Archive of Our Own

Suguru thought he would never feel this warmth ever again. When he'd walked away from his youth, he'd thought he walked away from all these indulgences, from these guilty, stolen pleasures, from reverent fingers carding through his hair and startling blue eyes full of mischief. He'd given it all up when he'd turned his back on his soulmate (all in a bid to make the world easier for him, to make it into one that didn't need the strongest sorcerer, to gift him a life where he didn't need to fight and could just be ).

They're older, way older, and the scar is new, but everything else is painfully nostalgic. His hair is freshly chopped, barely reaching his shoulders, the shortest it'd been since he was a child and growing it out for the first time.  It was a casualty in his last battle for supremacy but he can hardly mourn for it when Satoru is lathering what's left of it with shampoo, gently massaging the suds into his scalp. He treats him delicately, like glass that'll shatter with a hint of pressure, and Suguru vaguely wonders if he's ever handled anyone or anything else this tenderly. 

"If you keep moaning like that, I'm gonna get hard." And of course their quiet moment has to be ruined by Satoru's overly inappropriate comments. Time has clearly not dulled his sharp tongue. Not that he minds. Not that he doesn't relish in the soft whininess that drips from Satoru's voice. 

"Maybe that was my plan all along." Suguru quirks open one eye, enjoying the upside down view of Satoru's cheeks slowly turning pink. He's pouting, plump bottom lip jutting out, his sunglasses sitting so low on his nose that Suguru gets to see the full intensity of his eyes. How he missed those eyes, missed accidentally letting curses break his glasses so he can have more time with them, unobstructed and all seeing. "It's been a while, hasn't it Satoru?"

"Shut up, you're the one that was a monk for ten years." Satoru pointedly looks away but continues washing Suguru's hair, as if he can't bear to take his hands off of Suguru for even a second. Perhaps a decade of non-contact, of radio silence and longing, would do that to the otherwise impenetrable Gojo Satoru. 

He always did complain pitifully, grovelling at his feet with over the top flare, whenever Suguru ignored him. It was often, considering how he was done with Satoru's shit almost every other day; fat, crocodile tears would well in his big, perfect, galaxy eyes and he'd be begging for forgiveness. 

Though thinking back, there was always a smidge of sincerity in those overly dramatic sobs, one that told of loneliness drilled into his bones. Satoru grew up alienated from other people, from love and companionship, with only his own shadow to accompany him. Suguru was the first source of fun and joy and adventure, the first time he'd been challenged but not disciplined, and a part of him yearned to stick to Suguru like glue. A deep, childish but instinctual need to fix everything would always bubble up at the very slightest hint that Suguru would leave him ( and then he really did ). 

"Just because I dressed like one doesn't mean I lived like one." Suguru chuckles, taking note of how Satoru's eyes immediately snapped back to him, his jaw slack as his mouth hung in a small 'o'. Judging by his increasingly crimson cheeks, Suguru can easily see what's running through his brilliant mind. "Don't tell me you remained celibate all these years?" 

There's an awkward silence and Suguru mind screeches to a halt.

Suguru whips around in the tub to face Satoru properly and oxygen evacuates his lungs in a hurry. It's not the first time he's seeing Satoru since coming back, but it's like he gets more stunning with every eyeful. And oh dear, an embarrassed Satoru will always be a delight to see. 

It's a shame Satoru is always in his Jujutsu uniform, decked out in all black, the clothes hanging off his supermodel-esque body in a boxy and ill fitting manner. It serves to make him look intimidating and standoffish, befitting his reputation as the world's most powerful being, but it's far from Suguru's favourite version of him.

Here, in the safety of his home, ensconced away from the harsh reality of being the saviour of their generation, he seems nothing but soft and real , touchable and mortal. He is not the strongest sorcerer here, he's but a simple man, bare faced and exposed, comfy in his oversized baby pink sweater. The neck falls off his shoulder, revealing the elegant slope of his shoulder, and a depraved part of his brain takes sick joy in seeing it unmarked, in seeing it untouched by the sullying hands of another individual. 

He's wearing stirrup leggings, very much like the ones the school issues out to all students, but also completely different. At first glance they seem identical but Suguru knows Satoru isn't about to wear those stiff, itchy tights at home. These ones look exorbitantly luxurious, like they come from some high end yoga brand for rich wives, hugging every minute curve and accentuating the length of his legs. They serve no purpose other than comfort and warmth, and if Suguru reached down and squeezed his thigh, he's sure it would feel almost like it's his bare skin. 

And best of all is the expression he wears. Averted eyes and lowered eyelashes, frowning lips and flushing cheeks. There is none of his usual overconfidence, the arrogance he wears as a second skin. It serves no purpose here, there is no airs to be put up between them, between two men that have seen the nightmares of hell and continue walking the earth, and something about that thought feels dangerous. Feels like the intense bond they shared as teenagers is still intact, withstanding betrayal, death and manipulation. 

Was the man born to protect the world, gifted with the strength of millions, allowed to be this trusting? Allowed to be vulnerable and open to the hurt Suguru has inflicted upon him? Allowed to be in love and chase after that love, even after that love stabbed him in the gut?

Was it fair that Satoru had remained faithful, a somewhat foolish endeavour considering Suguru's vehement path through darkness, while Suguru had given in to his basal desires? Even with the images of snowy hair and sapphire eyes, he had still been inside someone else, bringing them pleasure while leaving Satoru, the one person he had given his heart to, to walk his journey alone without even a bed partner? Suguru swallows hard. 

"Hey, Satoru, ten years is a long time and I-"

"I tried once, you know. With Nanamin." Satoru cuts him off sharply, still avoiding eye contact. He gulps audibly and visibly, and the bob of his Adam's apple is hypnotising. "He was handsome and I was horny, I thought it would be easy."

Satoru purposely neglects to tell him they were both reeling with grief; Nanami had never really gotten over Haibara's death, the death to their romance that never got to be, and Satoru was in a constant state of limbo without Suguru beside him, an empty husk as he walked alone, missing the soulmate he couldn't breathe without. It was a mutual agreement, no judgement or guilt if they called out a name that wasn't the man they were actually sleeping with. 

Not that they made it that far. 

"But I kept thinking of you . Everything he did, I just kept thinking of you. What would Suguru do? How would Suguru feel? Would Suguru like this?" Satoru thinks back on that moment, on that night in Nanami's tiny apartment. There had been no romance or candles, Satoru had cleaned and prepared his ass before he'd come so he could just get fucked and finally, hopefully, get the haunting image of Suguru out of his wet dreams. They hadn't made it far past foreplay, a grope here and a fondle there before they were both calling it quits. They didn't even kiss. "I couldn't even get hard without thinking about you." 

His laugh is strained, dry in his throat and the memory burns in his chest. It had been such a disaster, a catastrophe of two men vying for comfort in a warm body and finding out it didn't matter if it wasn't the person they were truly yearning for. Satoru had ended up crying that night, seated on Nanami's stomach, half dressed, bawling and asking the heavens why they took his Suguru away. Why did he have to be alone again? Right when he'd learnt friendship and companionship, right when he'd found the person he wanted to spend forever with. 

The whole time Nanami stayed quiet, hand stroking Satoru's side as a silent tear slipped down his cheek, touch heavy and comforting on his skin. They needn't exchange words or explanations, not when it was so blatantly clear this was a bad idea between two desperate, grieving people. Grim understanding hung heavy in the air, so suffocating Satoru was surprised he didn't choke through his violent sobs. 

Tears burn at the back of his eyes, wetting his eyelashes even as he tries to blink them away. Here, before him, is the man he'd been missing so badly it felt like his chest had been smashed open and left out to dry, the man he'd experienced both the greatest joy and the greatest despair for. The man whose misappropriated voice and visage almost cost him the fate of the world. Destiny had given back to him the one thing he truly desired, and he hopes Nanami is given the same gift of reunion. 

Maybe in the afterlife he'd be braver and would finally ask Haibara to be his, with all his stuffy salaryman charm. Ten years of separation tended to bring out people's more courageous and brazen sides. 

"Even after all that time, you still remained my Satoru." Suguru chimes in, drawing Satoru's attention from their tragedy riddled past back to their present. The present that could lead to brighter, lovelier times together. 

Suguru reaches out, tucks a fluffy white lock behind Satoru's ear before he cups his jaw. His eyes are wide, lips slightly ajar as he registers the touch, a touch without Infinity to protect him from the tenderness Suguru offered in their most intimate moments. It's a wash of water to a parched man, a gentle caress to ten years of isolation, and Satoru almost starts crying on the spot. 

My Satoru.  

It tastes like sugar, a thick honey dribbling along his tongue, yet somehow feels like ash and smoke in his throat. It falls from Suguru's lips as easy as when they were teenagers, boys fooling around and finding something as beautiful as love in the darkness of their world, and Satoru doesn't know how to feel about it. 

He never took back his heart, never bargained for it back even when Suguru chose ambition over his partner. He'd lived without it for ten years, ached and trudged on like the soldier he was trained to be, and now it's in front of him, looking healthier and younger than ever. The scar running across his forehead is shiny with healed skin, mottled by the curse ripped out from his body, and his first instinct is to want to kiss it. To shower it in affection and remind him how strong he is for fighting back against the body stealer, for ripping through the gates of death and taking back control. 

But it still hurts . It burns . To see every positive emotion he learned through his friendship, and eventual romance, with the man named Geto Suguru. The same man that ripped him up and tore him apart when he turned his back on him. The same man that knew all his insecurities and demons, and chose to make him live through them, without even a hand to hold him through it. 

"I… I can't do this." Satoru stands up abruptly, knocking down the bath stool he'd been perched on. It clatters to the ground, a resounding plastic crash against marble as he straightens up. 

He'd thought they could go back to normal, to their easy banter from their youth, as if the years apart and Satoru's imprisonment by the impostor could be tucked away in a neat little box and thrown away. But that couldn't happen, it could never be that easy for them, and the hurt remains. Every sweet word is an icicle to the heart and every soft touch harks back to a simpler time that just doesn't exist anymore.

"You're the only one for me. Always will be. But I can't, I can't right now, I thought I could but I just…" And he bolts for the door before he can put what he's thinking into words, before he can string together all the pain and suffering with all the joy and elation that their reunion brings him.

"I still love you, Satoru." 

Suguru tries to grab onto his wrist, stop him from his escape, but Satoru is too quick, evading like a slippery eel. That doesn't seem to be an issue though, not when the words work better than any physical restraint and he screeches to a halt, bare feet frozen to the floor. 

"You… you…" Satoru turns only his head, his body still wholly facing away from him, and it breaks Suguru's heart to see blue eyes, the same blue eyes that enthralled him as a young and dumb fifteen year old, swimming- no, flooding with tears. 

"I never stopped." Suguru says assuredly, standing up from the tub, still completely naked and dripping with water.  The sight of Suguru completely bare has Satoru’s eyes snapping forward, ears burning red as he tries to avoid his nude visage.  

He should have mentally prepared for this when he'd offered to help Suguru wash his hair, but it had been a rash decision. One borne out of desperation, of fearing that if he turned away for one second, had him out of his sights for even a quick shower, he would disappear into thin air. That this was all a figment of his imagination, a cruel dream cast on him by Kenjaku. So now, he has to live with the consequences of past Satoru's impulsiveness. With a butt naked Suguru, still as handsome and beefy as ever, and a growing hunger he hasn't sated for ten years. 

Suguru's steps thunder with him, wet smacks against cold marble, until he reaches just inches behind Satoru.  He could grasp him in his fingers, feel him under the strength of his hold, but could he really?  Does he even have the right, after ten years of desolation and abandonment, and a fun little betrayal right at the end? Was he allowed to offer comfort to the man who needed no one but Suguru, the one who had stolen his heart and treated it irresponsibly? 

“Can I touch you?”

Satoru's shuddering breath hits like a smack to the face, his shoulders shaking as he deliberates between two options. Every fiber in his body screams to agree, to allow, to give in to the mouthwatering temptation of being embraced by the man he never stopped loving. But it hurts , it hurts so much, remembering how much he devoted and cared, how much he gave away of himself, before being left behind in the dirt. 

He thinks back to their first night together, to the firm and gentle fingers that guided him through every action, every step, past every fear and anxiety. He thinks back to their second time together, when Satoru was more confident, more assured, when the thought of penetration didn't make colour drain from his face. He thinks back to every time after that, to the exploration and excitement, to the giddiness that came with trying to sneak one in before class. 

He thinks back to holding hands and kissing in the rain. He thinks back to nightmares soothed by big, warm hands and patching each other up after arduous missions. He thinks back to confiding his darkest secrets, his deepest terrors, of being alone, of being alone forever . He thinks back to feeling something akin to kindness for the first time, to feeling cared for and looked after. 

He thinks back to being in love . 

And he wants to laugh. He wants to curl up into a ball and cry like the little child he never got to be. It always went back to that , didn't it? 

To the blanket that was draped over his shoulders when he caught the flu in their first year. To the rice balls packed in his bag when he was going on a faraway mission. To the stuffed bunny he still keeps on his bedside, won for him at those stupid, rigged claw machines. To the promise that he is a human, that he will always be more than a commodity or a weapon in his eyes. 

To the choice to keep his Infinity down for him, no matter what, unconditionally, even after he'd been left with little more than memories, even if it was foolish. To making him laugh one final time, before taking his life with his own hands, broken and nauseated by the very thought of someone else spending his last seconds with him. To being frozen in place when he'd heard his voice, their youth together flashing behind his eyelids like a twisted movie, manipulated and tricked by a sick impostor. 

To watching the prison realm crumble around himself and feeling warmth, a crackling, sparkling feeling, burst forth, eyes and soul taking in the man standing opposite him. To realising that the counterfeit that drove a wrench in his heart and twisted was gone, gone forever, because he was there, really there, and feeling like he can finally take in oxygen for the first time in a year.  To rushing over before his brain could register it, could caution or warn him, jumping into his arms and hugging him so tight he felt bones creak.  

To standing here, an Infinity's breadth away from his soulmate. 

“Why don’t you check for yourself?” Satoru asks cynically, dropping his chin and bracing for impact. Suguru doesn't immediately reach out, test out the theory of whether Infinity is up or not, but when he does, it destroys Satoru. 

He knew it was coming, but the touch is an explosion. It's only a hand, but it's heavy and callused and tender, just the way he remembers it, gently planted on his upper arm. It squeezes his bicep, and his knees grow weak, trembling like there's a direct link between them and where Suguru's hand rests, unyielding. He sucks in air and when it comes back out, it sounds more like a whimper, a pitiful noise that has not left his throat for over a decade. 

"Is this okay? Can I touch you more?" Suguru whispers, sounding so much closer than he really is. The words wind around him, fill up his chest with jitters until he's going to explode, and it's like his voice is touching him all over. Intimately reaching places that haven't been touched in years, and Satoru's cheeks burst into fuchsia. Thank goodness Suguru can't see his face. 

"Do you have to ask?" Satoru questions, shame and embarrassment colouring him all down his neck. He's sure he's the same colour of his sweater, a soft peachy pink contrasting his usual porcelain skin, and if Suguru makes him say it , he's going to become a human sized cherry. 

"Yeah, I do." Suguru's one step closer and every breath ghosts across his nape, but he's still not touching him more. It's still one hand, steady and assuring, but it's not enough. It's not enough after ten years of never letting anyone in again, of erecting walls up on every side.  "I won't… I can't hurt you again. I need to know it's okay."

Suguru's guilt is palpable, he can hear it dripping from every word, coiling around him, constricting his every muscle so he can't move until Satoru says he can. There's a surge of power, of knowing that Suguru will back off and never come close again if he so much as utters it, but it comes with a flood of shame. 

He's never had to vocalise what he wants. He either takes it because he can or gives up on having it at all. He was born for the world, to serve and to save, and that kind of creature does not deserve wants or selfishness. He should only live to exorcise curses, eventually building up his strength so he can take down the ultimate King of Curses Ryoumen Sukuna. 

But here he is, in the luxury bathroom of his Tokyo penthouse, with all his desires bundled up in one man and served on a silver platter. And all he has to do is ask. To put words to what he's been denied for so long, even if he physically cringes through putting it out into the universe. 

"Touch me, Suguru." Those two words are wrenched out of his throat, ripped out of his vocal cords so painfully they come out soft and barely audible. But Suguru hears them, his fingers tightening their hold in response, and that's all that matters. " Please , touch me." 

At his request, his plea, his call, Suguru complies instantly. Two strong arms snake up, wind around him and cover him, pull him back into a reliable chest. It's a rush of familiarity but also a sting of newness, of recognising and not recognising all at once, of knowing these arms better than his own but also looking down and counting the scars he doesn't know the stories behind. 

He wants to know it all. He wants to hear every story and tale, every adventure Suguru had without him, every friend made in ten years and every partner he took to bed. He wants to know every last thing there is to know about Suguru because he's already missed out on so much, on his girls and his growth. 

"Please. Please stay with me." He should be ashamed, to be so close to begging on his knees for something so simple. A man of his stature and power shouldn't need to grovel with such intent, such sincerity, but he does it anyway because he's lived his life with pride already. He knows what denying himself leads to, he knows what not chasing Suguru to the ends of the earth looks like. It culminates to this, two broken men yearning for a fulfillment they've ignored in favour of their greater good. 

He reaches up and laces his fingers through Suguru's, wordlessly encouraging to hold him tighter, make him feel like he'll never let go even if the apocalypse is dawning on them. He does, because he is the real Suguru and can read him like a book, and Satoru wants to weep at the elation that buzzes up and down his spine. He leans back, nuzzles his head into Suguru's broad shoulder, and let's himself bathe in the peace the next few words afford him. 

"I'm here, Satoru. I'm here to stay as long as you'll let me." 

***

Ten fingers, ten toes. Everyday, a hundred sit ups, a hundred push ups, fifty pull ups, ten kilometre jog. 4,461 curses. Cigarettes with a whiskey on the rocks. Zaru soba and homemade miso soup. Shoko and Yaga-sensei, getting scolded for fooling around. Haibara and Nanami, sparring to help build up their close combat. Mimiko and Nanako, the crepes at the stall along Harajuku. Satoru. 

He recounts and recounts. Drills into himself every memory until it sticks, becomes so scored in his body it could never act outside his accordance again. He glares at his own hands like they're not his own, because for a while they weren't. He swallows down the bile that comes with remembering being a helpless witness to his body's actions, a puppet to a nefarious scheme by a disgusting curse. He couldn't let that happen again, never again , not when his body and voice could be used to manipulate the one person they should never be turned against. The one person that had learnt the meaning of trust and confidence from that same body and voice. 

"What's got that handsome forehead creasing so much?" Satoru seemingly apparates out of nowhere, which honestly could be him actually teleporting, poking his forehead before placing a simple plate of rice and grilled fish in front of him. 

"You think my forehead is handsome?" Suguru smirks, grasping Satoru's hand before he can skate away to the other side of the table. Call him brazen, tell him he's going the mile when given an inch, but how could he not? Given the access and permission, is he supposed to not feel that soft, sensitive skin every chance he gets? 

Satoru smiles shyly, pink colouring his cheeks as easily as it did when Suguru first came into his Infinity, and Suguru gently tugs him closer. With him still standing, Satoru looks like a goddamn skyscraper, but Suguru doesn't mind, has never minded his astronomical height. He uses his free hand to cup his leggings clad hip, feeling the luxurious material under his palm. 

He sneaks his hand around around that hip to under his sweater, finding the chilled skin of his lower back. Satoru's body temperature has always run on the lower side, which is why at home he always decks out in cashmere and leggings, and Suguru's first thought is he wants to warm him up. He tugs him one more step forward, enough so Satoru has to stand between his spread thighs, and buries his face into the soft fabric at his stomach. 

It startles Satoru, almost backpedalling a few steps, but Suguru tightens his hold on his back, keeping him steady and close, exactly where he wants him. He takes a deep inhale of Satoru's scent, fresh strawberries and hand whipped cream , subtle and sweet and a little bit tart, and thinks he could fall asleep like this, nestled in this comforting aroma. 

He releases Satoru's hand, only so it can join its partner at Satoru's lower back, spread all ten fingers around the cold surface and warm it up. Satoru moans softly under the touch, unused to being warmed by another human, for having that eternal chill slowly ebb away, his own hands falling to rest in Suguru's hair. 

"Well, it won't be if you keep thinking so hard." Satoru interrupts their serene moment, hands carding through silky hair. They twitch slightly when they realise how little of there is left to comb, and when they go back up to start again, they lift Suguru's head up. To Suguru, it feels like he's being wrestled from the safest, most exquisite haven, but he goes with the motion, lets Satoru cup his face and smooth out his tense forehead with his thumbs. "Wrinkles aren't going to be a good look on you." 

"You going to leave me as soon as I get crows' feet?" Suguru teases and air catches in Satoru's throat, his whole body freezing stiffly at the implication. At the thought of being alone again, of stepping away from an oasis he just got back. Suguru slides his hands up further, grounds Satoru's spiralling mind with fingers wrapping around his perfectly tiny waist. "Shh, I know. It was just a joke."

"I knew that. Of course, I knew that." Satoru swallows thickly, sticking his lip out in an adorable, childish pout. His lips draw in his eyesight, looking shiny and plump, the perfect shade of soft pink, and Suguru fixates on it so much Satoru starts to fidget. 

"Hey, 'toru, can I kiss you?" Suguru is mesmerised, but he also knows there are boundaries. It's one thing to sit here in Satoru's apartment, wearing a pair of his long ass pyjama pants, and a sweatshirt that looks and feels awfully similar to one Suguru once owned back in high school. It's one thing to initiate innocent touches that didn't have to mean anything, to flirt and to banter just like when they were youthful and hopeful. 

It's another thing entirely to cross that line. 

Satoru's ensuing gulp rings clear in the quiet night, his Adam's apple bobbing as he thinks on the request. It might be the first time Suguru has ever asked for a kiss, what with their first one being a colossal accident of tripping feet and entangled legs. He's always taken Satoru's kisses, pulling him into a broom closet or making out with him in the back of the car after a mission, savouring that inherent sweetness and rolling it under his tongue. 

But here and now, they're different people, transformed and morphed past their own recognition, and Suguru needs to reintroduce himself to Satoru's body. He knows what a thing it is to treasure now, to cherish Satoru's kisses and treat them with the utmost reverence they deserve. They aren't given out freely, if the ten years of celibacy are anything to go by, and Suguru knows they deserve to be put on a pedestal and worshipped . 

"Yeah, you can." Satoru affirms, closing his eyes with one slow blink, before gazing down at Suguru with those crystalline eyes of his. They sparkle under the dim lighting of Satoru's apartment, and it takes all of Suguru's self control to not crush his darned sunglasses to pieces. Nothing should be allowed to stand between Suguru and those hypnotising irises. "Just… can you… lead? I haven't… there hasn't been anyone since… us ."

Suguru wants to tease him, to ask him if really hasn't even had a peck in the last ten years, but his heart is too busy hammering against his ribcage and desperately trying to jump into Satoru's hands. Instead, he stands up wordlessly, hands still firm and steady on Satoru's waist, keeping him flush against his chest. 

"Close your eyes. I'll lead you through it." Suguru murmurs against his lips, fingers drawing soothing patterns and circles on his slowly warming skin. Satoru hesitates, chews on his bottom lip for a second before conceding, quivering eyelids slipping shut. His hands tremble as they clutch onto Suguru's shirt, fingers gripping so tight Suguru is sure it will leave crinkles in the fabric. 

He feels like a sinner doing this, his heart doing triple backflips in his chest, violating an otherwise pure creature. He's taken back to their first night together, the same insecurity that laced through every one of Satoru's movements surfacing once again, and he has to take a second to eat it all up. Satoru is no virgin, Suguru had snatched and popped his cherry so thoroughly there is absolutely no question about it, but it's a very close thing. 

Satoru makes an impatient keen, squeezing his eyes shut to resist the urge to slip them open and sneak a peek at what is taking Suguru so long, and Suguru can’t wait another second.  Tilting his chin, he captures Satoru’s lips in a hurry, bowing his back into an arch with the sheer force of it.  He startles a yelp out of Satoru’s throat, surprise swallowed up by Suguru’s mouth.  He licks into his mouth, tongue caressing and stroking Satoru’s tentative one, coaxing it until it starts to dance with his.  Satoru loops his arms around Suguru’s neck for purchase and Suguru takes the extra stability as a sign to push further. 

He dips him down low, so far that he’s sure if he let go, Satoru would fall flat on his ass.  He has no such plans, but it still makes him giddy that Satoru is willing to have his world tilted on its axis, have his balance robbed and rely solely on Suguru’s hands to keep him on his feet. Suguru takes his time exploring Satoru’s mouth, leaving no crevice or cavern untouched, and refamiliarises himself with the terrain.  It’s exhilarating, to feel that same warmth and wetness, and to think he could drown himself in it every day. 

In a move that might be called cheating, Suguru keeps his eyes wide open for the whole kiss. He wants to memorise every microexpression, every crinkle in his tall nose and every quiver in his eyelashes.  He tastes just like how he remembers, the inside of his mouth stained syrupy sweet from all the candy he gorges on, and he wants to make sure his face is just as open and honest as it had been as a teenager.  By God’s grace, it is, painfully candid to every shift in Satoru’s emotions, and Suguru takes every cue as a sign to go further.  To probe deeper, to tease more, to nibble on his bottom lip until he’s shaking uncontrollably. 

“How was that?  Good as you remember?” Suguru pants as he regretfully pulls away, helping Satoru back to an upright position.  A thin string of saliva still connects their mouths, only broken when Satoru turns his head away sharply, embarrassment thick and juicy. 

“Shut up and eat your dinner.” Satoru shoves him away, one hand covering his cherry swollen lips.  Suguru stifles a chuckle as he complies, plopping back down into the chair and taking a long look at the meal before him.  The fish looks cooked through, if only slightly charred, and the rice looks plump and soft; the miso soup smells distinctly like it comes from a packet, but there are also small cubes of tofu floating around.  

“Am I going to die?” Suguru raises an eyebrow, remembering how back in the dorms, Satoru had managed to screw up cup noodles on multiple occasions.  He had somehow managed to make what should be the easiest meal ever created into something that arguably tasted worse than his curses. 

“Fuck you.” Satoru glares, sitting in his own chair with a violence that reveals his contempt at the slight.  He immediately starts chowing down on his own plate, stabbing down on the fish with his chopsticks like it’s Suguru’s throat.  Suguru shakes his head at the show of melodrama, using his own set of chopsticks to elegantly break off a small piece of fish to taste.  He hums in approval, it’s a bit over cooked but definitely many levels over the cup ramen disasters Satoru made last time, and the sound makes Satoru blush at the wordless praise.  He has always been such a sucker for quiet affirmation and applause, real ones that go beyond his strength and beauty, and Suguru wonders if it still works the wonders in bed it used to. 

“Hmm… maybe later.  If you’ll let me.” Suguru tests, treading lightly as he breaches the dangerous topic of sex .  Satoru's hand freezes half way to bringing rice to his mouth and the chopsticks fall with an ear shattering crash to the plate. The room is chillingly silent as they both stare back at each other, Satoru's eyes wide and lips ajar, unmoving since Suguru had spoken. 

Was it too soon? Had he done what he feared the most and pushed too far? It's just that the kiss had gone so well and-

“I’ve seen that monster in your pants.  You are not getting anywhere near my ass any time soon.” Satoru interrupts his high speed snowballing thoughts, picking up his splayed chopsticks so he can readjust them in his hold. He's pointedly avoiding eye contact, looking off and out his floor to ceiling windows. 

"Soon?" Suguru questions, leaning forward, eager to know what exactly that statement entails. It doesn't sound like sex is totally off the table, and the deepening crimson on Satoru's cheeks is so delectable he really hopes what he's thinking is correct. 

"Maybe… maybe if we work up to it." From Suguru's angle, Satoru's ears look like they're burning so hot they're simply going to melt off his head. He's shoving food in his mouth so fast Suguru fears he's going to choke or accidentally stab himself in the back of the throat. 

There are many, many, many implications in that phrase, most of them sending blood rushing south. What would working up to it entail? He has a good idea, can guess what Satoru is alluding to, and he wonders how much of an active participant he is going to get to be. He did say 'we' and that is so damn exciting Suguru can barely contain bouncing in his seat. He immediately wants to know how soon they can start, when they can start building up to it together . 

Is tonight too early?

“So, you gonna tell me why you were staring at your hands like you wanted to laser them off?” Satoru abruptly changes the topic, wrenching Suguru out of the riveting imaginations of Satoru in all kinds of sprawled out positions. It's a cold bucket of water to the arousal building in his crotch, if anything. 

Now, where there used to be enthralling visions of Satoru (spread eagle, doggy style, in his lap, bent over the very table they're eating at), there are images of Kenjaku. They spin around and whirlpool in his head, a grotesque brain with a greedy grin whispering atrocities in his ear, begging him to let go, to go back to sleep, to stay still and just watch . He's reminded that his control is not definite, that there was no exorcism and he's just in a constant battle for control, and it makes him sick. 

"It's nothing." Geto brushes off, taking one more big mouthful before pushing the plate away. His appetite dissipates in an instant, the heat burning in his gut now replaced with an uneasy churning. He moves to get up, chair scraping against wood as he pushes it back. "I'm just tired. I'm going to head in for the night, I think."

"Don't do that. Don't do that to me again." Satoru stands up suddenly, hands banging on the table as he does so. His glare is fierce, a stark contrast to his bashful persona from just seconds ago. "Don't push me away when I just got you back."

"I'm not, Satoru. I really am just tired." Suguru holds up his hands defensively, gulping nervously when Satoru stalks around the table and grabs his arm. 

It's not that he wants to lie to Satoru, honestly that's the last thing he wants. But Satoru doesn't need this burden, not when he's freshly freed and still has to carry the weight of the world like it's made of air. He doesn't need to know the fears that plague Suguru's every movement, that fear that everything he does is merely an illusion of choice, concocted by a curse still living in his skull. 

But, his concern based secrecy is not appreciated, not even one bit, because before he can defend himself or figure out what is going on in Satoru's mind, he's getting roughly hauled to his feet. He's dragged down the hallway to the master bedroom and then unceremoniously thrown onto the bed. It must have had some sort of curse energy imbued into it because Suguru is going to be hard pressed to believe Satoru on sheer strength and muscle alone could do it. He may be the strongest sorcerer but he is built like a string bean and Suguru has never seen him workout a day in his life. 

Before Suguru can get his bearings, pillowy soft mattress below him slowing him down, Satoru is climbing right on top of him, planting his hands on either side of his head and caging him in. Somewhere in their journey down the corridor, he'd thrown off his sunglasses and Suguru is left facing the most brilliant shade of aquamarine to exist. The position is horrifically provocative, Satoru seated on his abdomen, thighs splayed by his hips, and Suguru has his hands frozen in mid air, hovering an inch away from Satoru's body. 

"...Satoru, what are you doing?" This is all getting very confusing and constantly flip flopping between anxiety and lust is getting very disorienting. 

"The only time you're honest with me is when you're horny, so I'm making you horny." Satoru answers, as if it makes any sense. Instead of explaining further, he ducks his head down and laps at his throat, kissing and nibbling his pronounced Adam's apple. 

Satoru accompanies his wet smooches with grinding against his stomach, ass shaking as he rubs himself all over Suguru in an absolutely mind breaking manner. The movements are sloppy and stuttered, clumsy in a way that only a virgin could be. Once again, Suguru has to remind himself that he had swiped up Satoru's innocence like stealing candy from a baby. 

It's a torrent of sensations all at once, only reprieved when Satoru lifts his head, mouth dangerously close to Suguru's. He catches his bottom lip between his teeth, mimicking what Suguru had done in their earlier kiss, and Suguru is quickly reminded what a fast learner Satoru is. 

"I let you lie to me after Riko. I thought you just needed time and space. I thought you would come to me when you were ready." Satoru growls, breaths coming out shorter and heavier. He digs his fingernails into Suguru's chest, so harshly that he leaves deep crescent moons into his skin, each word spat out like it tastes both spicy and bitter on his tongue. "And then you left ." 

And that stings, like a poison dart straight to his aorta. Suguru must look taken aback, must look like he's on his breaking point because Satoru doesn't stop. Nope, instead he doubles down, a man determined to get answers, even if he has to physically wrestle them out of Suguru's throat.  

"I'm not letting you skirt around me again just because you think I don't need the extra worry." Satoru hits the nail on the head with such accuracy, Suguru is sure he still hears the metal ringing in his ears. He takes Suguru's momentary confusion as an opportunity to grind his hips back, making frustratingly light and delicious contact with Suguru's crotch. "If you don't tell me what's up, I am going to sit on your dick without prep ."

That one sets off alarm bells in Suguru's head, blaring off in his ears so loud he stops feeling Satoru's tongue on his pulse point for a second. Left with nothing else to care about in the world, he only has Satoru. Only has Satoru left to love, only has Satoru to hold onto until the darkness and hatred recedes from the forefront of his mind. 

The only thing he wants, only thing he grasps tight in his fist, is to protect Satoru. From the curses that aim for his throat, from the elders that seek to overwork him, from the sleazy higher ups that work to malign him, from the students that can't help but rely on his unfathomable strength. From him , from the heartbreak that is only possible when you're vulnerable and in love, from the injury that comes from rushed intimacy. 

The thought of Satoru in pain, crying as blood breaks through smooth skin, makes him sick, makes him more nauseous than curses ever have. And the image of him wincing, features scrunched up as he tries to penetrate himself on Suguru as he's stretched to ungodly limits much too soon, burns worse than any acid. 

The last thing he's ever allowing is to harm his way back into Satoru's body. He'd rather take a one-way ticket back to hell than be the very reason even one nerve in Satoru's body flares in pain. 

Suguru flips them instantly, not a particularly difficult task when Satoru was basically just squirming and rutting on top of him. It's cute, but not optimal at keeping Suguru down. He pins both of Satoru's wrists above his head in one hand, squeezing just hard enough to show Satoru that no amount of wriggling was getting him out of this position. 

"You don't want to know, Satoru." Suguru finally says, his breaths coming out ragged. Satoru may have been doing what could only constitute light petting and barely there foreplay, but it was enough to get Suguru's blood pumping. His groin aches from how badly he wants to be inside Satoru, how badly he wants to feel his body against his lips and under his hands, but not like this. Not because Satoru is trying to get answers Suguru is withholding. "You really don't want to know."

"Let me decide what I want and don't want to know." Satoru argues back, straining against the lock Suguru has his arms in. He lifts his head, baring his teeth and drawing his eyebrows, tenacity swimming in his eyes. 

It's the same look Satoru gets when he stares down an opponent, one that needs him to actually put in effort, a mixture of challenge and resilience. It's the same look he got when he was fighting against Toji, and Suguru knew all too well how that ended for the man standing opposite Satoru. There is no winning when Satoru puts his mind to it, when he is dead set on emerging victorious. 

Strength leaves Suguru's muscles in a gallons and he flops face down beside Satoru in a heavy heap. He is boneless, sighing as Satoru props himself up to get a better look at him, to peer into his very soul as he confesses the worries that itch at the back of his mind like a cat scratching down a chalkboard. Groaning, he turns on his side and takes Satoru's hand, interfacing their fingers so he can feel at least a little grounded, just in case he floats up into the ether. 

"I still feel him . All the time. I feel his hands in my hands. His feet in my feet." Suguru admits, every breath uneven, his hands shaking even as he holds Satoru's. With every word there is a wash of unease, a bone chill that feels like an out of body experience, and he inhales, air trembling down his windpipe, as he goes on.  "This body doesn't feel like it's mine anymore. It feels like he's waiting to grab it back any second."

Satoru listens quietly, concern slowly etching itself into every one of his features. It doesn't look good on him, it's something he never wants to see embedded in Satoru's frown lines. But it's what they need. If they want to heal, to move on, to grow together into something greater than they were before, they have to do this. Suguru's betrayal had cut Satoru deep, bled him dry in the middle of Shibuya outside of KFC, and the only way forward is through honesty. No matter how harsh or painful that honesty is. 

"What makes it better? What can make you feel like you're in control?" Satoru asks softly, barely above a whisper. He gives Suguru's hand a comforting squeeze, bringing their joined hands to his lips and pressing a featherlight kiss to his knuckles. His hands are rough and callused, years of bruising and scarring piled on top, but Satoru simply kisses each knuckle with his velvet smooth lips. 

"Remembering. Remembering everything before him. " Suguru recites the same words he'd been repeating in his head earlier that night back to Satoru. They sound like a robot, droning on and on, names and activities, likes and dislikes. 

Satoru doesn't interrupt as Suguru goes through his list, some things he knows, some things he doesn't. He nibbles on his bottom lip when he reaches Mimiko and Nanako, whole body deathly still when Suguru recounts his favourite things about them, how he'd spent his time raising them, and all about their favourite crepe shop in Harajuku. Satoru knew about the existence of the girls, heard vague descriptions of their gruesome fates, and guilt pollutes his crystal blue eyes like a contaminant. 

He blames himself, because he knows they only went after Sukuna after Kenjaku had trapped him. To him, every drop of blood spilled in Shinjuku is because he had been foolish enough to be imprisoned.  Sukuna especially would not have been allowed to wreak havoc if Satoru had been free. There are only so many faceless deaths Satoru's psyche can handle before they start consciously weighing down on him, what more the girls that Suguru had raised as his daughters? 

"And most of all, you , Satoru. Thinking about you makes it… makes it all clear up. Makes it feel like there's no more fog in my head and I'm here, with you." Suguru reaches his final point in a hurry, snapping Satoru out of his self-blaming spiral. 

Satoru is the sole pillar left for him. The girls are gone, their corpses not even partially recognisable, in more fleshy pieces than he could count. His family is scattered, either broken or dead, and his usually pin straight morals are so muddled and messed up he doesn't know left from right. 

But Satoru.  

That is the one thing he is more than 100% certain about. That he'll do anything to protect him. That he'll fight every goddamn elder if it means giving him a day off. That he'll watch stupid Digimon marathons with him, even if he complains the reboot is terrible. That he'll take over all the cooking because yeah, that fish wasn't bad but he has a feeling Satoru's repertoire isn't much bigger than what he got today. 

That he'll love him with every pound of flesh and every drop of blood he has.

"Then I'll be here. I'll always be here. Until you feel in control again." Satoru assures, and the slight tremble in his voice almost makes Suguru question if that is more for him or for Satoru. Or even if that matters. If it matters that they both need each other, that they both crave each other with a debilitating want. "Or until you get sick of me, whichever takes longer." 

"Then I think you're in for the long haul." Suguru chuckles, his lips quirking into a smile that feels so distinctly him he knows it could never be Kenjaku. That Satoru brings out the most uniquely Suguru parts of himself, the best and the brightest, the silliest and most childish. "I don't think I can ever get sick of you, even if you are annoying."

"You know what, you're even more annoying." Satoru grumbles even as a grin starts to form. He scoots closer to Suguru, snuggling up to him and tucking himself under his chin, simply waiting for Suguru to reciprocate.  "But because I'm a glutton for punishment, I still love you."

Suguru is a simple man, or rather he likes to think so.  He is simply a man so hopelessly in love with a boy he met when he was just fifteen, and when he has that same man right here, right now, promising a forever they never had before, what can he do?  What can he do other than wrap him up in his arms, hug him as tight as he can and bury his face in his silky, soft hair?  He is only mortal, and there is only so much restraint he can endure before he needs to indulge. 

"I love you too, Satoru."

And even if they’re standing at the end of the world, even if they’re a romance that anyone with half a mind would oppose, that is all that really matters.