing, tormenting, daring you to close the distance. "You got half the room ready to drop to their knees for you, princess."

You smirk, eyes hooded as you glance between them. "Jealous?"

Suguru’s fingers flex on your waist. "Possessive."

Satoru grins. "Turned the fuck on."

Your laugh is breathless, taunting, and you press closer to Satoru, the heat between you practically crackling. "Good."

Then you move again, slow and sinuous, grinding between them, your hands splayed over their chests, their bodies locked onto yours. Satoru groans, low and wrecked, tilting his head down to drag his lips over your throat, pressing open-mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin. Suguru tightens his grip, hips rolling against your ass, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

And you, in the middle of it all, feeling them, teasing them, knowing exactly how far you can push before they snap. The music throbs around you, the bass sinking into your bones, but right now, all you care about is them—how their hands linger, how their touches spark something deep in your core.

You pull back just enough to catch your breath, licking your lips. You grin. "I'm thirsty."

Suguru hums against your ear. "Oh, I bet you are."

You roll your eyes and give his chest a little shove. "For a drink, asshole."

Satoru groans, dragging a hand through his already messy hair. "Finally, something I can get behind! Let's get drinks—"

"—but you're not ordering," you interrupt, turning on your heel to face him fully, arms crossed, eyebrow raised. "If I let you pick, we'll be stuck drinking some sugar-bomb disaster named after a middle-aged housewife on vacation."

Satoru gasps. "Excuse you! Sex on the Beach is a classic."

Suguru chuckles, slipping an arm around your waist and tugging you back against him. "She's right, though."

"Traitor," Satoru mutters, but he follows as you lead them to the bar.

The place is sleek, all dark wood and gold accents, expensive liquor bottles lined up behind the bartender like a shrine. You slide up to the bar, hip cocked, fingers tapping against the counter as you catch the bartender’s attention. "Six shots of Tequila, please—salt on the side."

Suguru grins, approving. Satoru pouts. "No fruity umbrella drink?"

"Suck it up, princess."

The bartender smirks as he pours, sliding six shots across the counter. You pick one up, fingertips tracing the rim of the glass, teasing, before your other hand lifts. Your tongue drags over the back of it, slow, indulgent, eyes flicking up just in time to catch them watching.

You sprinkle the salt onto the damp skin, eyes locked onto Satoru’s as you bring your hand back to your mouth, licking it off in one sensual, teasing swipe. Then, you grab your shot—head tilting back, throat working as the tequila burns down, sweet and sharp. And finally, the lime—your teeth sinking in, sucking the tart juice from the fruit with a little hum of pleasure, tongue flicking out to catch the last drop.

Suguru’s chuckle is low, amused, dangerous as he takes a seat on one of the barstools and pulls you right onto his lap. One strong arm hooks around your waist, fingers splayed against your hip as he drags you snug against him. "You really wanna start something, huh?"

"Dunno what you mean," you purr, all sweetness as you shift in his lap, rolling your hips just a little—just enough to feel the thick, heavy cock straining against you. Oh, he feels good, hard and warm and barely restrained, his dick pressing against the fabric between you. He grunts, hands tightening, holding you there, dragging you down harder.

He hums, low and pleased, mouth brushing just under your ear. "Yeah. I really like this game."

And then his hand is wrapping around your wrist, guiding it up, up, up to his mouth—until his lips hover right over your pulse. His tongue flicks out—warm, slick, dragging slow and filthy over the delicate skin there. He lingers, savoring, lips pressing against the damp spot in a way that makes your breath hitch, makes a quiet little moan slip out before you can stop it.

His smirk is nothing short of wicked as he pulls back just enough to sprinkle the salt onto the damp skin before dragging his tongue over it again, teasing, before finally knocking back his shot, throat bobbing. And then the lime, but he doesn’t just bite into it—no, he sucks on it, slow, gaze locked onto yours like he knows exactly what you’re thinking.

You swallow. "Satoru?" Your voice is light, teasing, as you turn to offer your wrist, eyes heavy-lidded.

Satoru exhales through his nose, shaking his head with a smirk. "Only 'cause I get to lick you, princess."

His fingers are already on you—long, elegant, trailing over your wrist before flipping it, palm up, exposing your pulse. His lips hover there, teasing, a whisper of warmth against your pulse before he presses in, tongue dragging a wet stripe up the delicate skin, slow and dirty. He fucking groans as he does it, like he likes the taste of you, like he’s already thinking about doing it somewhere else.

Your stomach flips. Suguru’s grip on your hips tightens.

Satoru grins against your skin, all smug and infuriating, as he sprinkles the salt onto the damp spot he’d just licked, dragging his tongue over it again, this time deliberately messy, before tossing back his own shot.

And because he’s him, he makes a whole show of it—wincing dramatically, tongue poking out. "Fuuuck, that's strong."

"You gonna cry?" you tease, tilting your head.

Satoru clicks his tongue, setting his empty shot glass down before leaning in close, so close his lips almost brush yours. "Nah, baby," he murmurs, all heat and mischief. "but I might need something sweeter to wash it down."

And before you can process what the fuck that means, before you can even think about stopping him, Satoru’s already moving.

He leans in, all effortless grace, hands skating down your sides like he owns you, like he’s been waiting for an excuse to touch. And then—his mouth lands on you, hot and wet, right above the swell of your breast.

Your breath catches—a sharp inhale that gets stuck in your throat—as his tongue flicks out, slow and deliberate, dragging a slick stripe over your skin. It’s filthy, messy, a claim more than anything else, and he groans as he does it, half-smirking against your chest like he’s savoring it.

Suguru laughs. His hand tightens on your hip, pressing you down against him to make sure you feel exactly how much this little game is making his dick throb. "Greedy, aren't you?"

Satoru pulls back just slightly, tongue darting out to wet his lips, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "What? She wants us to do it right."

"You bastard," you huff, but your voice is breathy, and you’re still pressed against Suguru, your body warm and buzzing from the way Satoru’s mouth feels on your skin.

Satoru just grins like he already knows he’s won. He reaches for the salt, pinches some between his fingers and sprinkles it right over the damp spot he just licked. And then his mouth is back on you, tongue warm and wicked as he licks the salt away, slower this time, like he wants you to feel it. His breath is hot, his lips soft, and when he finally leans back, his pupils are blown.

The tequila shot barely registers after that, but he still tosses it back, knocking it down easy, before grabbing a lime wedge. But instead of popping it into his own mouth, he slides it between your lips, grinning. "Hold that for me, sweetheart."

Suguru groans beneath you, fingers digging into your flesh. "You're actually fucking insufferable."

"Yeah?" Satoru says, smirking. "Then you better shut me up, huh?"

Suguru’s eyes flick to yours, dark and hungry, and fuck—he looks like he’s seriously considering it. His hand slides up, fingers curling around your jaw, tilting your head just so before he leans in, mouth hot and hungry against yours. He doesn’t even bother taking the lime first—no, he kisses you with it between your lips, tongue brushing against yours as he bites down, tearing the citrus away like he’s starving for the taste of you.

It’s messy. Wet. Hungry in a way that has you whining into his mouth, thighs squeezing around his lap because fuck, the way he kisses should be illegal.

Satoru laughs, breathless but smug, watching the way you melt into the touch, the way your body reacts with every roll of your hips against Suguru’s lap. "Well, damn—I was just trying to get a little taste, but looks like you're getting a whole fucking meal, huh?"

Suguru barely pulls back. "Speaking of," he says, voice all lazy drawl but filthy underneath, "I think it's my turn for another shot."

His fingers tighten on your hip, keeping you flush against him. He sprinkles some salt right over the spot Satoru has just licked, still damp, still hypersensitive. His tongue flicks out as he hums against your skin, dark eyes flicking up to yours as he drags his tongue across it again, savoring. Fuck, it’s obscene—the way he lingers, the way his breath is hot against your breast, the way his mouth moves like he’s tasting something richer than just salt and tequila.

"Mm," Suguru muses, pulling back just enough to smirk at Satoru, eyes lazy and knowing. "Kinda sweet, actually."

Satoru huffs a laugh, but there’s heat in his gaze, something sharp and interested as he watches Suguru knock back the shot like it’s nothing.

"Sweet, huh?" Satoru echoes, tilting his head, tapping his fingers against the bar as he considers. "Maybe I should go for another taste."

He’s already reaching for you, hand curling around your neck, and before you can even think about teasing him, his mouth is back on you, hot and open-mouthed, right there over your breast, wet and messy and obscene as his tongue drags slow over your skin.

You moan before you can stop yourself, hips twitching slightly where you’re still sprawled over Suguru’s lap, because it’s too much and not enough at the same time.

Suguru makes a low, approving noise, his hands flexing on your waist like he wants to pin you down. "Tch. You're making a mess—and there's not even salt," he chuckles, but instead of pulling Satoru off, his fingers hook under the neckline of your dress, tugging just enough to tease a little more of your chest out.

Satoru smirks, unapologetic, shooting a look at Suguru. "Yeah, well. You love a mess, don't you?"

Chapter Text

The bass pounds through your body, deep and thrumming, like it's syncing with the ache between your legs. Suguru’s cock is thick and hard against you, heat radiating through the flimsy excuse of a dress you threw on tonight, and you fucking love it. Love how he groans into your mouth when you grind down on him, how his teeth catch your lip, dragging slow and filthy before his tongue slides against yours.

You can taste the salt and lime on him, the sweet burn of tequila and the even sweeter burn of desire—and fuck, it’s addictive. It’s got you pressing in, nails biting into his shoulders, like maybe if you just got close enough, you could sink right into him.

"Fuck, kitten—" he mutters against your lips, half a groan, half a growl, hands gripping tight on your hips like he’s barely holding himself back. You’re soaked, and you know he feels it, the way his fingers flex like he wants to rip your dress clean off just to get to you.

You pull back with a smirk, licking the taste of him off your lips as you glance between the two of them. Oh. They’re looking at you like they could eat you alive.

"Alright, you two," you purr, breathless, a playful little grin on your lips. "Since you've had all the fun licking me, I guess it's my turn now. So—who wants me to lick the salt off?"

Satoru’s eyes practically sparkle with excitement. Suguru’s eyes are smoldering.

"Why don't you pick?" Suguru suggests, low and dangerous.

Satoru's smirk goes full-on naughty as his hands slide down to give your thighs a little squeeze. "Or," he murmurs, voice dropping into something sinfully low, "we could make this interesting." 

His breath ghosts over your ear. "You lick it off whoever you think is the hottest. Or whose dick you're dying to suck right now. Or—" He grins, all sharp teeth. "The one you find the most annoying. Totally up to you which one, baby girl."

Suguru's fingers tighten on your waist. "Oh, now it's a contest?"

You chuckle, leaning back against Suguru’s chest, rolling the thought around in your mind while you run your fingers over Satoru’s exposed collarbone. "Hmm," you hum, like you’re really thinking about it. "You're just making it harder to choose."

Satoru flashes you that infuriating, shit-eating grin, tipping his head back. "I'm ready whenever you are, princess."

You giggle, but there’s a wicked glint in your eyes as you pop open the first few buttons of his shirt, dragging your fingertips over his skin and leaving trails of fire, feeling the way his muscles tense under your touch. "Alright, okay—guess I'll pick based on who's been the most annoying."

Your tongue flicks out, just a teasing little taste against the sharp line of his throat. His pulse jumps, and his hands tighten on your thighs.

"Ohhh, fuck," he breathes, needy and filthy, eyes fluttering shut.

You give him that naughty look as you sprinkle the salt along his skin, and then you lick again—you drag your tongue up in a slow, teasing, filthy stroke, tracing a wet line up to his jaw. The salt barely registers—it’s the taste of him that floods your senses, warm, slightly salty from the sweat, fucking addictive. When you pull away with a playful little lip smack, his mouth is hanging open, and his pretty eyes roll back, dark and fucking desperate.

"Jesus fuck," he groans. "More."

But you’re already turning, shifting back in Suguru’s lap, reaching behind you to drag your tongue up his neck, too. He sucks in a sharp breath, jaw clenching, and when you pull back, his eyes are half-lidded and hungry.

You sit back, smug as fuck, licking the last traces of salt from your lips as you glance between them. "Well," you purr, "guess we know who's more fun to tease." And with that, you knock back your shot, the tequila burning all the way down.

Suguru chuckles low in your ear, his hand sliding up to grab a fistful of your hair. "Be a good girl now," he warns, giving your hair a sharp little tug that makes your stomach flip.

You bite your lip, tilting your head to look up at him with a devilish twinkle in your eye. "Why the fuck would I do that?" you purr, grinding down on his cock just enough to make him groan. "You guys had your fun, right?"

His smirk is all the answer you need before he yanks you in, kissing a bruise into your neck, teeth and tongue leaving a mark you know you’ll be wearing tomorrow. You moan loud, the sound swallowed by the pulse of the music, body moving instinctively, seeking friction, chasing pleasure, begging for more.

Satoru’s eyes follow the movement with obsessive fascination, eyes locked onto the way you grind into Suguru, the way your pretty lips part with every little gasp. His hand snakes out, sliding around your throat, fingers pressing just right.

"You're driving us fucking crazy, princess," he murmurs, thumb tracing the curve of your jaw, his eyes flicking to your mouth.

Your lips curl into a knowing smirk, eyes half-closed, hips rolling slow, deliberate, making them both groan. "Good."

You lean back into Suguru, letting his palm slide down between your legs to cup your aching pussy, feeling the wetness soak through the damp fabric of your little dress. His fingers press just enough to tease, the slow, lazy circles against your clit making your thighs tremble. You suck in a breath, head falling back against his shoulder as he mouths at your neck, tongue flicking, teeth scraping. You’re already a fucking mess—slick, desperate, aching for them to ruin you.

Your spine arches instinctively, pushing your tits out, offering yourself up like you’re begging to be devoured. The music pounds through your body, lights flashing and strobing across your faces, painting everything in a haze of lustful colors. All you can focus on is the sweet ache inside you, the fire burning in your pussy. Every beat is a pulse between your legs, an electric throb that makes you grind against Suguru’s hand. You need them—need their hands on you, need their mouths on you, need their cocks inside you—you need everything.

Suguru chuckles low against your ear, fingers pressing harder. "You're fucking soaked," he groans, voice thick with amusement. "Such a messy little kitten, aren't you?"

You whimper, eyes fluttering shut, but then Satoru’s hand is on your face, tilting your chin up, thumb stroking slow over your bottom lip. "Open up," he purrs, and fuck, you obey without thinking, parting your lips just for him.

His finger slides into your mouth, pressing against your tongue, and the way his eyes darken as you suck makes your pussy clench around nothing. He groans, low and filthy, hips pressing forward just slightly, just enough to make sure you feel how hard he is for you.

And just when you think you might fucking combust, Suguru’s hand sneaks under your dress and shoves aside that tiny, drenched scrap of fabric covering your aching cunt. He drags those long fingers through your dripping folds, and a strangled moan vibrates around Satoru’s finger—so you suck harder, tongue swirling, as Suguru’s thumb circles your clit in a slow, torturous rhythm. Your legs feel weak, body trembling with need, so fucking desperate for them.

You look up at Satoru, eyes hooded, begging for more, and he obliges, sliding his finger deeper into your mouth, groaning as you take it all.

You're so lost in the sensations that you almost don't notice when his finger slips away, replaced by the cool rim of a shot glass. "Drink up, princess."

You tilt your head back, letting the burn of tequila rush down your throat, setting your nerves on fire, pooling low in your stomach. It hits fast, liquid courage buzzing in your veins, making your skin feel too tight, too hot.

Before you even realize what you’re doing, you’re on your feet—unsteady for half a second before you catch yourself—laughing, breathless, grabbing their hands and tugging them with you. "C'mon," you grin over your shoulder, eyes bright, teasing. "I wanna move."

Satoru huffs a laugh but follows without hesitation, letting you drag him through the crowd, his grip tightening like he knows you’ll slip right through his fingers if he doesn’t hold on. "Oh yeah? You really wanna play that game, princess?"

Suguru just smirks, following close behind, his palm settling warm and heavy against the small of your back. "Tch. Kitty's fucking starving tonight."

You giggle, threading your fingers with theirs, pulling them deeper into the chaos of flashing lights and heat, until you’re lost in the thick press of bodies, right in the middle of it all. Right where they can take their time breaking you apart.

You press back against Suguru, arms slipping up to drape around his neck as your hips roll, slow and teasing. His hands drop instantly, gripping your waist, big and possessive, like he’s already claiming you.

"Fuck, look at you," Suguru hums against your ear, voice all dark and syrupy as his fingers flex, pulling you tighter against him. "All drunk and messy, rubbin' up on us like a little slut." His cock grinds firm against your ass, thick and heavy through his pants, and it makes your head spin. "Love watching you like this, kitten."

Satoru steps in front of you, so close the heat of his body makes you dizzy. His hands catch your hips, trapping you between them. "She does need it," he chuckles, thumbs stroking teasing circles over the fabric of your dress. "So fuckin' greedy, huh, princess?"

He tilts his head, lips hovering just over yours, teasing, taunting, close enough to make you chase. And when you do, he pulls back, grinning like the tease he is. Smug, pretty bastard.

Your whine is cut short when Suguru’s lips find your neck, hot and insistent, teeth dragging, nipping just enough to make you gasp. "She's dripping," he growls, one hand sliding down, sneaking beneath your dress again to cup your wet cunt. His fingers rub against the fabric. "Jesus. You're fuckin' soaked, kitten."

You moan, rocking between them, pressing back into Suguru’s hand, pushing forward into Satoru’s grip, hands fisting into his shirt like you need him to hold you up. "And?" you pant, eyes flicking between them, pupils blown wide. "You gonna do something about it?"

Suguru chuckles, dark and knowing, and his fingers curl around your throat, pressing hard enough to make you whimper. "Think she wants us to fuck her right here," he chuckles, amusement laced with something deeper. His thumb strokes slow, teasing circles over your skin before he tilts your chin up and devours you.

His mouth crashes against yours, all heat and hunger, teeth scraping over your bottom lip before his tongue slides deep, tasting you, stealing the breath from your lungs. You gasp, knees threatening to give out, but his grip keeps you steady, keeps you locked against him exactly how he wants.

You melt, body arching, hands tangling into his hair as you kiss him back just as desperately, tongue curling against his in a messy, breathless tangle. The taste of tequila and lime lingers on his tongue, sharp and delicious, and you’re insatiable, grinding back against him like you need him inside you. Because well, you do.

Suguru groans into your mouth, his grip tightening on your waist, fingers digging into your flesh, dragging you impossibly closer. "Fuck, you're insatiable," he breathes, rolling his hips up into you, letting you feel exactly how fucking hard and throbbing he is. "But I love that about you."

You hum a moan, caught up in the heat, in the way your body shakes between theirs, how your blood pounds in your veins like the bass shaking the walls. You turn, already reaching for Satoru, aching for his mouth, his hands, his teasing, filthy smirk—

But he’s not looking at you.

He’s looking at them.

Two girls—sexy, flirty, standing way too fucking close, their glossy lips curved into matching coy little smiles. One’s got her hand tracing circles on Satoru’s bicep, the other’s whispering something low and sweet in his ear, nails dragging slow and teasing down his chest like she’s already thinking about what’s underneath.

"You sure you don't wanna dance, handsome?" the pouty one asks, voice dripping with honey, batting those long lashes at him.

The other one giggles, pressing in even closer. "Yeah, we promise we won't bite… unless you want us to."

Satoru chuckles, tilting his head as if considering, ever the picture of lazy amusement. He’s playing it cool, but you know him—you see the flicker of mischief in his eyes, the way he thrives off the attention. He loves this. Loves being the center of every orbit, loves the way people throw themselves at him like they have even a sliver of a shot.

He smirks at them, all lazy charm, all effortless fucking arrogance. "Tempting," he drawls, smooth as sin, "but I'm already very occupied tonight, ladies."

Pouty doesn’t back off, nails digging in just slightly as she trails her fingers up his arm, her little smirk sharp. "Occupied?" she echoes, tilting her pretty head. "You got a girlfriend or something?"

Satoru’s smirk widens, like this is all some joke, and fuck—

You know that look. That is the look of a man about to be insufferable.

"No girlfriend," he replies, light and casual, and then—

He glances over, gives a slow, deliberate nod toward Suguru.

"But my buddy here," he adds, chin-jerking in Suguru’s direction, "he's got one. So… let's just say I kinda have one too."

Suguru chuckles, shaking his head. "That's definitely not how relationships work, Satoru."

The girls blink, both clearly confused, glancing between you, Satoru, and Suguru like they’re trying to piece together some depraved little puzzle. "Wait—so… you're with him, right?" the bolder one asks you, gesturing vaguely toward Suguru.

The other girl’s eyes flick to you, lips pursing, like she’s expecting you to clear things up. But before you can say a damn thing—Satoru moves.

He wrenches you out of Suguru’s arms in one smooth pull, spinning you into his chest, his long fingers curling firm around your jaw. "Lemme make it real simple for you," he purrs, tilting your face up—

And then he kisses you.

Not quite on your lips, no. Right beneath them. A teasing, smug little press of his mouth against the corner of yours, like he could devour you but wants to make you beg for it first. It’s possessive, teasing, almost mocking in how easy he makes it look, how utterly unbothered he is by the two girls still standing there, staring, gaping.

Suguru exhales a quiet, knowing chuckle behind you. "Such a fucking show-off."

One of the girls huffs, crossing her arms, clearly not amused. "Okaaay, well—that's clear enough."

The other scoffs under her breath, rolling her eyes before grabbing her friend’s wrist. "Tch, such a shame," she mutters, spinning on her heel.

Satoru grins against your skin, teeth grazing your jaw before he finally pulls back, his grip on your chin still firm. His voice is smug as all hell when he murmurs, "Mmm. That was fun."

"Fun, huh?" Suguru hums behind you, his grip tightening at your waist before he turns you with ease, spinning you out of Satoru’s hold and straight back into his chest.

"Damn, kitten—you really let him do that so easily? Didn't even fight back a little." His hands slide down your ass now, firm and possessive. "What, baby? You just gonna let anyone put their mouth on you like that?"

You bite your lip as you shift in his grip, pressing back into him and grinding against his rock-hard cock. "Anyone?" you echo, voice all sugar and tease. You tilt your head, a slow, wicked smile tugging at your lips. "Depends. Would you have let him?"

Suguru chuckles. "Not the answer I was looking for."

Satoru’s grin is sharp, electric, his thumb swiping at your lower lip. "C'mon, baby, don't play shy now," he coos as his grip finally slips from your chin, but his touch doesn’t go far—a hand slides up your back, fingers threading into your hair, tipping your head back. "Would you have let me kiss you like that, princess?"

You blink up at him, leaning into his touch, your lips parting slightly. "Dunno," you purr, licking your lips. "Why don't you find out?"

Suguru leans in closer, his lips ghosting over your ear. "That's definitely not a no."

Before you can throw another tease, Suguru moves—his hand slides up first, fingers gripping your jaw as he tugs hard, angling your face up to meet his. His mouth crashes onto yours without hesitation, hot and demanding, his tongue pushing past yours with a groan that vibrates right through your pussy.

The world tilts. Heat, raw and consuming, floods through you as you melt into the kiss, your nails digging into his biceps as you whimper against his mouth. His teeth scrape over your bottom lip before he sucks it between his own, and fuck, you swear you feel it all the way down to your cunt.

You moan into his mouth, the sound swallowed up by the messy, hungry tangle of tongues and heat. Suguru drinks it down, one hand still holding your jaw, the other gripping your ass tight, like he wants to pin you in place, keep you pressed up against him exactly how he likes it.

Satoru whistles low beside you, but you barely register it, too lost in the way Suguru’s body presses against yours. He kisses like he owns you, like he’s making damn sure you remember who makes you this desperate.

When he finally pulls back, you’re dizzy, lips kiss-bruised, and fuck, you whimper, the sound slipping out soft and sweet before you can even think to stop it. His smirk is wicked, thumb stroking at your swollen bottom lip like he’s not done playing with his food yet.

"Damn," Satoru muses. "And here I thought you liked me best."

You blink up at Satoru, faux innocence dripping from your expression. "Aww," you purr, letting your lashes flutter, playful, coy, dangerous. Then, slow as sin, you reach out, fingers hooking into Satoru’s belt loops, yanking him just a fraction closer. "You jealous, Satoru?"

Satoru laughs—but it’s that low, breathy kind, the one that means he’s this close to snapping. His hands are already on you—gripping at your waist, sliding down to your hips like he’s claiming his spot on your body. 

"Nah, baby," he drawls, but you see the way his pupils are blown wide, how his grip tightens the second you press into him, your breasts brushing against his chest, heat bleeding between the thin layers of clothing. "Just wondering if you'd let me kiss you like that too."

Suguru chuckles low behind you. "Oh? That a request?"

Satoru smirks, but you don’t miss the way his throat bobs when you roll your hips, barely a movement but enough to make his grip flex. His pretty eyes are fixed on your lips. "Definitely."

"Mmm," you hum, dragging it out, playing with him, dragging your nails down his chest through his shirt, feeling the way his abs tense beneath your touch. You shift on your toes, pressing up, lips a whisper away from his, a cruel little tease that makes his fingers dig in, like he wants to snap, wants to drag you in and take—

"Think I should, Suguru?"

You say it with a cute little smile, voice all honeyed amusement, but your breath hitches just a little when Suguru moves—his hand sliding up, fingers curling around your throat, grip tight, possessive, fucking right.

"You really wanna know what I think, kitten?" His voice dips, rough and oh so sexy, but there’s a warning in there too, something dangerous wrapped up in that lazy smirk, like he knows you’re playing a game, and he’s deciding whether he’s gonna let you win.

Your pulse jumps under his fingers. You tilt your head, letting out a soft little breath, gaze flicking up at Suguru, letting your voice drip with all the sweet, sinful temptation you know will drive them insane.

"Can I?"

You keep your lips right there, ghosting over Satoru’s, not quite touching, dragging it out just to watch him twitch, to feel the tension coil tighter. "Can I kiss your best friend, babe? Please?"

Suguru watches you, dark eyes heavy, sharp, drinking in the sight of you dangling your own self over the edge. His thumb strokes slow against your throat, thinking, dragging it out, torturing you with the wait. And then—

He smirks.

"Go ahead, kitten."

You don’t even let Satoru start whatever filthy thing he was about to say—you take him, crashing your lips against his in a greedy, messy kiss that steals his breath and whatever cocky remark was about to leave his mouth. You’re starving for it, tongue sliding against his, sucking, nipping at his bottom lip like you wanna bruise him, wanna make him feel how bad you need him. It’s messy, wet, all heat and hunger, your fingers tangled in his hair, yanking hard enough to make him growl against your mouth.

Satoru doesn’t just take it—he gives it right back. 

He groans into it, a low, wrecked sound that shoots straight to your pussy. His hands are greedy—skating up your thighs, gripping your ass, pulling you flush against him so you can feel how fucking hard and huge he is for you through his pants. And fuck, you grind into it, chasing friction, gasping into his mouth when he matches your pace, whining because you know exactly what you’re doing to him, because he’s just as desperate, just as fucking gone.

His hands slide up—up, up—fingers slipping under the hem of your dress, dangerously close to where you ache for him most. But before he can get any further—

Suguru growls.

A sharp tsk, a firm grip. Large hands close around Satoru’s wrists, yanking them away from where they were about to disappear under your dress. "Tch. Not there," Suguru warns, his voice low and dark, dripping with amusement but still so fucking authoritative.

And then it’s Suguru’s hands on you—palming your tits through your thin, sheer little dress, kneading, teasing, his thumbs swiping slow, deliberate circles over your hard nipples. You arch into the touch, a sharp gasp leaving you as your head tilts back against his chest, body shivering at the way his fingers play with you, toying with your sensitivity through the fabric like he’s testing just how desperate he can make you.

Satoru exhales sharply, tongue darting out to wet his lips, jaw clenching at the way your lashes flutter when Suguru rolls a nipple between his fingers, at the way you push into it, whimpering like a needy little slut. His hands lift, hesitating for just a second—

"Go on," Suguru murmurs, pinching a nipple, hard. "Play nice."

Satoru grins—sharp, wicked—and his hands replace Suguru’s, long fingers immediately squeezing, kneading, rolling your sensitive peaks between his fingertips, pinching just hard enough to make you whimper so pretty. Your back arches, pushing into his touch, into the heat of their bodies caging you in.

"Fuck," Satoru groans, eyes flicking between your flushed face and the way your nipples pebble under his touch. "So fucking pretty."

His fingers are greedy, rubbing slow, lazy circles over the hard little buds, rolling them between his pads, teasing just to hear you whine. His touch is all about play, about making you squirm, dragging it out while his lips hover close, hot breath fanning over your jaw.

And then—Suguru’s mouth is on your neck, teeth scraping before he sinks them in, hard enough to sting, to leave another red mark, sucking slow and deep. "Mmm, sensitive here too, huh?" he purrs, his tongue laving over the spot, soothing, only to sink his teeth in again, lower, right where your shoulder meets your collarbone.

You’re dizzy, heat pooling low, body thrumming with the combined touch of their hands, their mouths, their fat cocks pressing in from both sides.

Satoru’s mouth drags lower, and before you can even process it, his lips are on you—hot and wet over your nipple, sucking through the thin fabric, making it even more see-through, the darkened peak visible through the sheer material as he moans against it like he’s the one being taken apart.

"Fuuuck," he groans against you, his voice muffled, desperate. "You're so damn hot, princess. These pretty tits taste so fucking sweet—fuck, man, I think I'm obsessed with your girl."

His tongue flicks slow, teasing, the damp fabric clinging even tighter to your skin, making every little roll and swirl even more obvious. You shudder, gasping, fingers tangling in his soft white hair as he sucks deeper, harder, whining into it like he needs it just as bad as you do.

Suguru watches, heat smoldering in his gaze, and then he moves too—his big hands sliding up your sides, settling on your other breast. He palms it, thumb brushing over the stiff peak, and then—he joins in.

His lips latch onto the other nipple, tongue tracing slow, deliberate circles over the soaked fabric before his teeth graze it, just enough to make you jolt, to make your nails dig into Satoru’s scalp. He chuckles against you, warm and teasing.

"Greedy little thing," Suguru murmurs, his lips dragging over the thin material, flicking his tongue against the peak before sucking deep, pulling another wrecked moan from you. 

You look up at the both of them, cheeks flushed, eyes glazed with need. "Take me home," you demand, your voice a desperate little whine. "Now."

Chapter Text

"Fuuuuck," Satoru exhales, the heat of his words ghosting over your nipple, his tongue swirling slow and teasing over the damp fabric. "You hear that, Suguru? Our baby's getting impatient."

"That so, kitten?" Suguru muses between slow, open-mouthed kisses, his deep voice vibrating against your skin. "You want us that bad?"

"So you gonna take me home, or are we gonna fuck right here?" Your voice is shameless, wrecked, and you don’t even care, not when their hands are already on you, not when their greedy mouths are already sucking your tits.

Satoru lets out this sharp, breathy laugh, his hands sliding down to your ass, squeezing just to hear the pretty little gasp you make. "Fuck, princess," he groans, pulling you tight against him, letting you feel how fucking hard he is. You shudder, gasping, fingers tangling in his soft white hair as he sucks deeper, harder, whining into it like he needs it just as bad as you do. "Keep talking like that and we're not making it out the door."

Suguru chuckles, all dark amusement. His hand drags up your throat, thumb pressing firm against your fluttering pulse. "Tch. You're lucky we have a little self-control."

Satoru snorts. "Speak for yourself."

And then—everything moves fast.

Suguru grabs your wrist, dragging you toward the exit like he’s already decided you’ve wasted enough time, while Satoru stays glued to your other side, nipping at your jaw, murmuring absolute filth into your ear between teasing little bites. "You're gonna be such a pretty mess by the time we get you home, princess." 

His hand slides low, fingers brushing the inside of your thigh, and you swear your knees almost give out. "Gonna be crying for us, aren't you?"

"Fuck," you pant, letting them manhandle you toward the car, Suguru’s grip bruising on your wrist, Satoru’s fingers already slipping under the hem of your dress. "Just get me there and find out."

-------------------

By the time you make it back, you’re drunk off their hands, their mouths, their fucking voices alone. And yet, Satoru still pushes a shot glass into your hand the second you step inside, a teasing grin on his lips.

"One more, princess," he coos, tilting his own back like it’s nothing. "You can handle it, right?"

Suguru chuckles low behind you, lips brushing your temple. "She can handle a lot, can't she?" 

Your head is spinning, pulse pounding, but fuck if you care. You down the shot in one go, the burn hitting hard. Satoru laughs, grabbing your chin, thumb swiping at the stray drop of liquor on your lips before sucking it into his own mouth with a groan. "Mmm. That's my good girl."

And then—he smirks.

"You know what we should do?" He’s already pouring another drink, but his eyes are glued to you, glinting with something dark and mischievous. "Play a game."

Suguru raises a brow. "A game, huh?"

Satoru leans in, his lips grazing your ear. "Truth or dare."

You let out a breathy laugh, already knowing exactly where this is going. "Oh, you are so fucking predictable."

"And yet you're still standing here," Satoru grins, passing the bottle to Suguru, who takes a slow sip, watching the both of you like he’s already entertained. "C'mon, baby—you scared?"

"Of you?" You scoff, leaning in close, pressing your hand against his chest. "Never."

"Good." His grin turns downright filthy. "Then you go first."

Suguru hums. "Truth or dare, kitten?"

You don’t even hesitate. "Dare."

Satoru’s eyes flash with delight, tongue swiping over his bottom lip as he exchanges a glance with Suguru. And then—

"Take your panties off."

You arch a brow, but there’s no surprise in your expression. "Satoru," you gasp, faux-shocked. "Asking a poor, innocent girl like me to strip? In front of you both?"

Satoru grins, already seeing through your act. "Puh-lease—the only innocent thing about you is how you still pretend you have shame."

Suguru hums in agreement, swirling the bottle in his hand. "And you took the dare," he reminds you smoothly, voice a slow drag of amusement. "So let's see 'em."

You tilt your head, playful, finger tapping your chin in mock thought. "What if I'm not wearing any?"

"Fuck, I love her," Satoru mumbles to Suguru, grabbing his thigh and squeezing like he needs something to hold onto. "She's trying to kill me, man. But—babe. We all know that's a fucking lie."

Suguru smirks, swirling the bottle in his hand. "Yeah, kitten. We've been staring at that sheer little dress all fucking night." His dark eyes drag down your body, deliberate. "We know exactly what's underneath."

Satoru groans, letting his head fall back dramatically. "Fuck, I haven't looked at a single other thing all damn evening. Just those tiny little panties, teasing me through the fabric—" His fingers twitch against his knee like he’s resisting the urge to touch. "I should get a fucking award for not ripping them off you in the club."

You hum, amused. "Well, lucky for you, you don't have to wait any longer."

They both go silent as you turn, lifting the hem of your dress just a little—enough to give them a teasing peek of your bare ass. You hum, slow and sweet, fingers gliding under the hem before hooking into the thin straps of your lace panties.

You move slow, teasing, dragging the lace down inch by inch. The fabric is damp, sticking to your skin, peeling away with a sinful little whisper. When it slips past your knees, a slick trail clings between your thighs and the soaked center of your panties—so fleeting, so delicate, but enough for both of them to see. Enough to make their gazes go molten.

Suguru lets out a low, appreciative hum, his lips curling. "Now that's a fucking sight."

Satoru swears under his breath, his pupils blown wide, knuckles going white where he grips Suguru’s thigh. "Oh, you gotta be fucking kidding me."

And they can’t stop staring. Because now, without the lace in the way, your dress does absolutely nothing to hide you. The thin, sheer fabric drapes perfectly over your hips, catching the dim light just right—showing off the delicious shape of your bare little cunt.

You smile, slow and knowing, stretching out your legs, shifting your hips like you're just getting comfortable—but really, you just love watching them unravel. With a wicked little flick of your wrist, you toss the lace straight at Satoru.

He catches your panties on reflex, fingers tightening around the damp fabric before he even realizes what he’s doing. And then—his jaw drops, his breath stutters, and before either of you can say a word—Satoru fucking presses them to his face and groans, eyes fluttering shut as he takes a long, deep breath.

Suguru chuckles, shaking his head. "You're such a fucking degenerate."

"Fuuuck," Satoru moans against the fabric, dragging his tongue over the damp spot right in the center, eyes glinting as he looks up at you. "And she's the one trying to kill me."

You tilt your head, innocent and smug all at once. "Relax, boys," you purr, syrupy sweet. "It's just a game, right?"

But it’s clear that nobody’s playing.

Satoru leans in, still toying with your panties like he can’t get enough. "Alright, Suguru's up!"

Suguru’s gaze is hot on your bare skin, pupils blown wide as he watches you, the bottle in his hand forgotten. "Truth." 

You smile, slow and syrupy, tilting your head. "Okay, babe, here's a juicy one," you purr, turning to face him, letting your dress fall back into place—only to give them both one last lingering look before you cover up. "Would you let Satoru have a lil' taste? Since he looks like he's starving for it..."

Suguru’s lips part just slightly before curling into something wicked. "That what you want, kitten?"

You drag your teeth over your bottom lip. "That what you want?" you counter, voice low, taunting, daring him to drop the act.

"Oh, I'm so down for that!" Satoru groans dramatically, a shit-eating grin plastered on his face. "Been starving, actually."

You huff a laugh, a flush creeping up your neck. "But Suguru's the one who has to answer."

Suguru leans back, exuding that kind of controlled arrogance that makes you want to claw at him. "Under certain conditions."

You arch a brow. "What conditions?" 

"That's another question, kitten," he replies smoothly, giving you just enough to keep you on edge.

Satoru clicks his tongue, shaking his head with a smirk. "Damn, Suguru, playing hard to get, huh?" he teases, but he sits up a little straighter, like he’s ready to jump in at any moment.

You cross your arms. "So, we're playing games within games now, huh?"

Suguru just chuckles, his smirk growing darker as he enjoys watching you squirm just a little. "Guess it's Satoru's turn now."

Satoru groans, tipping his head back. "Fuck, I'm torn," he whines, half-teasing, half-serious. "I want to say some real dirty shit, but I also wanna do some real dirty shit."

"Your call, Satoru."

Satoru groans again, dragging a hand down his face before letting it drop dramatically onto your thigh. "Fuck it. Truth," he finally sighs, but there’s nothing defeated about the way he says it—it’s just a different kind of game now.

Suguru hums, lazy and amused, spinning the bottle between his fingers before shooting Satoru a look that’s nothing short of filthy. "Alright, then. Truth it is." 

He leans in, elbows on his knees, eyes gleaming with something dark and wicked. "What's the dirtiest fucking thing you wanna do to this little kitten right here?"

Satoru stills for half a second, blinking like Suguru just short-circuited his brain. Then he laughs, loud and shameless. "Oh, fuck me," he groans, shaking his head. "You want the fuckin' list? 'Cause I don't even know where the fuck to start."

Suguru just smirks, slow and patient, like he loves watching Satoru squirm. "Pick your favorite, then."

"You really want me to say that?"

Suguru nods. "Yep. Tell us, Satoru—no censoring. Give us the whole damn fantasy."

Satoru exhales hard, running his tongue over his teeth, eyes dark as they drag over you—slow, deliberate, soaking you in like he’s already there, like he’s already playing it out in his head. 

His grin turns downright feral.

"Fuck," he mutters, mostly to himself. Then, without breaking eye contact, he lifts your panties and bites down on the lace, holding them between his teeth, like he’s already claimed his fucking prize.

"Right now?" he mumbles around the fabric. "I'd fucking devour her. Bury my face between those pretty thighs and never come up for air. Wanna lick her open while you wreck her, Suguru. Wanna drown in her cute little cunt 'til she got nothing left to give."

Oh, well. 

A choked little noise catches in your throat, something between a gasp and a whimper, because fuck. Heat pools low in your belly, thighs pressing together on instinct—like that’ll do anything to stop the ache building there.

Suguru notices. Of course he fucking does. "Look at that," he chuckles, voice thick with amusement. "Kitty fucking loves hearing you talk like that."

Satoru doesn’t even pretend to be surprised. He’s too busy devouring you with his gaze, head tilting as he bites down harder on the lace between his teeth, letting the fabric drag over his tongue like he’s already savoring you.

"Oh, I know she does," he mutters around it, voice muffled but still dripping with heat. He finally pulls your panties from his mouth, twisting them lazily between his fingers before letting the fabric stretch, snap, and then tucking them into his pocket like some filthy little keepsake. "Bet she'd taste even sweeter with your cock inside her, huh?"

Suguru hums, tilting his head, watching you. "That true, kitten?" he murmurs, reaching out to cup your jaw, thumb tracing the heat blooming across your cheek. "That what you want? Me stretching you out while Satoru has his mouth on you?"

Your teeth sink into your lip as you fight back a smirk. You lift your chin just slightly, holding Suguru’s gaze as you flicker him a playful wink. "That's another question, babe," you purr, throwing his own words right back at him.

Satoru barks out a laugh, already grinning like he lives for this shit. "Oh-ho, she got you there, Suguru," he teases, fingers flexing against your skin. "Guess that means she's gotta pick—so what's it gonna be, baby? Truth or dare?"

Your smirk widens. "Dare."

Satoru lights up. His grin stretches wide and filthy as he sits forward like he’s just won the jackpot. 

"Oh, baby—you're so fucked now," he crows, tongue flicking over his bottom lip. "Alright, princess, here's your dare—sit your pretty ass on the couch, spread those legs, and play with yourself for us—until I say stop."

Your cheeks heat, but your body responds before your brain can catch up—you saunter over to the couch and sit down with one leg draped over the other. Your hand starts to wander up your thigh, teasing the edge of your flimsy little dress.

"Go on, princess," Satoru urges. "Spread those legs wide and show us that sweet little cunt of yours."

So you do. You part your thighs, slow and deliberate, and the fabric of your dress rises up to expose the glistening pinkness of your wet little pussy. They crowd closer, greedily taking in the sight, their eyes bulging at the obscene display. 

"Oh, fuuuck—" Satoru groans, one hand dragging over his mouth, the other fisting his rock-hard cock through his trousers. "Look at that. Naughty little princess—so fucking wet already, hmm?"

You hum, shifting your hips as you let your hand slide down, down, down, fingers teasing your swollen folds, making them ache. "Mm," you sigh, a little gasp escaping as your fingers slide through your slickness, letting them see just how soaked you are.

Satoru lets out a low groan, his cock twitching beneath his hand. "Jesus fucking Christ," he mutters, fingers flexing. "Keep going, sweetheart—just like that. So fucking pretty."

A wicked little giggle bubbles up as you spread your pussy open, giving them the full view—no shame, no hesitation. Suguru exhales sharply beside you. When you glance over, his hand has joined Satoru’s, jerking himself through his pants to the rhythm of your self-indulgence. They're like animals, panting and drooling and getting harder and harder at the sight of you touching yourself so shamelessly.

That rush of power is heady, exhilarating. They’re both so fucking gone for you already, pupils blown, chests rising and falling too fast, and you haven’t even really started.

So you lean back against the couch, arching just a little, giving them the full, filthy show. Your fingers trail back down, teasing, circling—before finally sinking inside your sopping wet cunt, a slick, obscene sound breaking the silence. Their groans follow instantly, low and guttural, like the sight of you unraveling in front of them is the most intoxicating thing they’ve ever seen.

"Ooh, fuck, YES," Satoru rasps, gripping himself harder, eyes locked onto the slow, torturous movement of your fingers. "Don't stop, baby—just like that. Keep playing with that pretty little pussy—show us how bad you need our cocks."

Your eyes flutter shut as you start to rub your clit in tight circles, thighs trembling, wanton moans slipping out as they both stroke their cocks faster and faster. 

Suguru exhales sharply. "You really like putting on a show, huh, kitten?"

You let out a breathy little whimper, your smirk lazy and smug. "I do," you purr, pulling your fingers free, glistening and wet, before bringing them to your lips. You suck them clean with a moan, slow and lewd, making them both squirm—making sure they see just how fucking good you taste.

"Fuck," Satoru exhales, gripping his cock harder. "You really know how to drive a man insane, huh, princess?"

You hum, sucking the last of your slick from your fingers before pulling them free with a soft pop. "Just having fun," you purr, tilting your head as your gaze flickers between them, before plunging your fingers back into your needy cunt. "Isn't that what this game is about?"

Their eyes darken, locked onto the obscene sight of your fingers pumping in and out, slick and glistening. You take your time, drawing out each movement, letting them see just how worked up you are.

"So—" You lick your lips, amusement curling at the edges of your moan. "Truth or dare?"

There's no hesitation. "Dare," they answer in unison, low and a little breathless.

A wicked little grin tugs at your lips. "Ah, so eager." 

You pause for just a moment—just long enough to make them twitch with anticipation—before tilting your chin up, gaze smoldering. "Fine—take your cocks out. Show me how desperate you are."

Chapter Text

"Fine—take your cocks out. Show me how desperate you are."

There's a brief pause—then, with zero hesitation, belts unbuckle, zippers slide down, and fabric gets shoved aside in a rush. And fuck—you sit up straighter, your mouth dropping open just a little as they pull their cocks free.

"Good boys. Fuck—look at those monsters," you chuckle, eyes going wide, fingers frozen on your own soaked cunt as you take them in, so impossibly hard for you, so fucking desperate and huge.

Suguru is thick—impossibly so—his cock curving slightly upward, heavy in his grip, every ridge and vein pronounced as he strokes himself slow and lazy. The flushed tip is already slick with pre-cum, a bead forming and threatening to drip down before he swipes a thumb over it, smearing the glistening wetness along his length. He takes his time, drawing out each motion, fingers wrapping snug around his shaft, teasing himself just as much as he’s teasing you. His dark eyes stay locked on you, sharp and knowing, like he can already tell how much you want to reach out and touch.

Satoru, on the other hand, is all impatience—his fat cock twitches in his palm, rock hard and begging for relief, precum leaking freely and smearing over his fingers as he fists himself tight. His grip is greedy, stroking himself faster, his breath hitching as his hips push into his own touch. The sheer size of him is obscene, thick and so fucking long, the tip flushed a needy, bright pink, throbbing with every pump of his hand. His jaw clenches, his usual cocky smirk slipping into something filthier.

"That what you wanted, princess?" Satoru teases, eyes flickering between your fingers and the wet mess between your thighs. "Could've just asked nicely."

You hum, gaze flicking between them as you start playing with your clit again. "I think I like making you work for it," you purr, lashes fluttering.

Suguru chuckles, low and dark. "Yeah?" His strokes get slower, deliberate, like he's testing your patience. "And here I thought you were the one putting on a show for us."

"You saying you don't like the view?" you taunt, tilting your head, dragging your fingers through your slick with a lewd, wet sound that makes both of them groan.

Suguru smirks, sharp and lazy, but the grip on his cock tightens, and you catch the little twitch of his jaw. "Oh, I like it plenty, kitten." His voice is smooth, velvety, but there’s something darker beneath it, something coiled tight, just waiting. "But don't get it twisted—you're not the one calling the shots here."

Your smirk deepens. Oh, but you love pushing your luck.

Keeping eye contact, you sink your fingers back inside your aching cunt, curling just right. "Mmm," you purr, sweet and lazy, rolling your hips against your own hand. "Feels like I am."

The change in Suguru is instant. His eyes darken, his slow, easy strokes stilling, his body going taut. Then, before you can react, his hand shoots out, fingers wrapping tight around your throat in a firm, claiming grip.

A sharp gasp catches in your throat, heat licking down your spine as he pulls you closer, forcing you to tilt your head back to meet his gaze.

"Careful, kitten," he purrs, thumb pressing a little harder against the fluttering pulse at your neck. "You need a little reminder of your place?"

"Fuck, yeah she does," Satoru groans, his grip on his cock tightening, stroking himself faster, eyes wild with excitement. "Shit—Suguru, you see the way she clenched up? She soaking the damn couch right now."

You blink up at Suguru through your lashes, deliberately shifting in your seat so the movement sends a shiver of friction through your needy cunt. "I thought we were playing a game," you whisper, teasing, breathless.

"Oh, we are," he murmurs, voice silk and sin. "So? Truth or dare, kitten?"

Your lips part, ready to answer—but before you can even get the word out, his fingers tighten, making you choke a little, your head going deliciously light.

"D—" The syllable barely escapes, more a choked little gasp than an actual word.

His smirk widens. "Dare, huh?" His thumb traces lazy circles against your fluttering pulse. "Knew you'd say that. You just can't help yourself, can you? Such a desperate little kitten."

"Oh, I fucking love this game," Satoru chuckles, fisting his cock shamelessly, his other hand gripping the armrest so hard it creaks.

Suguru hums, feigning thought, though you can already see the answer glinting in his dark, knowing eyes. "Alright, kitten," he chuckles, tilting his head. "I dare you to take every inch of my cock—and not cum."

You swear your whole body reacts before your brain can even process, a sharp little whimper catching in your throat, your thighs twitching instinctively.

Satoru whistles. "Oh, you're a cruel bastard," he laughs, breathless. "You really think she can do that?"

Suguru chuckles, biting your earlobe. "I don't think she can," he murmurs, smug as hell. "I know she can't."

You swallow hard, but that only makes his fingers squeeze tighter around your throat. Your body shivers, a fresh wave of slick dripping down between your thighs.

"Damn," Satoru groans, jerking himself even harder. "She doesn't even give a fuck 'bout the dare. She just wanna get fucked. That right, princess?"

Suguru laughs, like that’s the most obvious thing in the world. "Of course she does," he drawls. "That's what a naughty little kitten like her lives for."

You let out a shaky breath, and his fingers finally loosen—just enough to tilt your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. His eyes are fucking lethal, dark and amused and knowing.

"Well?" he drawls. "You gonna put on a good show for Satoru?" His smirk widens. "Let him see exactly how much you fucking love being used?"

Before you can answer, he moves—effortless and fast, hooking an arm under your legs and hoisting you up like you weigh nothing. A startled gasp slips out, your arms flying around his neck as he lifts you clean off the couch, holding you bridal style against his chest.

He drops down onto the couch, legs spread, dragging you with him. You end up straddling his lap, knees bracketing his thighs, your back pressing to his wide chest as he adjusts his grip—one hand firm on the inside of your tight, the other cupping your jaw, making you arch for them.

"There," he murmurs, voice firm. "Now, be a good girl and let's get this pretty cunt nice and full, yeah?"

Your breath shudders, fingers curling against his tights as he spreads his legs even wider, shifting you so you’re completely on display—your soaked little pussy right in Satoru’s face, his sharp eyes drinking in every slick, trembling inch of you.

Suguru hums, dragging his fat cock through your wetness, rubbing the thick head between your folds and against your swollen clit just to feel you twitch.

"Go on, kitten," he purrs, grip tightening on your jaw. "Sink down on it. Nice and slow."

You shiver, nails digging into his skin as you reach down, wrapping your fingers around his length, guiding him to your needy little hole. He’s so fucking thick, the blunt tip stretching you already as you press down, your mouth falling open at the sheer size of him.

"Atta girl," Satoru coos, eyes gleaming with lust as he watches you struggle to take Suguru’s cock. "God, you look so fucking pretty like that. You gonna fit all of him, princess? Or do you need a little help?"

Suguru clicks his tongue, amused. "She'll take it," he says, grip bruising on your tight. "She always does. She'll take every fucking inch like a good little slut."

And then, just to make sure—you feel his hands tighten before he yanks you down hard, forcing you to take him all at once.

A ragged moan rips from your throat, back arching as he fills your cunt completely, stretching you so deep you swear you can feel him in your fucking stomach.

"Fuck yeah," Satoru groans, stroking his cock faster. "That's what I'm fucking talking about."

Suguru smirks, one hand slipping between your legs, fingers pressing against your throbbing clit as he leans in, voice all silk and command against your ear.

"Now, kitten," he murmurs, teasing, dangerous. "Let's see if you can last."

He starts to rock his hips up into you, fucking you slowly, so fucking deep, and you moan, loud and needy, eyes rolling back. He’s not gentle, not even a little, and every time he bottoms out, you feel a jolt of pleasure-pain that sends your thoughts scattering. His fingers on your clit are just as rough, teasing circles that are as much torment as they are pleasure.

Your body responds with an unbridled need, hips rolling down to meet his, eager to get every inch of him inside, to feel him fill you up completely. You bite your lip to keep from crying out, the tension building in your core with every damn stroke.

"Oh, that's good," Satoru groans, his voice strained and breathy as he watches you bounce on Suguru's cock. "You should see yourself, baby—so damn eager. You gonna cum in seconds like that, aren't you, princess?"

Suguru's grip on your throat tightens, his strokes becoming more erratic, and you know you're not going to last much longer. The dare hangs in the air between you, a challenge that you're determined to win, even as your body already begs for relief.

"Feel good, kitten? This pussy's soaking wet," Suguru whispers in your ear. "You look like you're already close—and we've barely started."

Your body betrays you, hips shifting, chasing more, needing more, but Suguru clicks his tongue, tightening his hold. "Uh-uh," he warns, low and teasing. "Not so fast. You just love being our messy little slut, don't you?"

You nod, unable to form words, your eyes locked with Satoru's, his hand moving faster and faster on his own cock as he watches you get fucked. Your pussy is a wet mess, stretched tight around Suguru's girth, juices coating his shaft with every thrust.

"Fucking hell, Suguru—can I taste her?" Satoru asks, voice thick with need, eyes feasting on your glistening cunt, and you bite down hard on your lower lip to keep from begging for it yourself.

But Suguru just chuckles, the sound low and dark in your ear. "You wanna taste her, hm?" 

His hips rock up, his strokes growing harder, more punishing. "What d'you say to that, kitten?" He squeezes your throat harder, his hand digging into your flesh. "Fuck—this needy hole's clenching around my cock—you want his mouth on you so bad, don't you?"

You nod frantically and his strokes turn more forceful, his hand choking you. "Tch, such a greedy little whore." You feel Suguru's smile against your skin, his teeth nipping at your neck. "But you know how it works, kitten—you gotta fucking beg for your treats."

Satoru licks his lips, jaw tight. "Fuck—please, Suguru," he says, voice cracking, cock throbbing in his fist. "I need to taste her—please, lemme have just one lick of that sweet, juicy little pussy—"

"Nah," Suguru just says, low and teasing, as he watches you both squirm. The hand on your tight snakes around to cup one of your breasts. "You can kiss her, sure," he says, slapping your tits before giving them a rough squeeze, "play with those pretty tits. But this," he adds with a smack to your drenched pussy, making your eyes roll back, "This cunt's all mine."

Your eyes fly to Satoru, desperate, needy—and the look on his face is pure agony. But he leans in, and whispers, "C'mere, baby," and before you know it, he's kissing you. 

It's messy, sloppy—his mouth is everywhere, hot and hungry, and your tongue is dancing with his, tasting his desperation, his need. You can feel his cock throb against your side, his hand clutching at your hip, helping you bounce on Suguru’s dick.

His teeth nip at your bottom lip as his hand slides down to your breast, thumb teasing your hard nipple into a frenzy. Meanwhile, Suguru's hand is still between your legs, his fingers playing with your clit while his fat cock pumps in and out of you, making you squelch obscenely.

The room drowns in the sounds of your muffled whimpers, the wet slap of skin against skin, and the obscene noises of your slickness. You’re trembling, melting, unraveling—trapped between two handsome, hungry men tearing into the same feast, and the dizzy, overwhelming rush of being devoured is more exhilarating than you could have ever imagined.

Satoru's kiss becomes more demanding, his hand squeezing your breast so tight it's almost painful. With a growl, he pulls away from your kiss and dives down, hot mouth latching onto your nipple. A loud, slutty moan escapes your lips as you arch your back, pushing your breast into his mouth, hands tangling in his hair as he suckles on your flesh. His tongue is so hot as it swirls around your hard peak, his teeth so sharp as they graze against the sensitive skin.

You just keep moaning like a desperate little slut, your pussy spasming around Suguru’s cock. "You're going to break for us, aren't you, kitten?" Suguru groans, hips bucking upward, slamming into you deep and hard as he chokes you.

Your eyes squeeze shut, body spasming and tightening around him. "Ahh... so... so close..." You can feel it, the orgasm building, so close—just one more second, just one more stroke…

But Suguru isn't about to grant you that sweet release just yet. He pulls back slightly, the swollen head of his cock teasing your entrance, toying with your drenched pussy lips, smearing your juices around. "Not fucking yet, slut."

You let out a desperate, wanton whine, your body aching for Satoru's mouth, but Suguru's firm grip on your throat keeps you in line. 

"Just one lick, fucking pleeeease," Satoru begs again, bright eyes blown wide with lust.

Suguru hums, amused, his grip tightening on your throat, the other hand trailing down your trembling body with lazy ownership.

"I said no," he repeats, voice smooth, deliberate—he’s enjoying this power play way too much. "But maybe—" he drawls, slapping your clit with his own cock. A sharp jolt shoots through you, a broken gasp spilling from your lips.

"Just maybe, I'll let you play with her pretty little clit—" Another sharp tap. You whimper, thighs trembling. "While she cums for me." 

You let out a ragged moan, body betraying you, hips bucking up like you’re chasing more, like you’ll take anything they give you. The need is unbearable, coiling tight in your gut, everything inside you wound up so damn close to snapping.

"Fuck, Suguru," Satoru hisses, breathless. "C'mon, man, she's fucking dripping all over you—just lemme taste—"

"Not how it works," Suguru interrupts smoothly, his grip on your throat making your head spin. His lips brush the shell of your ear, voice nothing but velvet-wrapped cruelty. "If she wants your fingers, she can beg."

You moan, hips bucking against him, desperation leaking into every inch of your body. You're so fucking close, so fucking close, and the idea of Satoru's fingers on you, rubbing your clit and finally—fucking finally—letting you cum—

Your pride is in shreds, your body betraying you with every shake, every twitch, every fucking desperate little noise that escapes you. You know what he wants. And you know you’ll give it to him.

"P-please," you whine, words barely forming between ragged breaths and needy moans. "Please, Suguru—please, let him—just… just touch me—"

Satoru lets out a choked groan, his control hanging by a thread, and before Suguru can even answer, he’s already surging forward, swallowing the last of your plea with his mouth. His kiss is messy, all tongue and teeth and hunger.

Suguru chuckles against your ear, low and pleased. "Good girl," he murmurs, before snapping his hips up hard, forcing himself deeper, making you sob into Satoru’s mouth. "Go on."

Then you feel them—Satoru’s fingers sliding down to your pussy, slipping through your wetness to tease your clit as Suguru fucks you harder, faster, and oh, fuck, you're gonna—

"That's it, princess," Satoru purrs against your lips, fingers working you so damn good. "Gonna let me make you cum all over him?"

Suguru’s grip tightens, possessive. "Oh, she gonna cum," he growls, dragging his teeth over your jaw, his thrusts growing punishing. "She just better remember who's fucking her while she does."

And then it hits—white-hot pleasure crashing over you, your cunt clamping down around Suguru's fat cock, your whole body shaking and arching as you moan and cry into Satoru's mouth. His tongue swirls around yours, your hips jerking helplessly as he kisses you like he's dying of thirst, groaning against your lips, fingers never stopping, drawing out every second of your release as Suguru fucks you through it.

"Looks like you lost the dare, kitten."

You collapse back against Suguru’s chest, panting, eyes clouded with lust as the intense tremors of your climax continue to quake through your body. His hand is still around your throat, not choking anymore, but keeping you in place, keeping you his.

"Fuck, yeah," Satoru murmurs, watching you both with something close to awe, his own hand moving faster over his thick shaft. "God, you're so fucking beautiful when you cum."

Suguru pulls out, his cock a glistening mess of your arousal, pulsing with need. He starts to pump himself leisurely, a smug smile curling his lips. "You whored for it," he taunts, glancing over at Satoru with a smug challenge. His strokes become more aggressive, pre-cum oozing out and mixing with your juices all over his length. "Why don't you get over here and suck my dick clean of her sweet cunt?"

Chapter Text

Suguru chuckles low in his chest, the sound vibrating against your back as his free hand spreads lazily over your stomach, keeping you pinned flush to him while his other hand strokes himself slow, deliberate, cruel. His cock is nestled right between your folds, the thick length pressed against your soaked heat, and every subtle movement makes you twitch. He drags his thumb across the swollen head, smearing the mess of your slick and his precum as he looks down at Satoru with a lazy, sharp grin.

"You whored for it—so why don't you get over here and suck my dick clean of her sweet cunt?"

You let out a breathless chuckle, like you’re not sure if Suguru’s joking—except, well, you know him. You know that tone. And more than that, you know Satoru.

And yeah—he hesitates for like, half a second. Not out of doubt. Nah, more like he's weighing the thrill of it, letting that filthy little smirk creep across his pretty, flushed face as his eyes flick between you and Suguru's slicked-up cock.

And then—he fucking moves.

You blink, startled, turned on beyond belief as he shifts forward without a word, licking his lips like he’s walking into dessert. His voice is low and wrecked when he mutters, "Can't waste any of that, huh?"—and fuck, your whole body shudders.

Suguru laughs, hand still pumping himself lazy and slow as he watches Satoru get closer. "Didn't think you'd do it that quick," he teases, dragging his thumb across the head and smearing it with the mix of you. "She really got you that whipped?"

"Whipped?" Satoru grins, cocky and a little feral, fingers gripping Suguru’s knees as he leans forward. He drags his tongue up the underside of Suguru’s shaft, slow and obscene, until his lips hover right where you’re spread open on top of him, your pussy grinding helplessly against the hard length underneath. "Nah… I'm fuckin' possessed."

Your mouth falls open. 

There’s heat blooming under your skin like wildfire as you watch—every nerve ending lit, every breath shaky and shallow. You're still trembling from your orgasm, thighs sticky and slick where they’re clamped around Suguru’s, chest rising and falling quick against his sternum. And you can feel Satoru’s breath ghosting over your pussy lips, warm and shaky, separated from you only by the thick, aching cock pulsing between your legs. His mouth keeps dragging hot and slow along Suguru’s length, greedy tongue catching on the spot where your slick still glistens. 

He fucking groans into it, loud and shameless, and when he looks back up at you, his lips are shiny, pupils blown wide. "Fuck, princess," he moans, low and wrecked, "you taste unreal."

"God," you whisper, voice all breath and disbelief as you watch the scene unravel below you, lips parted in awe. "You two are—fuck—"

You can’t even finish the sentence. Your brain’s melting, trying to process the mess they’re making—and how good it looks on them. Satoru glances up through thick lashes, that cocky little smirk twitching on his lips just as his tongue licks another slow, sinfully deliberate stripe along Suguru’s cock. He moans around the head, like he loves the taste of both of you together—like this is his fucking reward.

"Your pretty pussy's clenching," Satoru chuckles, the words muffled by the cock in his mouth. He lets it pop free with a slick sound, locking eyes with you like he’s about to devour you next. "You getting off on this, princess? Watching me clean up your mess?"

You don’t answer—you just moan. Your throat’s too tight, your mind too far gone. All you can do is tremble, open and dripping and fucking burning, your cunt pressed right against the length of Suguru’s cock, twitching every time Satoru’s tongue even thinks about brushing too close.

Suguru laughs under you—low, pleased, proud. His strong arms curl around your waist, keeping you perched like some spoiled little plaything, helpless and on display. "She likes a show," he hums, teeth catching your earlobe. "Guess we'll have to put on a good one."

Your breath stutters. Suguru’s cock rests thick and heavy against your slick folds—and you’re fucking twitching against it, pulsing—hot, aching, needy. Every tiny twitch of your hips betrays you, dragging your wet cunt against the thick, veiny upper side of Suguru’s cock. And Satoru’s tongue? Everywhere. Slow, teasing swipes. His mouth catching droplets of your release, dragging them up like he’s starving.

It’s obscene. It’s art. And it’s hell.

You jolt when he gets too close, when a lazy flick of his tongue swipes so damn near your clit—barely a whisper of heat, but it lights your whole fucking body up. You gasp, hips stuttering forward, trying—needing—to chase the friction.

"Suguru—fuck—I—"

Words fail. Your brain short-circuits. You’re not even sure what you’re begging for anymore. You’re not thinking. You’re feeling. It’s a fucking torture and Suguru knows it.

Suguru’s hand glides up your chest, slow and heavy, his palm pressing over your sternum like a silent warning. "Don't get greedy, kitten," he murmurs, calm and cruel. "I didn't say you could move."

"But—" You whine, your voice cracking with need as you wiggle again, trying to nudge just a little closer to Satoru’s mouth. Just enough to feel something, anything.

But Suguru’s fingers wrap around the base of your throat, firm and possessive. "I said," he breathes, right in your ear, "don't."

And just then—of course—Satoru’s tongue dips again, filthy and slow, chasing a stray bead of cum down Suguru’s shaft and just barely flicking past your folds in the process.

You break.

"Fuuuck—" Your cry rips from your throat as your hips jerk instinctively, your clit catching the heat of Satoru’s breath, your entire body lighting up like it’s begging to be touched. Your thighs tremble, sweet juices dripping down onto Suguru’s cock, soaking him like you need to mark him. "That—he's—he's so fucking close—!"

Satoru growls, practically panting now, his fingers digging into Suguru’s thighs as his control starts to crumble. "Jesus fuck," he rasps, his lips brushing your inner thigh like he’s about to lose it. "I can smell her, Suguru. Fuckin' starving over here. She's soaking you—she's—god, lemme taste her—just once—"

Your head falls back, resting on Suguru’s shoulder, eyes glazed and mouth open. You feel ruined. Teetering on the knife’s edge of too much, too good, too messy to survive. You need it. You want all of it.

You glance down and nearly lose it—Satoru’s gorgeous face is flushed a dangerous shade of pink, cheeks blotchy, mouth slick and swollen. His tongue drags in a slow, reverent line along the underside of Suguru’s cock like he’s fucking starved, like he’s trying to imprint the flavor of both of you into his muscle memory. His glossy lips are trembling with the effort not to moan, and when his pretty eyes lift to meet yours?

You swear you feel it in your soul.

They’re blown wide, pupils swallowing blue, absolutely wrecked with need—and the desperation written all over his face punches the breath right out of you.

"Please," you whisper, without knowing who you’re begging. Maybe both of them. Maybe the damn universe, if it means this ache between your legs will finally be satisfied.

Suguru hums a laugh against your cheek—warm, smug, dangerous—and then his hand dips between your thighs. Two long fingers slide through your mess, parting your slick folds so slowly you want to scream, showing everything to Satoru and yet giving nothing to either of you.

"She's clenching so fuckin' hard," he purrs, dragging those fingers apart and holding you open like a damn exhibition, just for Satoru to watch. You feel it all—his breath, the cool air on your soaked skin, the way your body twitches from how badly it needs to be filled. It’s unbearable.

Satoru lets out a sound that’s somewhere between a sob and a growl, forehead pressing to Suguru’s thigh like he’s on the edge of prayer. "Don't do this to me," he mutters, voice broken. "C'mon. Just a little. One lick. Just one, I swear—"

Your breath is ragged now, thighs shaking from how much you need it, cunt fluttering helplessly around nothing, aching like it’s trying to pull something in that isn’t even there. You’re soaked. Dripping. Your pussy’s making obscene noises every time your hips twitch, and still—still—Suguru holds you steady, completely untouched.

"Nope," he clicks his tongue, like it’s nothing, like he’s bored of your suffering. "She hasn't earned it yet."

You nearly cry.

Satoru leans in again anyway, lips brushing just below your clit, tongue darting out in a slow, tortured lick that doesn’t quite touch you. "You smell like heaven," he groans, looking up at you with worship in his eyes. "Princess, please—lemme taste you. Just a second. Just one fucking second—"

Your entire body trembles like it’s coming undone, but Suguru’s hand around your neck keeps you still, firm and possessive. His other hand stays between your thighs, spreading you open like a fucking meal—but never feeding any of you.

"Nuh-uh," he hums, voice sinfully sweet. "She'd cum in two seconds flat. And she's not getting off again until I say so."

You open your mouth to sass him—but all that comes out is a wrecked moan, raw and desperate. Slick is leaking down Suguru’s cock, drenching the base, coating Satoru’s lips as he licks everything but you, tongue gathering what it can like a man condemned.

It’s a slow death. It’s exquisite. And it’s not enough.

"Oh, fuck me," you finally purr, dragging yourself together just enough to throw a spark in the fire. Your head tilts, lips brushing Suguru’s sharp jaw like the wicked little tease you are, voice syrup-thick with venom-laced sugar. "What's the matter, babe? Scared you'll get jealous if he licks my pussy too?"

You feel him stiffen—just slightly—but it’s enough to make your smile sharpen.

"Or maybe…" you breathe, dragging your lips across his cheek, "maybe you just want Satoru all to yourself. That's it, huh? You're the greedy one, aren't you?"

And that? That lights a fuse.

Suguru’s jaw ticks. Satoru groans, biting his lip like he’s seconds from begging again. And you? You’re about to learn what happens when you tease two men on the edge of losing control.

Suguru stills.

Just for a breath. Just long enough for you to think maybe you pushed too far.

Then he laughs.

But it’s not playful. Not sweet. It’s low and sharp and mean—the kind of laugh that makes your stomach flip and your cunt clench harder.

"Fucking mouth on you," he drawls, low and lethal, like he can’t believe the audacity—but oh, he loves it. His voice is a gravel-pitched growl, a warning and a praise at once. "Tryna provoke me now? You little brat."

You don’t even get time to throw back a smirk—CRACK.

His hand lands hard between your thighs, right over your aching cunt—hot and swollen and soaked from everything he’s done, everything he hasn’t. The slap rings out in the room, filthy and wet and so loud it makes Satoru groan. Your body jolts, spine snapping into a desperate arch, a cry punching from your throat that’s halfway between a sob and a gasp.

Before you can recover—another slap, sharper this time, right over your clit.

You see stars.

Your hips jerk, instinctive and needy, your pussy fluttering helplessly, gushing slick like your body’s begging to be filled, touched, ruined.

"Want me to punish you, kitten?" Suguru growls, and his hand fists in your hair a second later, yanking your head back enough to bare your throat, make you whimper. His mouth is right at your ear now, breath hot and filthy. "Want him to lick up your messy little cunt while I watch? Want me to see you fall apart on his tongue like a needy fucktoy?"

You nod. Immediately. Shameless. Reckless. You’re still panting from the slap, still pulsing around nothing, but you nod like you’ve never wanted anything more in your life.

Just to piss him off. Just to see what it does to him.

Your grin is all teeth—cocky, bratty, a challenge you already know he’ll rise to. And when you bite your lip and meet his eyes like that? It’s game fucking over.

"Fuckin' brat," he snarls—and suddenly he’s lifting you like you weigh nothing, flipping your body and tossing you down onto the plush rug in front of the couch. Your breath flies from your lungs in a gasp, palms sinking into the soft carpet as Suguru’s hand presses hard into your back, pinning you there.

Your dress is bunched at your waist. Your ass is up. Your thighs are open.

And there’s no fucking hiding the way you’re dripping.

Slick coats your inner thighs, glistening like nectar under the low light, a trail of your need smeared messily down Suguru’s cock, still heavy and hard between your legs.

"Stay just like that," he orders, giving your ass a brutal smack that echoes off the walls. You yelp, the sting immediate, white-hot and toe-curling. Another slap—sharper. And you hear Satoru moan behind you—loud, filthy, like he’s the one about to lose it. When you glance up, his fist is working his cock, his jaw is tight, his blue eyes locked on you with a helpless kind of frustration.

"Oh, you hear that?" Suguru taunts, laughing low, one hand sliding over the burning skin of your ass, gripping the plush curve like he’s testing how much more he can give. "That's the sound he makes when he's starving. When he sees something he just can't have."

You manage a shaky breath—just as Suguru moves again, crouching in front of you, grabbing a fistful of your hair and tugging your face up toward his cock.

"Let's keep that bratty mouth busy, yeah?" he smirks, cock twitching right there, flushed and leaking. "Since you clearly need something to do with it."

Your lips part before he even finishes speaking. Tongue out. Desperate. Hungry. And he groans low and filthy at the sight.

"Good. Fucking. Girl."

The praise wrecks you.

He pushes in—slow and deliberate, letting you feel every thick inch as he slides across your tongue, down your throat—and you moan around him like a whore, jaw aching already, spit pooling fast as you try to breathe through your nose.

And then, casually, he throws a look over your shoulder. "Touch her," he commands Satoru, like it’s nothing. Like it’s an afterthought. His tone is low and vicious, a silk-wrapped blade. "But just your fingers. She doesn't get your mouth. Not yet."

Behind you, Satoru's groan shreds the air—tight, feral, like it’s clawing its way out of his throat. But he listens. Of course he listens.

Still, you feel it—he’s so close to snapping you can taste it, and it only makes you wetter. He drops on his knees behind you, eyes burning a hole into the mess between your thighs. And then—he leans in.

Not touching, not yet. Not until he has permission.

Just breathing. His face dips close, so close you feel the heat of his exhales right against your cunt. Half a centimeter from your slick folds, and he just stays there, hovering, inhaling like he can taste you on the air.

Your hips twitch. Your moan gets muffled by Suguru’s cock stretching your lips wide, spit pooling, throat aching deliciously as you try to breathe, try to beg without words. And still—still—Satoru doesn’t take what he wants. Doesn’t break the rules.

He’s shaking now. Literally shaking. You can feel the way his hands tremble as they slide up your thighs, reverent and slow, like he’s worshipping at an altar.

Suguru watches it all from above, one eyebrow arched, amused and unreadable. His grip in your hair stays firm, keeps your mouth full, keeps your head tilted up so your teary eyes never leave his face. He’s barely even thrusting—just letting you choke yourself on the weight of him while he smirks like a devil in silk.

And Satoru?

He finally moves.

A low groan punches out of him when his fingers find your folds—soaked, messy, soft, perfect. He spreads you with practiced care, thumbs brushing either side of your pussy, and he just stares for a second like he can’t believe how fucking wet you are.

"Jesus fuck," he hisses under his breath, forehead pressed to the back of your thigh now like he’s trying to ground himself, like the scent of you is fucking with his brain. "You're drippin', baby. Fuckin' dripping for it…"

You can only moan around Suguru’s cock in response—half-choked, half-feral—and Suguru makes this pleased little sound, stroking your cheek like he’s proud of you.

"Messy little kitten," he murmurs, his voice all honeyed filth and arrogance. "You gonna choke on my cock while he fingers that slutty little hole? Hm?"

You nod—eyes glassy, throat raw, spit trailing from the corners of your lips—and it lights a fire in both of them.

Satoru groans—loud, unhinged—and finally lets his thumb circle your clit. Slow. Torturous. The kind of touch that knows exactly what it’s doing.

It’s almost too soft. Too teasing.

And it kills him.

You feel the tremble in his hand every time he dips lower, lets two fingers stroke at your soaked entrance. But he never pushes in. Never takes more than Suguru allows. Even when your hips rock back, needy and wild and grinding against his hand, he holds back.

And every time he gets too close—tries to sneak a little deeper—Suguru clears his throat. Not a word. Just that pointed little sound, sharp as a warning shot.

And somehow, Satoru obeys. Every time. With gritted teeth and a growl in his throat.

Satoru groans into your thigh, fists curling, cock twitching untouched and leaking against his stomach. "You don't even have to say anything," he growls, voice rough, coated in frustration and lust. "I swear, I'd fucking beg if you gave me half a chance."

Suguru chuckles—low and dark and so amused. His fingers tighten in your hair as he guides his cock deeper, slow and suffocating, making you gag around the thickness of it. "I know, Satoru. That's exactly why I let you play with my pretty little doll."

He says it like a favor. Like a mercy. And it drives Satoru insane.

He’s panting like he’s been starved for years, eyes locked on your pussy like it’s the last salvation of a dying man. His fingers twitch at your thighs, his whole body practically vibrating with tension. Barely hanging on.

And then Suguru speaks again—calm, cruel, merciful.

"Go ahead," he murmurs, still stroking your cheek as you drool all over his cock. "Finger her."

Satoru doesn’t move at first. He just moans, like the permission alone already made him cum. But then—he snaps into action.

His hand shoots between your thighs like he’s possessed, like he's been unshackled. One long finger plunges inside your soaked cunt with a wet, squelching sound that makes all three of you shudder.

Your eyes roll. Your moan is wrecked, buried by the stretch of Suguru’s cock down your throat as your walls clench tight around Satoru’s finger.

"Holy fuck," Satoru groans, voice cracking. "She's already gripping me so tight—fuck—she's unreal."

That one finger curls perfectly, slow and precise, like he’s trying to learn you, like he’s memorizing what makes you twitch and cry out. Your thighs tremble. Your hips roll back instinctively, grinding into his hand like you’re chasing salvation on his knuckles.

Suguru pulls you halfway off his cock, just to hear the pretty little gasps you make. Your lips are red and shiny, coated in spit and precum, and your voice is all cracked sugar when you sob out, "Oh my god—his fingers—fuck—fuck me—"

A second finger joins the first, and you arch like a livewire—Satoru easing in slow, reverent, but his hands are shaking. His breath hits the back of your thigh, ragged, needy, like he’s dying for more. Your pussy stretches around him, greedy and soaked, slick dripping down his knuckles.

"Fuck, princess," he chokes out. "You're making a mess all over me."

His fingers are long, perfect, and so damn skilled. You’ve imagined them inside you more times than you’d ever admit, picturing the way they’d fill you. How he’d touch you like you’re breakable, then ruin you without mercy.

But even in your filthiest daydreams, it was never this good.

He curls them again, scissoring gently, and your whole body jolts. "Oh, fuck me—your fingers," you whimper as Suguru drags you off his cock again just enough to speak. "They're even better than I—fuck—"

Suguru lets out a dark laugh, his cock twitching in your grip. "Than you…? You imagined his fingers, you little slut?" he teases, voice thick with amusement and just a hint of jealousy. "What, while you were on your knees for me? You really are a filthy little thing."

Satoru makes a desperate noise at that, fucking his fingers into your cunt deeper now, faster, curling just right with every stroke and dragging every slick, helpless sound from you. You’re moaning louder and louder, again and again, rocking your hips back into his touch shamelessly, thighs trembling from how fucking deep he’s reaching.

"She's squeezing the fuck outta me," Satoru babbles, lips pressed to the back of your thigh, fingers pumping inside you. Wet sounds fill the space between filthy words. "This perfect little pussy—she's so wet—so tight—she's—Suguru, I—"

"I know," Suguru hums, smug and smooth, thumbing your bottom lip as your eyes start to glaze. "She's perfect, isn't she?"

You’re a wreck. A trembling, soaked, cock-hungry wreck.

Suguru looks down at you, his dark gaze hooded, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips while you suck him off like it’s the only thing you were made for.

"Good girl," he chuckles, voice rough with approval. "Look at you. Obedient little cockslut, takin' it so well while he fingers you like he's starved."

Satoru moans at that, broken and low. "I am starved."

"Good." Suguru’s eyes flick to him, still smirking. "Stroke your cock," he adds calmly, like it’s an order, not a suggestion. "Don't cum. Just jerk off while you finger that needy little cunt. Watch her fall apart for both of us."

And Satoru whimpers, because of course he obeys.

He shifts, fisting his cock with one hand while the other stays buried in your cunt. The visual is obscene—his long fingers fucking you open while his fist pumps over his flushed shaft, precum spilling between his knuckles, mouth open in a silent gasp as he watches your pussy clamp down on him like it’s begging to get fucked.

Your body starts to tighten. Your moans get higher, more frantic, sloppier.

"Look at you, kitten," Suguru hums, voice a low purr. "Drooling all over yourself. Is he making you feel good, baby?"

You nod quickly, frantic, hips rocking back against Satoru's hand with no shame at all.

"She's gonna cum," Satoru gasps. "She's shaking—fuck, Suguru, she's gonna—she's right there—fuck, she's gonna cum all over my fingers—"

And Suguru’s smile turns feral, proud and possessive and so smug. He tightens the fist in your hair, cock nudging deeper into your throat as he murmurs—

"Then let her."

He growls it like a blessing.

The moment Suguru gives the order, Satoru loses every last thread of restraint he had left.

His fingers slam into you harder now, faster, curling deep with each stroke like he’s desperate to wring every last ounce of pleasure from your trembling body. You’re soaked, slick gushing with every movement, squelching loud and obscene, echoing off the walls like wet sin.

Your moans are barely coherent anymore—just broken, breathy cries muffled by Suguru’s cock. He’s fucking your mouth slow but steady, the contrast making you unravel twice as fast, hips rocking back into Satoru’s hand while your throat swallows around every inch Suguru feeds you.

And then—fuck—he speeds up too.

Both of them, now. Together.

Suguru’s hips start to thrust rougher, deeper, his cock bruising the back of your throat as he fucks your mouth like it’s his right, like it’s his damn property. One hand still fists your hair, holding you there, keeping you in place as he moans low and dark above you.

Satoru’s breath is ragged, frantic, his forehead still pressed to your ass while he jerks his cock with one hand and destroys you with the other. "She's so fucking close," he grits out. "She's—fuck—"

"Let her," Suguru growls again, darker this time. "I want her fucking wrecked when we do."

You shatter like glass.

It hits you like lightning, white-hot and blinding, your body locking up as your orgasm rips through you, sharp and messy and fucking overwhelming. Your thighs shake. Your back arches. Your cunt clenches down so hard on Satoru’s fingers as he gasps and whines, grinding his cock into his palm to keep from losing it right then and there.

Your scream is muffled, swallowed by Suguru’s cock down your throat, tears slipping from the corners of your eyes as everything pulses and pulses and pulses—

And then—he pulls out.

Abrupt. Cruel. Calculated.

Suguru drags his cock from your lips with a wet pop, glistening and twitching, your spit trailing between your mouth and his tip like a string of ruined pearls. His hand fists tighter in your hair, tilting your head up roughly as you pant, dazed and dizzy, vision swimming.

"Open your mouth," he orders, low and deadly smooth. "Stick your tongue out. Now."

You obey without thinking—lips parting, tongue out, flushed and ruined and drooling like a cock-drunk slut.

Suguru’s breath hitches, sharp and uneven. His jaw clenches.

He tips his head back and grunts through his teeth as he fists his cock once—twice—before he spills, thick and hot, across your lips, your tongue, your cheek, your chest. It’s messy and overwhelming, streaking down your skin in warm, dripping patterns, leaving you flushed and wrecked.

"Fuck, look at you," he rasps, voice rough with pleasure while his cock pulses violently in his fist. "You're a fucking mess, kitten."

He lingers for a second, watching a glob of cum slide slow down your throat, catching the curve of your collarbone before slipping between your tits. Then, still panting, he lifts his chin and gives a single nod toward Satoru.

Permission.

And that’s all it takes.

Satoru shatters.

His cock’s already leaking, throbbing, flushed a furious shade of pink. He kneels closer behind you, hand working himself in frantic, sloppy strokes—fast, desperate, messy.

Your orgasm still hasn’t fully let you go—your thighs are twitching, your mouth is slack, your cunt still pulsing and soaked. But you manage to glance back at him anyway, eyes glazed and wide, just in time to watch him lose it.

"Oh fuck—oh fuck—oh fuck—" he gasps, voice climbing in pitch, shaky and wrecked and so fucking needy as his whole body jerks forward—

And he cums everywhere.

Hot spurts hit your ass, your back, your thighs—his cum warm and sticky as it paints you while he gasps your name like a curse and a prayer all at once. You moan loud, overstimulated and still panting, as the next spurt lands with a wet splatter right at the top of your pussy, catching your folds and the slick mess between your thighs.

He groans, desperate and broken, as he jerks the last few spurts out, letting them drip from his tip onto your clit, your slit—hot trails running across your heated skin, mixing with your own slick like some sinful masterpiece.

You’re soaked in both of them. You look like you’ve been bred by sin itself, a mess of spit and cum and slick. And you’re still on your knees like the most obedient little dream they ever had.

Satoru collapses forward, forehead pressing to your hip, his hand still lazily wrapped around his twitching cock. "Holy shit," he whispers, still gasping. "I—I think I blacked out. Did I fucking black out?"

Suguru’s chuckle is hoarse and smug from above. He smiles down at you, wiping a thumb across your chin to smear the mess across your cheek.

"Such a pretty little cumslut," he murmurs, tender like it’s a compliment.

Chapter Text

You’re still laying there on the floor, body shaking and covered in cum, your skin sticky and sore. Lips swollen, eyes glassy, legs jelly, brain fried—you don’t even know what year it is. Suguru had you and Satoru both on the brink for what felt like hours, teasing, edging, ordering you around like you were nothing but his playthings.

And now? Now he’s crouched next to you like the sweetest, softest boyfriend in the world.

"Alright, kitten," he murmurs, brushing a few messy strands of hair off your face, voice low and warm like melted chocolate. "Let's get you cleaned up, yeah?"

His hands are big and warm as they slide under your arms, lifting you like you weigh nothing. He’s still got that natural authority in his tone, but it’s softened now. No more commands, just gentle touches and that stupid sweet smile he saves just for you.

"You did so good for me," he hums as he helps you up, thumb casually wiping some of the mess off your cheek, not even flinching. "Time for a nice, hot shower, kitten. Let us take care of you."

You blink at him, dazed, still very much tipsy. You’re trying to say something but your vocal cords are just... not cooperating. You're still recovering from whatever demonic combo of pleasure and overstimulation he just blessed/cursed you with. But your body? Your body’s already moving, because when Suguru says something in that voice, you listen.

And right when you’re starting to lean into his warmth, trying to piece your soul back together—

"HELLO?" Satoru’s voice slices in like a dramatic siren, his head popping in from the side, eyes wide behind his messy white bangs. "Is nobody gonna talk about how hot that was? Or how I almost died? 'Cause I definitely saw the light. Pretty sure it winked at me."

Suguru just huffs out a quiet laugh, steadying you as you wobble. "Ignore him," he says, rolling his eyes fondly. "You okay, baby?" he murmurs, bending down to kiss your cum-coated forehead, his lips soft and careful like he didn’t just wreck you ten ways to Sunday. "I got you."

Yeah. You’re definitely still dizzy. But wrapped in his strong arms, hearing him talk to you like that, holding you like you’re precious—it’s so easy to let him take control again. Just in a different way now. Softer. Safer.

Suguru watches you try to take a shaky step and instantly sighs, all fond exasperation. "Yeah, no. That's not happening."

Before you can protest—or even think about trying to balance on those ridiculously high heels you’re still wearing—you’re already off the ground. He lifts you up, arms scooping under your thighs and back as you gasp, clinging to his neck, face pressed into the warm curve of his shoulder. He smells like sweat and sex and him, all wrapped in that faint trace of his expensive cologne clinging to his skin.

"Mm," you mumble into him, totally boneless, "I can walk…"

"Shhh," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple as he starts walking. "You danced in six-inch heels, got drunk off your ass, then let me and Satoru use you like our personal little fuckdoll for hours. You're not walking anywhere, kitten."

Satoru trails after you both, dramatically limping like he needs to be carried too. "So I almost died and she gets the bridal treatment? Rude."

"Satoru," Suguru drawls, not even glancing back. "Make yourself useful. Turn the shower on. Warm. Not boiling, not freezing. You know you never get it right."

You let out a faint giggle against his neck, brushing off his words, and catch the low rumble of Suguru’s chest in response. You love him like this—steady, smug, effortlessly caring without even meaning to.

Once in the bathroom, the light hum of water starts in the background as Satoru fiddles with the knobs. Suguru sets you down gently on the closed toilet seat, crouching in front of you, hands already moving to that poor, stretched-out little dress bunched at your waist.

"Let's get this off you," he says, voice low, eyes hooded. His fingers brush your hips as he tugs the dress up slowly, like he’s unwrapping a gift he already ravaged but still wants to savor. The material peels off sticky skin, revealing bite marks, hickeys, and the absolute mess they made of you.

You whimper a little as the air hits you, but he’s so careful, so soft, like you might fall apart if he moves too fast.

"There we go," he hums, dropping the ruined slip of fabric to the floor before turning his attention to your shoes. "And these fucking heels…"

He slides his hands around your ankle, lifts your leg with one hand, and pulls off each heel with a tenderness that’s honestly kinda criminal, considering this man was calling you names not even ten minutes ago.

Once you’re bare, he leans in and presses a warm, slow kiss to the inside of your thigh—right over a bruise he probably left—and then stands, stripping in one smooth motion.

His silk shirt comes off first, dragging over his toned arms, revealing that solid chest and the way his tight abs flex and glisten faintly with sweat when he tosses it aside. His pants follow, leaving him gloriously naked, already half-hard again because of course he is. His fat cock bobs up slightly as he moves, thick and heavy and still glistening a little from earlier, making your thighs instinctively press together.

Behind him, Satoru finally turns from the shower, all smug and sparkly-eyed. "Water's good! You're welcome."

And he starts undressing too, because of course he does. Hair a mess, lips still swollen from earlier, his smirk just as unbearable as ever. He kicks off his pants like he’s doing a striptease at a sleepover, sending his shirt flying dramatically across the room. His lean frame is all long limbs and muscle lines, his skin still flushed, his cock just as ready to go despite the hours-long edging you all barely survived. 

Suguru rolls his eyes again but pulls you gently to your feet. "C'mon, kitten."

The moment your feet hit the warm tile, you stumble, your knees still jelly, and Suguru just laughs, scooping you right back up, not even giving you the option.

"Alright. Guess you're not walking in here either."

He carries you straight into the shower, warm water cascading down your bodies the second you step in. It hits your skin and makes you shudder, steam curling around the two of you. Suguru pins you gently to his chest, one hand cradling the back of your head so the water doesn’t splash your face.

You sigh, eyes fluttering closed, chest rising and falling with every deep breath you take. Safe. Warm. Wrecked. Cared for.

Satoru slips in behind you, water running down his back, his voice teasing right in your ear. "Mmm, cozy in here," he grins, sliding his arms around Suguru and you like the little menace he is. "Mind if I join the snuggle pile?"

Suguru just hums, pressing a kiss to your wet hair. "As long as you behave."

"No promises," Satoru smirks, already reaching for the body wash with very unholy intentions.

Suguru shifts, still holding you steady against his chest as the water pours over you, hot and delicious on your aching muscles. You sigh against him, body so hazy and loose it’s like you’re dreaming, like none of this is real. But it is. Every inch of you is throbbing, tingling, buzzing with the aftermath of what they did to you. And now? Now you’re wrapped in heat and muscle and hands and mouths, and you swear you might never recover. Not that you want to.

"Fuck, princess—you're unreal," Satoru murmurs behind you, lips right against your neck as he shamelessly presses his hard body to your back. You can feel everything—his chest, his abs, his very awake cock brushing against your ass. "Like, not to be dramatic, but I'm obsessed with you. Actually feral. Might need to be sedated."

"Satoru," Suguru warns, voice calm but dangerous, and your stomach flips.

"What?" Satoru says innocently, hand already sliding down your side. "I'm just giving her a compliment. She was perfect. Let me love her, damn."

Suguru ignores him—for now—and grabs the shampoo instead, squirting a generous amount into his palm. "Head back, baby," he murmurs against your temple, voice dipped in honey, and you obey without thinking, eyes fluttering shut.

The moment his fingers slide into your hair, your knees nearly give out again. He’s so gentle, so thorough, massaging your scalp like it’s the only thing that matters in the world. His thumbs rub little circles just behind your ears, his fingers working slow and deep, and you melt into him.

"Such a good girl for us," he whispers, lips brushing over your forehead, your cheekbone, your temple in slow, sweet kisses. "So sweet. So obedient. Took everything we gave you like a fucking dream."

You whimper, hips twitching slightly between their bodies, and Satoru notices immediately.

"Ohhh, look at this cutie," he purrs, grinning against your throat. "She likes being praised. Gets all squirmy when we say nice things, huh, sweetie?"

Then his hands are on you too—messy and greedy, lathered in body wash, sliding over your stomach and breasts, groping a little more than necessary under the excuse of getting you clean.

Suguru doesn’t even stop him.

His mouth finds your shoulder, kissing softly between your neck and collarbone. "You should've seen yourself earlier, kitten," he murmurs. "So desperate, so pretty. Practically sobbing for it. You've got no idea what you do to us."

"Next time," Satoru adds, and his voice drops to something wicked, "I'm not lettin' up. Gonna eat you alive, princess. You won't be able to walk for a week."

Your head lolls against Satoru’s shoulder behind you, brain turning to static from all the stimulation. Their hands are everywhere—rubbing soap into your thighs, your hips, the curve of your ass, your back pressed snugly between them. You’re not even holding yourself up anymore. You’re just there, floating, letting them touch you, clean you, worship you.

"You're so beautiful," Suguru whispers, forehead resting against yours. "Even like this. Especially like this."

You don’t even realize you’re moving until your hands reach up, sliding into his wet hair. And then you’re pulling him down, crashing your lips to his in a slow, messy kiss. You can taste the water, the sweat, the sweetness of him. His tongue slips into your mouth with a low groan, and he kisses you like he’s starving.

Satoru moans behind you, his fingers tightening on your hips. "Heyyy, no fair. Save some for me," he pouts.

You giggle against Suguru’s mouth, then twist just enough to pull Satoru in too—your hand reaching back blindly to find his face, dragging him into the kiss like you need it. He doesn’t hesitate. His mouth is hot and wild on yours, tongue licking into you like he’s making up for lost time, like he means it when he says he wants to devour you.

In that steamy little space, with the water pouring down and their bodies pressed to yours, you’re drenched and dizzy, lips tingling as you pull back just to dive into the next kiss—trading off, Suguru then Satoru, then back again. Your little hands are everywhere, roaming their chests, curling around their necks, tugging them both closer until there’s no space left. You tilt your head, kissing Suguru deep, slow, then turning with a teasing grin and yanking Satoru down by his soaked hair.

"Greedy, huh?" Satoru chuckles against your cheek, lips brushing hot over your jaw. "Did we break your brain that bad, princess?"

"You're one to talk," Suguru murmurs. He dips his head, tongue dragging along the curve of your neck before kissing down your collarbone, slow and open-mouthed as you grind against him. "Can't even keep your hands off her for five seconds."

You hum in response, breathy little sound that slips past your lips as your lashes flutter closed, letting instinct take over—because thinking? Thinking’s long gone. Your brain’s melted somewhere back on the dance floor.

You press in deeper, letting your body guide you as you press yourself between them. Hips arching forward, your slick skin grinding against Suguru’s thigh, that firm muscle flexing under you just right—enough to make your breath hitch and your fingers claw gently at his biceps. Your back arches against Satoru’s chest, and you roll your hips with just enough friction to feel him groan low and sharp behind you.

Then you feel it—Satoru’s long fingers slipping down the inside of your thigh, slow and easy over your slick flesh.

"Still so sensitive," he coos, voice all sing-song and smug as his long fingers ghost higher, brushing over the soft heat between your thighs. "Look at you... still twitchin' for me."

Your lips part around a shaky moan, hips jerking when the tips of his fingers graze your folds, slick and puffy from everything they’ve done to you. Your knees nearly buckle when he brushes over your clit—just a tease, barely there—and your entire body trembles like a struck chord.

"F-Fuck, 'Toru," you breathe, head tipping back against his shoulder, your voice thin and wrecked.

But he doesn’t stop. His fingers begin to move in slow, lazy circles over your clit, maddeningly gentle, making your thighs tremble and your belly clench. Every nerve ending lights up again, oversensitive and raw. It’s too much—electric and aching and somehow not enough all at once.

You whimper softly, biting your lip. But before the spiral can suck you back in, with no warning, Suguru slides his hand up and pinches your nipple with a little twist that jolts you back into your own body.

Your eyes fly open as you cry out, breath catching as he leans in close, lips brushing your ear.

"Mm-mm," he hums, his voice deep and soothing but firm. "Not tonight, kitten. You've had enough."

Satoru groans dramatically. "Ughhh, you're no fun," he whines, resting his chin on the top of your head and glaring at Suguru with zero heat behind it. "You see her. She's ready to go again."

Suguru raises an eyebrow. "She's trembling," he says, gesturing pointedly to your legs—currently shaking like a baby deer on ice.

"Sexy trembling," Satoru argues, puffing out his cheeks.

But Suguru’s already wrapping his arms around you again, gently nudging Satoru’s hand away and pulling you snug to his chest. "You'll survive," he says, nuzzling your cheek, then pressing a kiss just below your ear. "She needs rest."

"You need to stop cockblocking me," Satoru mutters—but his hand retreats with a little pat to your hip, like he’s making himself behave.

Suguru just laughs, low and filthy, and it rumbles against your chest. "Cockblocking?" he repeats, eyes glinting with wicked amusement as he noses into your hair. "You look so cute all desperate."

Satoru groans again, throwing his head back. "I am desperate! This is a human rights violation!"

"Tell it to the UN," Suguru deadpans.

You just sigh, boneless between them, too blissed-out and floaty to even pretend to listen. Their hands rinse the soap from your body with tender strokes, and by the time the water clicks off, you’re half-asleep on your feet.

Suguru scoops you up again, stepping out of the shower with steam curling around the three of you. He sets you down on the shower mat, wrapping you in a thick towel that smells like cedar and clean laundry. It’s still warm from the dryer, and it hugs your skin in the dreamiest way. You sigh, eyes fluttering closed, sinking into it—and into Suguru, who’s kneeling in front of you, drying your legs one at a time like he’s done it a hundred times before.

He gently squeezes the water from your hair, towel-wrapping it with a practiced twist before running his fingers through the damp strands. "We're gonna dry you off," he murmurs, voice syrup-sweet and just as addictive, "then tuck you in. My baby needs rest."

"Boooring," Satoru says, but he’s already grabbing another towel and patting your arms dry, softer than he probably even realizes. "You gonna kill me. Death by blue balls. I feel it."

You look up at them and make a noise—a very non-human one. Because these ridiculous, beautiful, perfect men are now both wrapped in towels slung low on their hips, still wet from the shower, skin flushed from the heat, hard muscles glistening. The towels cling to them in the most unholy way, dipped low and tight enough you can see the heavy bulge straining beneath—thick, proud, ready to fuck you senseless. And yet… their hands are on you with the softest care, touching you so sweetly, fussing over you with a tenderness that makes it impossible to breathe.

Suguru just scoops you up again with a quiet chuckle and sits on the closed toilet seat, holding you in his lap. The towel slips down your shoulder as he cradles you close, all warmth and slow exhales and you melt into him instantly, resting your cheek against his bare chest. You feel Satoru’s hands patting your hair dry in slow, gentle movements.

"Mm, Satoru..." you mumble, eyes fluttering shut as his long fingers start to rake through the damp strands. He’s not even using a brush, just his hands, gliding through the tangles with the kind of impossible patience that’s gotta be illegal.

"Got you, princess," he purrs, fingertips grazing your scalp in little soothing circles. "We're just takin' care of you tonight, apparently. That's your only job."

Suguru hums low into your ear, shifting you closer on his thigh so you’re tucked all the way in, his chin resting on your shoulder. "So soft," he says, like he’s talking more to himself than anyone else. "Like a little sleep-drunk kitten."

You giggle faintly, eyes still closed, body going boneless in their arms. "M'not drunk," you slur, already half gone. "Just… y'all are warm. Too nice."

"Too nice?" Satoru huffs dramatically. "Excuse you. We just made you scream five times and carried your ass to the shower. This is earned affection, ma'am."

You hum lazily in reply, too blissed out to argue. And then you hear it—click, whirrrrr—followed by the sudden rush of warm air. You blink your eyes open just enough to see Satoru grinning like a kid with a new toy, holding the blow dryer like it’s some enchanted weapon. 

"Okay, baby, don't move," he says, all mock-serious. "Doctor Gojo is in."

Suguru snorts behind you. "God help us."

But Satoru’s already crouching down, blowing the dryer through your damp strands with one hand while the other gently rakes through them. And you whimper—from the pure bliss of it. His fingers are so careful, so sexy, working through knots and wet strands with skill.

"Aww, you like that, huh?" he coos, leaning in to press a kiss to your temple. "Look at you. Melting."

Suguru smirks, resting his cheek on your shoulder. "She's in heaven. You got five minutes before she falls asleep right here."

You hum, eyes fluttering shut again with a sleepy little sigh, fully giving in to the feeling of being doted on by both of them. The dryer’s hum, Satoru’s fingers in your hair, Suguru’s heartbeat beneath your cheek—it’s like being swaddled in love and heat and hands that know you. You giggle softly, totally useless now. Drunk on them. Drenched in comfort.

Satoru even leans over to aim the dryer at Suguru next, casually blowing through his still-dripping black hair. "You better not fall asleep on us, princess. Still gotta make you cute for bed."

"I'm already cute," you mumble, barely coherent.

Suguru snorts under his breath, kissing the crown of your head. "She's not wrong."

The dryer clicks off with a final hum, and you’re being lifted again—warm arms under your legs and back, your towel still snug around you as they carry you into the bedroom and set you down on the edge of the bed. 

"Can I pick her pajamas?" Satoru chirps, eyes lighting up like this is his favorite part.

And he doesn’t even wait for an answer. He’s already half-diving into the drawer where your prettiest little night things live, fingers flipping through silky straps and sheer lace like he’s browsing the lingerie aisle of his dreams.

"Damn," he whistles, holding one up to the light. "You really got a thing for being a naughty little princess, huh?" He tosses a cheeky grin over his shoulder. "All this lace? All this nothing? Baby, we're not even pretending you sleep for comfort."

Suguru chuckles low behind. "I'm a lucky boyfriend. She likes being admired."

"Ta-da! This one," Satoru announces proudly, holding up your naughtiest babydoll like it’s a damn Oscar. Cute baby pink, all sheer lace and teasing ruffles, soft and see-through cups, a flirty little satin bow at the center of the chest like the filthiest gift wrap. Adorable and sinful and absolutely not built for sleep. "She gonna look like a fuckin' angel who wandered out of a porno."

Suguru just raises an eyebrow. "As long as you don't rile her up again."

"No promises."

You let out a sleepy little sound, somewhere between a sigh and a laugh. You don’t even have the strength to protest. Honestly, you might be purring.

So they dress you—together. Suguru unwraps the towel slowly, letting it fall to the bed, and Satoru gently lifts your arms like you’re a doll, slipping the delicate fabric over your head.

It slides down your body like a whisper. Cool lace against warm skin. Ribbons skimming your collarbones. The hem barely brushing your thighs.

"This is actual torture," Satoru mutters, fingers caressing your nipples, peeking right through the lace. "Fucking adorable."

The night hits you all at once. Every drink, every orgasm, every dizzy giggle—it crashes down like a wave, and your body suddenly feels like it weighs a thousand pounds. You blink slow, lips parted, barely keeping your eyes open as you sink backward into the sheets.

"C'mere," Suguru whispers, pulling the covers back. They slip in with you, one on each side, warm skin against yours under the cool sheets. Then they tuck you in. 

Suguru slides an arm under your head like a pillow, fingers brushing through your hair as he settles in close, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. Satoru spoons in behind you, arm slung lazily over your waist, his breath soft at the nape of your neck. "If you weren't half-dead, I'd be all over you right now, princess," he purrs, pressing a kiss just below your ear. "You're lucky you're cute when you're eepy."

Suguru lays facing you, hand cradling your cheek, his thumb brushing over your lips. "Tomorrow," he says softly, eyes steady and sure. "Tonight, you rest."

"You comfy, princess?" Satoru whispers into your hair.

"Mmhmm," you breathe, eyelids heavy. "Don't go anywhere."

"We won't," Satoru promises, snuggling close enough to nose into your cheek. "You're stuck with us now."

Suguru groans. "Sleep, kitten."

And with both their bodies cocooning yours—you let sleep take you. Warm, safe, in their arms, drowning in steam-scented skin and sleepy grins.