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Two things are objectively true about Satoru Gojo:
- He’s smart.
- He always gets exactly what he wants.
These two facts are on the forefront of his mind when he saunters into his first class of the day, Basics of Mathematical Sciences. Naturally, his first semester at the University of Tokyo had been a breeze, and he maintained perfect grades in all of his classes. He has no doubt that the second semester will go just as smoothly, especially given that this course is a general mathematics class, and Satoru is a mathematics major. Yeah, this will be a piece of cake.
Standing in the doorway, he surveys the classroom in front of him. Everyone knows the unspoken rule: wherever you sit on the first day of class will be your assigned seat for the rest of the semester. Satoru needs to stake his claim now, and once that critical decision is made, there’s no turning back.
Most of the seats are already filled with students clicking away on their laptops, scribbling in planners, and scrolling mindlessly on their phones while they wait for the professor to start. A few of them whisper softly to one another, already having paired up with someone to swap lecture notes with. Satoru’s eyes drag across the room, finding nobody particularly interesting enough to sit by.
That is, until he spots someone toward the back of the class.
The first thing Satoru notices about him is the dark hair that frames his angular face and cascades past his shoulders. The second thing Satoru notices is the array of piercings lining the edges of his ears and gauges in his lobes.
Satoru has seen enough for him to be intrigued. The decision has been made, and by some miracle, the seat next to this mystery guy is open. He makes a beeline for it and plops down unceremoniously into the chair, placing his backpack on the floor near his feet.
Upon further inspection, Mystery Guy doesn’t just have ear piercings; he has facial piercings too. One of them threads through his eyebrow, another around his nostril, and a third one curls around the bottom of his lip. And is he wearing eyeliner ?
It’s subtle, but there’s definitely faint, smoky smudges on his lash lines, bringing out the amber shade of his eyes. The sight is enough to make Satoru swallow hard, heart thumping in his chest. This might be the hottest man he’s ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on. He looks at Mystery Guy’s lips, and intruding thoughts about how the silver ring would feel against his own lips flood into his mind.
The thought dissolves when the professor’s voice cuts through the hushed room, beginning the introduction to the class. Satoru forces his attention away from the really hot guy sitting next to him and fixes his eyes to the front of the room. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Mystery Guy writing in a notebook, occasionally pausing to chew thoughtfully on the end of his pen. The professor’s voice fades into the background as Satoru gets lost in thought once more. Satoru really, really, really wants to find out more about this person, and when Satoru wants something, he’ll find one way or another to get it.
After a few more minutes of contemplation, Satoru comes up with a brilliant idea.
-
At the beginning of class the next day, Satoru decides it’s time to set his plan into motion.
“Good morning,” he offers to Mystery Guy, who he now knows as Geto. Yesterday, when the professor made every student introduce themselves by name and major, Satoru had groaned internally. But now, he’s grateful for the little information he has about Geto. He removes his sunglasses as he sits down in his unassigned assigned seat and makes it a point to make direct eye contact. Satoru always got compliments on his vibrant blue eyes, so surely he can take advantage of this to dazzle his classmate.
“Good morning,” Geto responds, offering a polite smile in return.
He’s probably just being courteous, but the soft smile is enough to make Satoru’s stomach flip.
“So,” Satoru continues. “First exam coming up in a few weeks already. I could help you study for it.”
Geto laughs, a beautiful and melodic sound. “Who says I need help?”
“Well,” Satoru calculates, pausing. “During introductions yesterday, you said that you’re a sociology major, which means math isn’t your strong suit. Clearly, you could use help from someone like me, a math major.”
A bold assumption like this probably would have offended some, but Geto laughs again. Satoru makes a mental note to keep making him laugh just to hear that sweet sound. “So, you’re proposing that we study together?”
Satoru beams. “That’s exactly what I’m saying! You catch on quick.”
Geto scoffs, but he’s clearly amused. “Fine. We can study together,” he concedes.
The professor begins the lecture, forcing an end to their conversation. Satoru smiles smugly to himself. This is way easier than he expected it to be. Almost too easy.
-
Over the next few weeks, Satoru invites Geto to his dorm frequently to study. Geto had raised his eyebrows a bit the first time Satoru invited him to his dorm rather than the library or a coffee shop, but he complied nonetheless. Having Geto in his space feels surprisingly comfortable. Satoru sits on his creaky twin bed, letting Geto use his desk while they work on assignments together. Sometimes, Satoru looks up from his work and watches Geto write equations in his notebook, watches him tie his luxurious jet black hair into a bun when he gets tired of the strands being in his face.
Today, they’re following this same routine; Geto seated at Satoru’s desk, Satoru perched cross-legged on his bed. An easy silence fills the room, no sounds aside from the scratch of a pencil against paper or crinkling pages.
Geto is the first to speak. “Gojo, I’m having trouble with this problem. Can you help me?” he asks.
He asks a lot of questions. Satoru is almost worried about how Geto will perform on the upcoming exam without being able to ask Satoru for assistance. Apparently, Satoru had been right when he assumed math wasn’t Geto’s strong suit.
Normally, Satoru would peel himself off his bed and pad over to the desk to help. This time, he hums in acknowledgement and pats the space next to him, testing the waters. “By the way, you don’t have to call me Gojo. Just Satoru is fine.”
Geto considers this for a moment. “Satoru,” he says slowly. His name sounds warm and soft the way it rolls off his tongue. “Okay. You can just call me Suguru.”
Suguru slides off his chair and sits next to Satoru cross-legged. Satoru tries not to think about the way their knees are bumping and the fact that Suguru is on his bed and talks him through the math problem. When Suguru returns to the desk, Satoru mourns the loss of contact, Suguru’s touch lingering on his knee.
Satoru chastises himself internally. He needs to control himself, take a step back. Isn’t it a bit ridiculous to feign interest in studying with someone just for the possibility of getting in their pants getting to know them better? Someone who’s practically a stranger?
He snaps back to reality when he looks up and catches Suguru tracing the hem of his sweatshirt before lifting it over his head, revealing his t-shirt underneath. It’s in this moment that Satoru realizes how completely and utterly fucked he is.
Satoru has never seen Suguru in a t-shirt. He always wears a hoodie or loose, knitted sweater. Those traitorous articles of clothing have been hiding Suguru’s toned, muscled arms this entire time. Not only that, but his arms are covered in tattoos.
Satoru pushes his black-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose to ensure he’s seeing things properly. He’s always found solace in logic, stuffing his head with equations and formulas. He never cared much about art until now, exposed to Suguru’s arms covered in traditional Japanese style tattoos, shades of black and gray and rich scarlet ink hugging and twisting around every dip and curve.
His dick immediately starts to harden, pressing desperately against his jeans. Heat surges through his core and flushes his cheeks, and Suguru needs to leave right now .
Satoru releases a strained breath. “Uh,” he chokes out. “I’m not feeling too good. I think we should call it a night.”
Suguru peers over his shoulder at him. “Oh shit, okay.” His textbook snaps shut and he shoves it into his backpack, zipping it up and slinging it over his shoulder before standing and turning to face Satoru.
They make eye contact, and Satoru desperately prays for the burning sensation in his cheeks to subside, knowing they’re tinged with an embarrassing shade of pink. Suguru looks down at Satoru and holds his gaze with his own, unwavering. Then, his eyes travel down to the tent in Satoru’s pants with a painful slowness before raking back up his body and staring once more into Satoru’s soul.
Satoru’s face is engulfed in flames now. The story about feeling sick no longer feels like a lie, because Satoru is sure he’s running a fever. He wishes the ground would open up and swallow him whole and he could disappear. A line has been crossed, and he’s frozen, unsure how to approach damage control. At the same time, the view of Suguru towering above is driving him crazy. His cock continues to betray him, straining against his jeans, begging for the release of pressure.
But Suguru doesn’t look at him in disgust or disbelief like Satoru expected, no. Instead, his mouth curls into a wicked smile. “That sucks,” he says innocently. “I hope you feel better soon, Satoru.”
Satoru can’t control the way his mouth falls open in response. He gapes at Suguru, following him with his eyes as he turns without another word and departs from Satoru’s dorm room, the door clicking shut behind him. Frustration surges in his chest, crashing into his frenzied heartbeat. Despite his embarrassment and shame, he wants Suguru to come back and rectify the situation. It’s his fault that Satoru is like this, after all.
He squeezes his eyes shut and runs his fingers through his hair, tugging at the white strands with agitation. He can feel the precum creating a wet patch in his boxers, his dick practically throbbing with urgency. Satoru opens his eyes slightly, and something catches his attention, something spectacular and wonderful.
Suguru’s hoodie is still draped on the back of his desk chair. Satoru darts off the bed and snatches it into his hands, pressing his nose into it and inhaling deeply. The scent of Suguru’s cologne floods his senses, spicy and sweet and slightly musky. A faint tobacco smell lingers on the fabric. Just when Satoru thought his luck was starting to run out, he’s blessed with another win.
He uses his arm to carelessly shove his school supplies off his bed, textbooks and pens clattering onto the floor. Still clutching Suguru’s hoodie in one hand, he uses the other hand to fumble with the button on his jeans, tugging them down along with his boxers before collapsing onto the bed. He exhales in relief, cock finally able to spring free from his restrictive clothing.
Suguru’s hoodie nearly suffocates him from how hard he’s shoving his nose into it. He drags his thumb over the sensitive head of his cock, shuddering, his fingers sticky with precum. He uses it as lube, wrapping his hand around the base before tugging upward with a breathy groan.
His breaths get heavier, desperate for Suguru’s intoxicating scent to completely drown him and make him dizzy. Satoru’s eyes flutter shut. As he works his hand from base to tip, squeezing tighter and stroking faster, the words I hope you feel better soon, Satoru echo through his head. He thinks about Suguru’s long, impossibly dark hair, wonders what it would feel like to thread his fingers through the strands, what it would feel like to pull on them hard enough to make Suguru’s scalp ache. He imagines Suguru’s hands gripping his hips, his painted fingernails digging into Satoru’s milky pale skin hard enough to leave evidence. And God, what it would feel like to be completely filled up by him-
Satoru comes with an eager moan, spilling into his hand. He lays there for a moment, panting, feeling relieved. Suguru’s hoodie gets tossed onto the floor, and he uses his free hand to grab tissues off of his bedside table, haphazardly cleaning himself up and wiping the sweat off his forehead as an afterthought.
The relief begins to ebb, and in the aftermath of his orgasm, guilt claws at his chest. This was crazy, right? God, he’s so stupid. He just shamelessly used his classmate’s hoodie to jerk himself off. Satoru reprimands himself for being so careless and dirty . Horror and dread fills his entire body at the realization that he actually has to face Suguru again after this. Suguru, who watched him pop a boner in front of him and then looked Satoru directly in the eyes after.
This has to stop. Satoru should be focusing on his studies, not using them as an excuse to chase Suguru and indulge in his curiosity. Tomorrow is their first exam. Satoru will return Suguru’s hoodie, they’ll take the test, and that will be that. The study sessions will not resume.
-
Satoru closes his eyes, counting to three inside his head before forcing himself to enter his dreaded math class.
Typically, Suguru always arrives first, seated at their usual table toward the back by the time Satoru barges in. But today, Satoru made sure to show up early in hopes that he would beat Suguru. He figures he can start his exam before Suguru even steps into the room, he’ll finish before Suguru, and then he can leave without saying a single word to him.
Satoru grabs an exam from the stack at the front of the room and takes a seat, diving in immediately. Thoughts of Suguru and studying and a secret masturbation session are replaced by numbers and equations and formulas. Things that are logical and safe, things that make sense. Things Satoru can work through with ease and confidence.
He doesn’t need to look up from his test to know when Suguru enters the room. His mere presence is enough to command Satoru’s attention, almost tantalizingly so. The room is painfully quiet, no sound aside from pencils scratching against exams, the occasional pen click or foot tap cutting through the delicate air. Satoru hears the whisper of paper when Suguru takes an exam from the stack and walks toward their table.
Concentrate. Focus. He can practically feel Suguru’s eyes burning holes through his skin, turning him to dust and ash. Still, he refuses to look up, despite the blood and quickening pulse roaring in his ears. The self-consciousness starts to creep back in, and Satoru begins to wonder if the people around him can hear his heartbeat or his hard swallows or slight change in breathing.
Stay focused. Satoru refuses to let Suguru control him like this. He rips his thoughts away from Suguru once more, forcing himself to work through the actual problems right in front of him. It’s futile; his concentration is erratic now, and at this point he just wants to get out of here as fast as possible. He half-asses the rest of the exam, internally criticizing himself.
Finally, Satoru writes his last answer down and collects his backpack before shuffling to the front of the room to submit his exam. He hands his packet to the professor, bowing before disappearing into the hallway. A shaky breath escapes him, but he’s relieved that he successfully avoided Suguru.
Suddenly, he hears footsteps behind him, echoing through the hallway. Satoru drops his head into his hands, stifling a groan. There’s no way Suguru finished at the same time as him, right?
“Satoru?” Suguru whispers.
Satoru straightens his posture and draws his shoulders back, deciding that confidence is the best way to go about this. Even if he’s pretending, even if he’s faking, Suguru doesn’t need to know that. He shoves down all the embarrassment and shame and arousal and turns, flashing Suguru a weak smile.
Suguru is smiling too, eyes soft like melting caramel. He runs his tongue over his lip ring, playing with it a bit. His demeanor is almost sheepish, a stark contrast from the way he nonchalantly teased Satoru the night before.
“What’s up?” Satoru forces out.
Suguru shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans, rocking back on his heels slightly. “I was wondering if you wanted to start studying for the next exam today?”
It takes a few seconds for Satoru to process what’s been asked of him. He allows his shoulders to relax slightly and readjusts his glasses on his face before finally looking Suguru in the eye. He had imagined their casual study-buddy relationship ending in several different ways after last night, ranging from a quiet cease in contact to a dramatic confrontation from Suguru. It did not occur to him that Suguru actually wanted to continue being around him.
The realization that he’s read this entire situation wrong hits him. Could it be that Suguru actually reciprocates the feelings of attraction?
Satoru finally nods in response to Suguru’s question. “I’d like that.”
Suguru smiles a bit wider now, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “Cool. Could we go to my place instead? No offense, but your dorm is kind of cramped.”
Just when Satoru thought he finally had a handle on the situation, Suguru tests his resolve once more. Still, Satoru doesn’t want to reveal his uncertainty to Suguru, so he simply agrees and tries not to let his facial expression waver.
-
Later that day, after their classes are over, Suguru invites Satoru to his apartment.
The inside is clean and minimalistic, almost sterile, only adding to the mystery that is Suguru Geto. The entryway, kitchen, and living room meld together in an open-concept layout. Satoru looks around for any clues to indicate what Suguru might be interested in; maybe a painting, books, or a plant, but all he sees is simple furniture.
He’s about to sit down at the kitchen table when Suguru says, “We can study in my room.”
Satoru grips the straps of his backpack until his knuckles turn white. “Sure,” he says with a tight smile. When Suguru turns away to lead him to the bedroom, Satoru wipes his clammy palms on his jeans before following.
His mouth falls open slightly at the sight of Suguru’s bedroom. It’s completely opposite from the rest of his apartment. Posters depicting bands and video game characters and art prints are tacked to every inch of the walls. His bookshelves are bursting with novels and nonfiction titles alike. Satoru notices a little ceramic dish filled with rings on top of one of the shelves. Tucked in the corner, a shiny electric guitar is displayed on a stand, though a layer of dust is settled on it, untouched for who knows how long. And at the center of it all, a giant king bed brimming with more pillows than Satoru can count.
Satoru tries to burn the appearance of Suguru’s room into his mind, wills himself to remember every single poster and book and trinket that reveals something about Suguru’s personality. If it didn’t make him look like such a creep, he would pull his phone out and take pictures to study later.
Satoru takes a tentative seat on the edge of the bed, trying to be polite and not make himself at home. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees a bowl on the bedside table filled with red hard candies. Without thinking, he snatches one out of the bowl and unwraps it before popping it into his mouth.
Suguru huffs out a laugh at him, causing a pink flush to erupt on Satoru’s face. But it’s hard to feel embarrassed when the cherry-flavored sweetness bursts into his mouth. He swirls the candy around a bit before sticking his red-stained tongue out at Suguru.
They fall into their usual routine of scribbling down homework answers and testing each other on formulas. Suguru sits beside him on the bed and asks too many questions, but Satoru always answers with eagerness. He tries to ignore the way his nerve endings pulse with electricity whenever his knee bumps against Suguru or when their hands accidentally brush.
“How do you think you did on the exam?” Satoru asks.
Suguru plays with one of the silver rings on his finger. “Not the best, not the worst,” he decides. “It’s hard when I don’t have you to answer all my questions. You’re really smart, Satoru.”
The compliment shoots straight to Satoru’s already hardening dick. He’s prepared this time, and he moves his textbook into his lap strategically to block it from Suguru’s view. “I told you, you need me to study!” Satoru responds cheerfully.
Suguru shuts his textbook, tossing it aside before inching closer to Satoru. “I’m kind of tired of studying.”
Satoru’s mouth goes sandpaper dry. His angry, deprived cock swells against the textbook still in his lap, begging for reprieve. Every cell in his body screams and pleads for Suguru’s touch, like he won’t be able to maintain homeostasis without it. His blood, his organs, every muscle and tendon and soft tissue under his skin needs Suguru. Anything will do at this point. Just one touch, one kiss, one breath against Satoru’s skin, anything to hold him over for the time being.
“What should we do instead?” Satoru rasps out, voice barely above a whisper.
“We should watch a movie.” Suguru doesn’t wait for a response, just fumbles for his TV remote and puts something on, but Satoru isn’t paying attention.
Outside, the world beyond Suguru’s bedroom window has fallen dark, pale strips of moonlight stretching across the floor. The glow emanating from the TV is the only other source of illumination, casting bluish hues across Suguru’s face. The metal in his face glints when the screen gets just bright enough. It’s true that Satoru finds him hot and attractive, but with the way Suguru looks in this light, he thinks he might be beautiful, too.
Satoru looks at his arms, pale and undecorated compared to Suguru’s tattooed ones. It’s not that he outshines Satoru; he’s striking in his own way with a head of snowy hair and eyes of sparkling cerulean blue. Rather, Suguru displays a different type of beauty, a body of pure artwork and poetry, a visual exhibit that Satoru wants to explore more of.
His heart flutters behind his ribs when Suguru’s leg inches closer as the movie goes on and ends up pressed against his. Neither of them move.
When Satoru returns to his dorm later, he indulges himself just a bit by pressing his face into Suguru’s hoodie, inhaling deeply. The hoodie that he conveniently forgot to fold and put into his backpack that morning to return to Suguru. But surely it doesn’t hurt to hold onto it a little longer.
-
Satoru spends his time in class the next day stealing glances at Suguru, side-eyeing him whenever he finds the chance. He’s wearing his dark hair in a neat bun, bangs framing his face. Satoru lets his eyes travel along the smooth curve of his neck and wonders what he would look like with kiss-bitten marks there.
He catches Suguru looking at him too, his eyes filled with something that Satoru can’t quite place. He seems almost on edge, shifting uncomfortably in his seat, tapping his foot against the hard ground. Suguru’s eyes dart away whenever they meet one of Satoru’s stolen looks. Sometimes he licks his lips, but maybe Satoru imagined it.
Satoru continues to drill his stare into Suguru’s skin, wanting to dig beneath every layer and take hold there. He imagines his brain waves permeating into Suguru’s head, a vain attempt at telepathically communicating his desires.
After an entire class period of playing this game, the students around them rise from their seats and stream out of the room. Satoru fumbles with the zipper on his backpack, fingers unsteady.
The professor gestures in their direction, motioning for the two of them to come forth. This time, the glance exchanged between Satoru and Suguru is one of confusion rather than fervor. Satoru collects his backpack and adjusts it over his shoulders before heading to the front of the room, Suguru trailing closely behind him.
Satoru opens his mouth to say something, but the professor speaks first. “I just wanted to commend you two for having the highest scores on our recent exam—both of you received a perfect grade.”
The words hang in the air, each syllable ringing around in Satoru’s mind. It takes a few moments for his brain to compute what’s just been said. Highest score… perfect grade?
Satoru’s eyes widen with realization as he turns to gauge Suguru’s reaction. He opens his mouth to make an accusation, but the words dissolve on his tongue. Suguru is in a state that Satoru has never witnessed before; he stutters, attempting to form a sentence but failing to enunciate anything. His face is red-hot and flushed, tongue swiping over his lip ring in an action that Satoru has learned is one of nervousness.
Satoru cuts off Suguru’s aimless muttering before he embarrasses himself any further. “Thank you, Professor,” he says with a polite smile. “We really appreciate it.” He punctuates his words with a bow, silently urging Suguru to follow suit before he grabs his hand and practically drags him out of the classroom, no longer afraid of crossing boundaries.
Suguru’s hand feels warm and clammy with tension in Satoru’s, but he still misses the feeling when he releases it. “You little shit,” Satoru hisses out, but there’s no real malice in his voice. “You’ve been pretending to study with me this whole time?”
Suguru groans into his hands, hiding his face in a display of anxiety that Satoru’s never seen before. Suguru is typically so calm and reserved, but right now he’s visibly pulling apart at the seams. “It was your idea,” he defends.
He can’t argue with that. After all, it was his initial idea; he just believed it was so genius that he never expected Suguru to be one step ahead of him this entire time.
Satoru isn’t sure how to navigate this uncharted territory. It feels like a new level of understanding and mutual attraction has been brought to light, but he’s still uncertain about Suguru’s boundaries. Suguru might just want to be friends, and Satoru worries that a confession might push Suguru away if he doesn’t return the sentiment. But then he thinks about the way Suguru teased him so mercilessly all those nights ago, the way his eyes rake up and down Satoru’s body, the electricity that crackles between them with every accidental touch. Surely he isn’t misreading the situation.
Still, he decides that some sort of indication that he still wants to hang out with Suguru is necessary. “So, are we still on for tonight then?”
Suguru lifts his head out of his hands, his expression shifting from bashfulness to hopefulness to something more scheming. “Of course.”
Satoru begins to walk away toward the direction of his next class. “Okay,” he says over his shoulder. “But no more dumb questions, since you clearly know what you’re talking about.”
He doesn’t wait for a response.
-
Later that day, Satoru is back in Suguru’s apartment, sitting cross-legged on his bed. Suguru lays beside him, holding his math textbook open on his chest. To Satoru’s bafflement, he’s been asking him a bunch of questions about their assignment.
“Dude, we’ve clearly established that you know this stuff. You don’t have to keep pretending you have questions.”
Suguru hums to himself in amusement. “I just like hearing you talk about this stuff. You’re really smart.”
Okay, Suguru cannot keep doing this. He cannot keep calling Satoru smart and intelligent and knowledgeable, because the remarks completely bypass his brain and go straight to his dick every time. Satoru starts to move his textbook in his lap, a routine he’s gotten familiar with performing every time he’s with Suguru to disguise his erection.
Suguru closes his own textbook with a snap and sits up, shifting closer to Satoru. “You don’t have to hide it.” His voice is low, filling Satoru’s ears with something evocative.
Satoru releases a heavy breath that’s dangerously close to being a moan. His body finally, finally relaxes just a bit, the anxiety subsiding but want and desire still overflowing in his chest, threatening to spill over and bleed out of him.
“Tell me, Satoru,” Suguru draws out, warm breath fanning against his ear, sending a shiver down Satoru’s spine. “Given that f of x equals x plus two, solve for when f of x equals seven.”
“You asshole,” Satoru groans. The textbook he was using to cover his lap is somewhere on the floor now, hard bulge in his pants now on full display. “That’s too easy.”
Suguru presses his lips against Satoru’s jawline, sucking on the skin a little bit before trailing more kisses down his jaw. “I don’t care, I love hearing you talk about this stuff. Don’t just tell me the answer, talk me through it.” He breaks contact for a moment to look at Satoru. “Is this okay?”
“Fuck, yes, just don’t stop.”
Suguru’s lips graze the pale skin of his neck. “Keep talking then.”
Satoru’s entire body is buzzing in anticipation, his head suddenly feeling fuzzy. This is one of the easiest function equations ever, yet his mind has gone completely blank. He squeezes his eyes shut and wills himself to concentrate. “It’s easy. If f of x equals seven, you just plug that into the equation.” Suguru gently bites at his throat. “So x plus two equals seven. You just—”
He breaks off into a moan, abandoning the rest of his sentence. Suguru stops. “You just what?”
Satoru pants, so tightly wound he feels like he’s going to burst. He thought that being touched and kissed by Suguru would offer some semblance of relief, but it only leaves him craving more. With every loss of contact, Satoru is sure his body vibrates so strongly he’s going to explode into a million pieces. “You just subtract two from both sides of the equation. Seven minus two is five, so the answer is x equals five.”
Wet, red splotches cover the column of his neck, evidence of Suguru’s kissing and biting and sucking. Suguru repositions himself to straddle Satoru. “Very good,” he purrs. “But it looks like I’m not distracting you well enough.”
Satoru’s head bangs against the headboard when Suguru crashes his lips into his, hot and desperate and the complete opposite of anything soft or romantic. Satoru bites Suguru’s bottom lip, running his tongue along his lip ring like he’s dreamed of doing for so long. They kiss fervently, both fighting for dominance and control over the situation, but neither completely yielding. Satoru’s fingers grip onto the other man’s shoulders for purchase. Suguru slides his tongue into Satoru’s mouth, dragging it along his teeth, lapping at him like a dog would to a bowl of water. Satoru has been dying of thirst for so long, he can’t help but taste and lick into Suguru’s mouth, taking whatever he offers to quench himself.
Satoru has discovered another wonderful, amazing, glorious thing about Suguru Geto: He has a tongue piercing. The metal ball slides against the roof of his mouth, presses into his own tongue, and clinks against his teeth. His dick strains harder in his pants, pressing against the equally rock-solid outline in Suguru’s jeans. Satoru bucks his hips up involuntarily, his body chasing the pressure that it inherently knows will feel good. He fists the front of Suguru’s t-shirt in his hands, the fabric tightening across his broad chest. “Please, please, please, Suguru,” he moans around the other man’s tongue.
Suguru slides his hands up Satoru’s sides. “What do you want?”
“Wanna feel you—please. Anything, anything you want, just wanna feel you, please, Suguru—” he begs. “That night, in my dorm—I touched myself after you left, I need it so bad, Suguru.”
Suguru strokes Satoru’s head of soft white hair while Satoru continues babbling incoherently into Suguru’s neck. “I know, I know, I made you wait so long, didn’t I?” Gently, he lifts Satoru’s face up and seizes his glasses, pulling them off his face. “As much as I love these, I want you to take them off now,” he says before setting them on the bedside table.
He kisses Satoru again, softer this time but still hurried. Satoru shoves his hands under his shirt, running his fingers along the hard lines of Suguru’s abs. “Take it off.”
Suguru complies, pulling his shirt off and tossing it on the floor, displaying his naked torso in its full glory. He has even more tattoos that Satoru has never seen, the artwork on his arms traveling up to his shoulders and across his chest in one continuous piece. Satoru traces the patterns with his fingertips, marveling at how beautiful it is and how it accentuates every curve and muscle.
“You like them?” Suguru asks, a teasing lilt in his voice.
“Fuck yes,” Satoru breathes out. “It’s so hot.”
Without warning, Suguru crawls off of Satoru and gets up from the bed, causing Satoru to whine. Tears prick his eyes as a result of the loss of contact, and he reaches out to Suguru, fingers trembling.
“Shh,” Suguru soothes before dropping down to the floor, perched on his knees. “Come here, I’m gonna make you feel good now.”
He helps Satoru lean forward from where he’s slumped against the headboard. Satoru swings his legs around so that he’s sitting on the edge of the bed, legs spread open. Suguru curls his fingers around his waistband, looking to Satoru for permission.
He nods enthusiastically. “Suguru, please, I can’t take it anymore.”
Satoru lifts his hips to assist while Suguru slides his pants and boxers down in one swift motion, finally releasing Satoru’s angry, swollen cock from its confines, so desperate and needy for Suguru’s attention. His thumb drags across the tip, spreading the leaking precum in his fingers before spitting into his hand. Suguru wraps his fist around Satoru’s length, pumping him once to spread the slick mixture of precum and spit.
Satoru is already whimpering and panting, fisting into the sheets until his knuckles turn white. Suguru uses the flat of his tongue to lick up the underside of his cock from base to tip, the cold metal of his piercing sending a shudder through Satoru’s body.
Suguru licks at the head before taking it into his mouth, sucking and then releasing him with a pop. Satoru thinks he might go clinically insane at this point. With trembling fingers, he reaches for Suguru’s hair, undoing the neat bun and tossing the hair tie into oblivion. His black hair cascades down past his shoulders, strands that act as nothing but the perfect reigns for Satoru to hold onto.
He grabs a fistful of hair, pulling hard enough that Suguru’s scalp is probably burning, but he doesn’t care. Suguru moves in sync, letting Satoru guide him back to his weeping cock, taking it in. Satoru thrusts into his mouth, slamming into the back of his throat. Suguru makes a choking sound and digs his fingers into Satoru’s hips, but he doesn’t pull off. He lets Satoru fuck into his mouth and pull on his hair, gagging and moaning around him. It’s sloppy and filthy and pornographic and it drives Satoru absolutely crazy.
Tears stream down Suguru’s face, black eyeliner streaking his cheeks, but he doesn’t relent, looking up at Satoru the entire time.
“Suguru, Suguru, gonna come,” Satoru groans, slightly panicked. He releases his grip on his hair and frantically tries to pull back and relieve Suguru, but he maintains his hold on Satoru’s hips despite the squirming, forcing him to stay put. Satoru spills into his throat, legs shaking uncontrollably. He watches in amazement as Suguru swallows all of it, a little bit escaping from the edges of his mouth when he finally pulls off.
“Holy shit,” Satoru breathes out. Suguru looks absolutely wrecked, dried smudges of eyeliner all over his cheeks and wisps of hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. “Was that too much?”
Suguru takes a second to collect himself. “Not at all,” he rasps, voice hoarse. He stands up and collapses on the bed beside Satoru, exhaling deeply.
In the afterglow of his orgasm, Satoru feels his head clear and his muscles relax, the insistent desire that had been plaguing him for weeks finally quelled to a certain degree. Still, he doesn’t feel completely satisfied. He palms the tent in Suguru’s jeans, still untouched and suffering from a lack of attention. “I wanna make you feel good, Suguru.”
Suguru sits up at this, raking his fingers through his hair. “Yeah? Think you can keep going?” He slides his fingers along Satoru’s jaw, holding his chin before leaning in to kiss him, softer and slower this time, and it’s enough to make Satoru hard again, cock twitching uncomfortably.
Satoru sighs into his mouth and breaks the kiss to lift his own shirt over his head. Goosebumps prick his skin when Suguru dives in again, littering wet kisses all over his chest before flicking his tongue over his nipple. Satoru keens when he grazes his teeth over the hard bud, his fingers prodding and pinching the other one. Suguru is absolutely relentless when it comes to pampering every single sensitive point on his body, leaving nothing neglected. Satoru shoves his nose into the side of his neck, the smell of his sweet and spicy cologne mixing with the musk of his sweat.
At some point, Suguru’s jeans and boxers come off, their naked bodies pressing together in blissful skin-to-skin contact. Suguru pulls the rings off his fingers and tosses them somewhere, lost among the clothing and school supplies scattered across the floor. His fingertips skate in between Satoru’s quivering thighs, light and teasing.
“Please,” Satoru begs for what feels like the hundredth time this evening. “I wanna feel you, wanna feel you inside of me.”
Instead of responding verbally right away, Suguru flips him over and shoves his face into the pillows, tracing his fingers down his spine. “Am I being too rough?”
“No,” Satoru chokes out. “Be as rough as you want with me.”
He lets out a half-shriek, half-moan when Suguru’s hand cracks against his backside, then immediately soothes the irritated skin by massaging the meat of his ass. Pleasure-filled tears swell in his eyes, but he doesn’t allow them to spill over. Satoru hears Suguru fumble in his bedside drawer, and then the sound of a bottle cap flipping open, presumably lube. His spine shivers in anticipation.
A single finger circles around his entrance in warning before pushing past the tight ring of muscle and sinking inside. Suguru pulls it almost completely out before sinking back inside, a little deeper this time. Satoru groans shakily when the entire digit is finally inside of him. He knows Suguru is trying to be gentle despite being given the green light, but the only thing his brain is telling him is moremoremore.
“Suguru,” he gasps. “Fucking do it already.”
Suguru shoves a second finger inside of his tight hole without any mercy, eliciting a strangled moan from Satoru when he starts scissoring his fingers. “Since you asked so eagerly.”
It’s a little mean, but that’s exactly what Satoru wants; to be on the precipice between pain and pleasure. To feel the ache when Suguru pokes and prods at him, to feel the inexplicable bliss that results from those hands touching the most delicate parts of him.
Suguru curls his digits and searches for the spot that will make Satoru go crazy, lifting his hips to help him get a better angle. He finds it easily, stroking at his prostate, Satoru contracting eagerly around him. He shoves his face into the pillow and bites into the fabric, attempting to hide the sound of his howls and moans and shaky gasps.
The pillow is pulled out from under him, and Satoru’s face is yanked off of the mattress when Suguru grabs a fistful of his hair, snapping his head back. “Don’t do that,” he growls. “Love hearing all those pretty noises you make.”
These words ignite something inside Satoru, a renewed sense of desire and dedication curling low in his stomach. Briefly, a feeling of smug self-appreciation flashes in his mind, so bright that his lips twist into a smirk as Suguru continues fucking his fingers into him. How genius of him to sniff Suguru out like a dog on the first day of class and plot his devious little plan. And now here they are, Suguru choking and crying on his cock before filling him up. At the same time, it’s no surprise; Satoru always gets what he wants.
A new plan forms in his mind. He wants to impress Suguru and show him his appreciation. Satoru is smart, the best at everything. He spends his time with his nose in a book, learning about math and science and technology. His academic record is stellar, his grades perfect. So damn it all if he isn’t going to perform as well in the bedroom as he does in the classroom.
“Suguru,” he says, turning his neck to look over his shoulder. “I wanna ride you.”
Suguru doesn’t respond, just crawls up toward the headboard and squirts more lube into hand, slicking his cock with it before patting his lap. His poor, neglected cock looks so swollen and deprived. “Wait. Do you have a condom?”
Satoru whines. “Don’t wanna use a condom. I’m clean. If you’re clean, then I trust you.”
“You’re a menace,” Suguru breathes out, voice husky. “We definitely need to keep studying together.”
Satoru can’t wait to take him. He climbs on top of him and lets Suguru guide him onto his cock, teasing his perfect little hole with the tip. “Been dying to feel you like this,” Suguru croaks.
Satoru slams down onto his cock, a move he knows is going to make him walk funny for days, but the look of surprise on Suguru’s face is so worth it. They gasp and pant into each other’s mouths, Suguru clutching Satoru’s hips to steady him. Finally, finally, finally , he gets to feel Suguru like this, his cock filling him up and pulsing inside of him, carving a space there like his hole was made just for him.
He lifts himself up and down on Suguru’s cock, sweat dripping down the ridges of his abs, hair plastered to his sticky forehead. “I’m surprised you don’t have a dick piercing.”
Suguru trails kisses up his neck, licking at the droplets of sweat, which just turns Satoru on even more than he already is. “I’ve thought about it. But after this, I don’t think I can stop fucking you long enough to let one heal. God, you’re so tight, Satoru.”
Satoru’s moan is stifled when Suguru’s tongue darts into his mouth, the uncoordinated movements causing their teeth to click together. His legs are burning, weak and rapidly losing rhythm and stamina, but Suguru holds him up and helps do the work, taking control of the pace. “Feels so good, Suguru,” he whimpers, nothing but the lewd sounds coming out of their mouths and the snap of his ass against Suguru’s hips filling the room.
Satoru’s brain turns into complete mush, an empty haze replacing the space inside his skull. Suguru wraps his hand around Satoru’s cock and strokes him once, and it’s enough for him to come all over Suguru’s stomach, painting it with streaks of white.
His body goes limp, but Suguru keeps holding him steady as he comes inside of him, moaning into Satoru’s mouth.
Just like Satoru wanted.
He feels like a rag doll as Suguru fucks himself through his orgasm, thrusting languidly into Satoru, the pace slower and unhurried now. Satoru collapses into him, into his own come on Suguru’s stomach, his limbs feeling like they’re made of jelly. His eyes flutter open and shut, heavy with pleasure.
Suguru pulls out and he can feel his come dripping out of him. It should feel gross, but he likes it, likes the feeling of Suguru coating his raw and aching walls.
He never realized how soft and cozy this bed is, sinking down into it when he’s rolled onto his back. It’s fluffy and warm and it smells like Suguru. He imagines being cocooned and cradled in it forever, shielded from the outside world by none other than Suguru himself.
A hand slips under his back and another under his knees. Suguru lifts him up into his arms. “Hey, Satoru,” he says softly. “Don’t fall asleep. I’m gonna clean you up.”
Satoru lets himself escape into the euphoric fog, the one that only exists on the edge between sleep and wakefulness, for just a few seconds longer. He forces his eyes open just as Suguru is setting him down on the floor of the shower. The shower head gets turned on and Satoru nearly groans when the stream of water flows over him, rinsing the layer of sweat off his body and cooling him down. “Feels good.”
Suguru laughs. “I’ll be right back. Please don’t drown.”
Suguru leaves, probably to strip the bed and change the sheets. The shower is freezing, which does wonders to lower his body temperature and wake him up. But now that he’s back to baseline, he frowns, reaching up to turn the handle and switch to a hotter setting.
Suguru returns and steps into the shower beside Satoru, reaching his hand out toward him. “Think you can stand?”
Satoru nods wordlessly and laces his fingers through Suguru’s, hauling himself up. Suguru hums happily and opens a bottle of shampoo, squeezing some into his hands before massaging it into Satoru’s hair.
It smells like citrus and sandalwood. Not something he would have picked for himself, but it’s fitting for Suguru, so he likes it.
Having Suguru’s hands gently massaging his scalp and cleaning his body feels oddly domestic. He touches him with care and tenderness just as much as he does with want and desperation. It’s yet another territory that they’ve crossed into without any directions.
There’s still much to be learned about Suguru. He barely knows him despite being in such a vulnerable state with him, but he knows that Suguru is intelligent. After all, he’s the only other person in his class that could receive as perfect of a score as Satoru.
He knows that Suguru is kind, kind in the way that he pleases Satoru the way he wants to be pleased, even if it’s rough. He’s kind in the way that he takes care of him afterward, treating his body like something important to him.
Satoru imagines that he could get used to this. He could get used to being in Suguru’s company, being in his space, something more than just two acquaintances studying together, whether that be mathematics or each other’s anatomy.
Another idea unfurls in his mind. A wonderful, glorious idea involving Satoru permeating Suguru’s life. He thinks about Suguru’s hoodie, folded neatly on the desk in Satoru’s dorm; the perfect chess piece to continue his game. Maybe Suguru is already a step ahead of him, but it doesn’t matter. Satoru wants more with Suguru, and he’s going to get it. Because Satoru is smart, and he always gets what he wants.