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They get home late. The air is thick with summer heat, sweat drying on their necks, the faint scent of night-blooming jasmine seeping through the open balcony doors. Tokyo glows somewhere beyond the horizon, but here, in this quiet apartment above the school grounds, it's just the two of them.
Just them, like always.
Suguru steps in first, toeing off his shoes lazily, undoing the top button of his black shirt. His long hair is half-tied, strands sticking to the sides of his neck from the lingering humidity.
Satoru shuts the door behind them with a soft thud, watching him. He always watches him. Even now — after years of knowing every curve and shadow of Suguru’s body — he watches him like a man dying of thirst.
Suguru turns, that slow smile curving his lips. “You’re staring,” he says, voice smooth and low.
“I always do,” Satoru murmurs, walking toward him.
By the time they reach the bedroom, they’re half-naked. Suguru peels his shirt off with one hand and lets it fall, then slides his pants down his hips with a slow drag that makes Satoru’s breath hitch.
Satoru is a mess — hair tousled, shirt halfway off, cock already painfully hard, eyes wide like he’s seeing a miracle.
And Suguru gives him one.
He climbs into bed, backwards, languid, graceful. Lies down flat on the soft white sheets and raises his arms above his head on the pillow, wrists relaxed and exposed — completely open, completely his. His knees bend, legs parting in slow motion, thighs spreading wide. His toes curl into the bedding as his spine arches, hips tipping up just a little — an offering. An invitation. A challenge.
“Fuck,” Satoru breathes, staring.
Suguru’s smile is lazy and warm, full of mischief and want. “Come here.”
Satoru drops to his knees on the bed, crawling between Suguru’s legs like a worshipper approaching the altar. He kisses his inner thigh first, then the smooth skin above his hipbone.
“You’re… so…” he tries to say, but the words get tangled in the lump in his throat.
Suguru touches his cheek. “Make me feel good, baby.”
And Satoru obeys.
He always does, when it’s Suguru.
Satoru’s fingers are slow, reverent. Slick with lube, he slides the first in carefully, watching Suguru’s body react — the way his chest rises, the way his brows twitch, the way his breath catches.
But Suguru… leads.
“That’s it,” he murmurs, voice like honey. “Just like that, Satoru. You’re so good to me.”
His eyes flutter closed when the second finger slips in. He moans, softly — a beautiful, needy sound that makes Satoru’s hips jerk forward involuntarily.
“Yeah?” Satoru whispers. “Feels good?”
“Mm-hmm,” Suguru hums, rolling his hips against Satoru’s hand. “You make me feel so good. Always know just how to touch me.”
The third finger is deeper, stretching him wider. Suguru trembles around it, lips parted, sweat beading at his temples. He spreads his legs wider, pulling his knees back toward his chest, groaning as he grinds down on Satoru’s hand.
“Such a good boy,” Suguru purrs, lips tugging into a knowing smirk.
The praise sends a shiver down Satoru’s back. He’s barely breathing, utterly entranced.
“Suguru,” he croaks, “I— I can’t—”
“You can,” Suguru whispers, reaching down with both hands to cup Satoru’s face. “You will. I want you inside me.”
He wraps his legs around Satoru’s waist, ankles hooking behind his back. “Now.”
Satoru doesn’t hesitate.
He pushes in slowly, face buried in Suguru’s neck, gasping from the heat, the pressure, the way Suguru’s body pulls him in so tight.
Suguru moans loudly, hips rising to meet him. “Yes, Satoru—just like that, fuck—don’t stop—”
Satoru doesn’t.
He moves, slow and deep at first, and Suguru takes it — wrapping arms around his shoulders, pulling him close, clenching around him.
“Harder,” Suguru breathes into his ear. “You feel so good—fuck, you fill me up so good, baby, please—”
Satoru obeys again, thrusting deeper, harder, the bed creaking, their bodies slick with sweat and lube, every movement sticky and hot.
Suguru trembles beneath him, back arching again, fingers digging into his shoulders. “You’re perfect. You’re mine.”
“Yours,” Satoru moans, completely undone. “Yours, Suguru—”
Suguru tightens his thighs around him, gasping when Satoru hits that spot deep inside.
“Right there,” he whimpers, biting his own knuckle. “Right—there, fuck—Satoru—don’t stop—”
Their rhythm turns frantic.
Satoru’s teeth sink into Suguru’s collarbone as he pounds into him, groaning like an animal, like he’s coming apart at the seams. Suguru sobs his name, clinging, writhing, overwhelmed by pleasure, love, the weight of him.
“I’m gonna—” Satoru chokes. “Suguru, I—”
“Inside,” Suguru begs. “Come inside me, baby. I want to feel it. Give it to me.”
Satoru shatters.
He comes with a desperate cry, deep inside, hips jerking, body convulsing. Suguru holds him through it, murmuring soft praises, rubbing his back, anchoring him.
But he’s not done.
Satoru’s hand slips between them, wrapping around Suguru’s cock, pumping fast, and it only takes a few strokes before Suguru comes too — back arched, toes curled, crying out Satoru’s name as he spills between their stomachs.
They collapse into each other.
Later, when the air finally cools, Satoru is on his side, cradling Suguru close. His hand strokes lazy circles on Suguru’s hip, and their legs are tangled, sticky and soft.
“You’re unreal,” Satoru mumbles, lips against Suguru’s temple.
Suguru hums. “You always say that.”
“Because it’s always true.”
Suguru smiles, small and sleepy. “You were good tonight.”
Satoru snorts. “Only good?”
“Mmm… exceptionally obedient. Such a good boy,” Suguru teases, trailing fingers down Satoru’s spine. “You should let me lead more often.”
“I always let you,” Satoru whispers, kissing his neck. “I’d do anything for you.”
And Suguru just sighs contentedly, burying his face in Satoru’s chest. Safe. Loved. Home.