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“Dangerous, Satoru,” Suguru sings, and the teasing trill of how he says Satoru’s name is exactly the same. “If someone sees us together, and you’re not killing me… what will people think?”
Satoru doesn’t turn away, and he doesn’t walk back into the crowds of the Shibuya nightlife they’ve slipped out from. The two of them, for all intents and purposes, are frozen together in this dingy alleyway while time continues to tick away for everyone else.
“Suguru,” Satoru starts to say, all the myriad ways he thought this conversation could go running rapid fire through his head, discarded before any can be settled upon.
What words are left to say between them?
Any demands for explanations will only seem like blame.
Support several years too late.
Declarations of love that are suitably fitting for American dramas trite and stilted.
“I didn’t think you’d take the easy bait,” Suguru admits, lips half quirked in a smile, eyes bitter. Jaded.
Still wearing his hair in the same stupid way.
“Easy bait?” Satoru can almost bring himself to curl his fingers into the familiar mudras. Can almost picture splattering Suguru’s head against the cigarette stained bricks of the alley they’re in.
He can’t do it this time, either.
“Mhm. I wanted to talk to you, and flexing around the monkeys seemed like the best way to get you to come here.” Suguru says, shrugging, cavalier.
Narrow eyes sharp, watching Satoru, serious in a way his tone and smile are not. Acting.
Satoru’s never been the only media buff between them, but Suguru’s preference has always been for theatre. It makes Satoru want to roll his eyes, and ask where the audience is this time.
The thought gives him pause. Satoru looks out to the crowd under his blindfold, and pointedly doesn’t try and count the crowded blips of cursed energy. Emanating into masses, future curses and resentment for later missions. Later students.
If they fight now, all these people would be casualties, that future winking out. Curtain call on the audience, rather than the performers.
The Suguru he remembers wouldn’t want that. This one… he’s not so sure.
“Talk, or brag?” Satoru says, “I don’t really have time to listen to you puffing up your own ego, I’m a busy guy now!”
Against the odds, Suguru’s expression softens into an authentic smile. “Teaching.”
It’s almost enough to lull Satoru into a false security.
Satoru doesn’t bite, and crosses his arms. They’re not here to catch up, Suguru wants something, and said as much. Everything else is just garnish.
“Alright, leave me hanging. Can’t I want to catch up?” Suguru isn’t stalling, he isn’t preparing to summon some curse to wreak havoc.
Worse, he seems like he’s just telling the truth. It makes Satoru want to be cruel, to point out the reason they can’t talk or joke, or be teachers together, is all because Suguru refused to say he needed help.
Refused to talk to Satoru when it mattered.
Some of his thoughts must show on his face, or maybe Suguru still understands him better than anyone else, because he sighs again. “Come with me? I just wanted to see you. It’ll be the last time, I promise.”
“Can I believe you?” Satoru asks, even as he falls in step beside Suguru.
He pointedly doesn’t acknowledge the way his stomach sinks at the admission of this being the end. What’s one more end between them? None of the others have stuck.
Even telling himself that feels like an empty consolation. Talking himself through his grief all over again. This wouldn’t be so hard if Suguru stayed gone.
This would be infinitely harder if he did.
“Only if you try to,” Suguru jokes, as they walk through the crowds.
They should stand out, Suguru in costume, and Satoru with his eyes wrapped, but if they do, Satoru doesn’t notice.
They’re walking the same path as they did once before, back when they were kids, sneaking off from their handlers after a mission to make out beside a love hotel.
The memory is the only thing that stops Satoru from being surprised when Suguru brings him to the same building. Same sign. Same neat, discrete windows. Suguru looks at him, to gauge his reaction when he steps up to the door.
If they didn’t stand out before, they sure do now.
“Eh? They let monks do this?” Satoru steps in, past Suguru. He doesn’t control his volume, and the look on the concierge’s faces when Suguru follows him, nose rumpled, is worth the comment.
It might be petty of him, but Satoru thinks he feels a bit better when other people are uncomfortable too. Misery loves company, and all that.
Suguru hanging back, to make Satoru book the room, and pay for it, is only irritating because Satoru knows Suguru does it because he doesn’t want to speak with the non-sorcerer staff. It’s not about money, or pride, or anything other than plain old arrogance.
It makes Satoru want to punch him, or shake him. He wants his friend back.
Satoru takes the roomkey, and leads the way. Satoru can’t have his friend back, but they can pretend, at least for a bit.
It doesn’t take out the sting that clearly, in some way, Suguru wants Satoru back as well. But not enough to stay, to try and fix things.
And that’s just the problem, isn’t it? Satoru is more than enough for everyone else, but he’s never been enough for Suguru. Wasn’t allowed to be enough, wasn’t given the space to try and share Suguru’s burdens with him, not for him.
Satoru opens the door to the room he paid for, and follows Suguru in. Doesn’t resist when Suguru cups his hands on the sides of his neck, thumbs bracing his jaw. “Say no, if you’re going to. It’d be a bad prank, but…”
‘But it’s what I expect,’ goes unsaid.
Satoru leans in to let Suguru kiss him instead, and tries not to compare it to being overeager teenagers.
Suguru’s lips are much smoother, and he keeps grinning, sly where he used to be nervous. Satoru lets him take the lead, lets Suguru press him back, stepping into his space to pin Satoru to the door.
They’re both very aware that Satoru could end this with a snap, if he felt like it.
He doesn’t feel like it, even if he knows better.
When Suguru pulls away to breathe, he laughs shortly. “You’re a lot less overconfident. Should I be jealous?”
“Huh? Why would you be, it’s not like there’s anything between us.” Satoru answers, lofty. He lets himself touch while Suguru winces, squeezing all the layers of his monk’s robes to the dip of his waist.
“No, you’re right.” Suguru concedes.
They should stop.
Satoru lets Suguru tilt his head back, and begin to kiss down his neck. Satoru shoves at the layers of Suguru’s clothes until they start to get the message, and fall apart.
They don’t stop.
Suguru sucks marks onto Satoru’s neck, all below where his collar will hide them. It’s a change that makes Satoru laugh.
Suguru lifts his head, and a brow.
Rather than explaining that he was laughing about it taking almost ten years and the corpses of so many of their friends for Suguru to stop leaving him hickies he can’t hide, Satoru pulls away to walk backwards toward the bed. Sheds his jacket, his shirt, and gets the top button of his trousers popped by the time he hits the edge of the mattress.
He lets himself fall in a graceless heap, and doesn’t examine how this is the only place he can drop his defences; with an old flame turned megalomaniac.
What a life.
It’d be a great movie, if it was someone else’s.
When Suguru comes to lean over him, he’s stripped down to his boxer briefs, and his expression is scrunched in the way Satoru’s always found cute. “Finally! I thought this would take all day.” Satoru catches Suguru’s shoulders and pulls him down before he can complain.
Suguru bites Satoru for his hard work, but helps him pull his trousers and briefs off before hauling Satoru’s legs around his waist.
It’s a trade-off.
There’s minimal searching before condoms and lube are found in the bedside drawer, as well as a small pamphlet about how to properly use the hot tub in the room, and how the hotel isn’t liable for any sex related injuries.
Before Satoru can gleefully start reading the waiver, Suguru shuts the drawer, and uncaps the lube. “I thought we were pressed for time?” Suguru asks, head tilting, and long black hair falling around them.
Any comebacks die in Satoru’s throat, and he swallows dryly instead, stomach jumping in time with the spike of arousal. Suguru doesn’t move away when Satoru reaches up to run his fingers through his hair.
Just as soft as always, and long enough to veil them both. Physical proof of the passage of time, of the space between the now and the then of their last time together. Physical proof that the space between them is fragile, bridged by silken hair draping over Satoru’s body.
Suguru wraps a hand around Satoru’s base, slick with lube and leisurely strokes him, long fingers just slightly cold. Bad circulation. Satoru knows he shouldn’t ask, but he wants to know if it’s because Suguru isn’t eating well, or if he’s still smoking.
“We could do this more –” Satoru starts to say.
“I know.” Suguru answers before he can finish, and ducks down to lick a stripe up the underside of Satoru’s cock.
It’s enough to quell the hurt for now.
Suguru traces the veins of his cock with his tongue, looking up through his bangs at Satoru as he does, a far too clever look in his eyes. Satoru groans, lifting his hips up to meet the lips that wrap around him.
“Any day now, would be great.” Satoru pants, already starting to squirm, spreading his legs, pressing his thighs down into Suguru.
Suguru snorts, and pops off of Satoru. He splays his hand on Satoru’s thigh to hold him still. “Stop talking for a minute, and let me do this. Or do you want me inside that badly?”
Satoru grabs him by the shoulders and hauls Suguru on top of him, and wraps his legs around Suguru’s waist to grind his erection on his stomach. “Thought you’d never ask! This a good enough answer? Or do I have to get old first?”
Suguru laughs, unbothered by the cut of Satoru’s jibes, and the bottom of Satoru’s stomach drops out. He bites the side of Suguru’s throat before kissing up to his ear, lingering at the cool enamel of his plug. It’s too much to stay still and let Suguru look at him with joy unfiltered.
Suguru’s fingers teasing at Satoru’s hole before pushing in are familiar, despite the years of difference. His hands are a bit bigger. Calloused where they weren’t before.
The stretch is the same pleasant pressure, and has Satoru’s cock jumping against his stomach. It’s been too long since he let anyone do this to him, the contact too much and too close to let just anyone do it.
If Satoru asked Shoko, she’d say he has intimacy issues. This is why Satoru does not ask Shoko.
Suguru doesn’t waste any time, curling and stroking his fingers inside Satoru. Checking to see if he’s still sensitive in the same places. He presses his fingers over Satoru’s prostate, teasing, fleeting, and Satoru melts.
Suguru kisses his cheek, the chaste press of dry lips to Satoru’s face dichotomous to the way he keeps torturing Satoru’s prostate. Winding him up until he’s shuddering, cock dripping steadily onto his stomach, thighs twitchy around Suguru’s waist.
Satoru can feel the way Suguru is gently rocking his cock against the back of Satoru’s thigh, leaving a slick mark. Just as excited, but holding back; trying to draw this out, make it last.
The last time.
Satoru groans and leans up to bite Suguru’s bottom lip as he pulls away, just enough to do more than sting, the sharp copper of blood eking out between their tongues. Suguru groans, appreciative and annoyed at once. “I’m going to have a fat lip because of you,” he pants, once he’s done kissing the air out of Satoru’s lungs.
“Consider it a gift,” Satoru says before grabbing at Suguru’s shoulders, pulling him down hard enough their chests brush, and the angle of Suguru’s fingers change, tugging just enough to have Satoru seeing stars. “Now give me something to remember you by.”
Suguru buries his face in Satoru’s neck, and pulls out his fingers. In the moments it takes for him to roll a condom on, and coat himself with more lube, they can both pretend that Suguru isn’t hiding. That he isn’t savouring the smell of Satoru’s too expensive aftershave on his skin, cut with the smell of fresh sweat and sex.
When he starts to ease his cock into Satoru, Satoru reaches down to stroke his own, neglected and oversensitive from all the teasing. It’s divine. He isn’t going to last very long, so he clenches down on Suguru, rolling his hips to meet Suguru’s thrust and speed things up.
It’s all the incentive Suguru needs before he’s grabbing both Satoru’s wrists and pinning them above his head, supporting his weight on them as he thrusts the rest of the length of his cock inside Satoru.
The stretch to fit him is perfect.
Begrudgingly, Satoru can admit that if Suguru hadn’t pulled his hands away, he would have just jerked himself off to completion right then, and told Suguru to buzz off to get his own jollies.
Petty, maybe, but Satoru thinks he’s earned that.
The best Satoru can do is angle his hips to meet Suguru, heels slotting into the small of his back and digging in. Meeting the tempo Suguru starts to set with a moan, revelling in the way it still makes Suguru’s brows furrow, and his shoulders shake.
“I’m going to flip you over,” Suguru threatens. His eyes are still squeezed shut, and his hands are crushing in their grip.
Satoru tries to press up against Suguru, and is held down.
His stomach drops, and his heart beats faster. An equal, someone who can meet him halfway.
The moment passes and Satoru laughs, throwing his head back at the bliss of being full. “Nah,” he pants.
Suguru bites his throat, just shy of too high. Hesitated at the last second. But he doesn’t flip Satoru over.
He makes up for it by punishing Satoru with his thrusts, each pushing Satoru higher onto the bed before Suguru plants a knee on the mattress, and starts driving their bodies downward.
It’s just the angle Satoru needs, his hips curled toward his stomach, nearly bent in half under Suguru. His cock rubs steadily on Satoru’s prostate, but his hands pin Satoru’s down so he can’t touch himself.
The torture is perfect. All Satoru needs is just a touch, and he’ll be finished, shooting his climax from his navel to his chin, but he can’t.
The limitation is just as thrilling, and he can feel his guts beginning to clench. Each thrust brings him one step closer to good enough, but never trips over into enough, into perfect.
“Suguru – I –” Satoru starts tugging at one wrist in earnest, and feels Suguru’s rhythm stutter.
“Let me, stay there,” Suguru says, voice wrecked in the same way that Satoru’s is, his hair mussed and clinging in a soft film to both of them.
His grip switches to holding Satoru down with one hand, the patches of lube from his fingers starting to get sticky. He reaches down to wrap his hand around Satoru, and jerk him off, sliding down Satoru’s cock as he thrusts inside.
On the next thrust, he squeezes the head of Satoru’s cock, and rocks his thumb over his slit, just tight enough that he’s all Satoru can think about, and Satoru’s coming with a groan.
As his head starts to grow fuzzy in the afterglow of his climax, he hears Suguru hiss, already choppy rhythm stuttering, and then stilling with his hips cradling Satoru’s ass. Satoru’s legs are shaky when they unwrap from around Suguru, and fall open to splay on the bed.
He’s too tall, and his thighs end up bracketing Suguru’s, heels brushing the floor.
For a time, the only sound in the room is their laboured breathing. Satoru doesn’t flinch when Suguru leans to get tissues, and starts wiping Satoru clean. “Just talking, huh?” Satoru says to the ceiling, expecting no answer.
“... This too,” Suguru admits. “But really, I had meant to only talk.”
“Until what, you saw me?” Satoru jokes, leaning up onto his elbow. He’s not terribly successful at keeping his tone light, and the joke comes out an accusation instead.
“Call me cliched, but yeah. We were too close to this place, and it brought back memories,” Suguru shrugs, pulling the condom off. “I just wanted to warn you that you’ll see me again soon. It won’t be like this.”
Satoru starts to roll his eyes under his blindfold, but stops when he realises that Suguru isn’t smiling. “One of us won’t walk away, next time.” Suguru says.
Killer pillow talk. If Satoru was in a better mindset, he’d complain about it. But, he isn’t.
“It’ll be you.” Satoru doesn’t get up, or try to follow as Suguru stands. He doesn’t even lean up further than his elbows as he watches Suguru begin to redress himself.
Suguru tosses Satoru his clothes, and they slide off the infinite space between the two of them. “Maybe. But I’ll have died trying to do something I believe in, won’t I?” Suguru asks.
Satoru doesn’t have a good comeback before Suguru leaves.
“Y’know, I didn’t get a chance to say this last time, but I think I get why you want this body back!” Kenjaku says, puppetting Suguru’s lips.
They pet Suguru’s clothing, brush the silk length of Suguru’s hair over his shoulder. They are not permitted to play with his corpse like this. Like he belongs to them. Satoru slowly closes his fist, and Sukuna moves between the two of them.
“I don’t imagine anyone in the world knows you quite as deeply as he did,” Kenjaku continues, eyes closing in vicious joy. “Well. As deeply as I do, now.”
Satoru lashes out, and Sukuna is there to deflect, but he does nothing more than that. Just a guard dog.
They laugh, and the sound is wrong. Satoru doesn’t miss the way they slink, ever the coward, behind Sukuna.
Sukuna! Of all people! Who was repressed by a child, and had to run and hide in another!
They’re a joke.
“I’ll have that body back.” Satoru promises.
Kenjaku’s eyes in Suguru’s face are wrong. Distant and unfathomable in a face that Satoru knows as well as his own. “Hm. Maybe I can say the same?”
A vow is a vow, and Satoru doesn’t pursue knocking that smarmy look from Kenjaku’s stolen face. One month, and Satoru will be able to get Suguru’s body back. They’ll see who’s laughing then.
A stray memory hits, and it’s Satoru’s turn to smile.
It’s satisfying when Kenjaku’s smile curdles.
“One of us won’t walk away, next time.” Satoru parrots.
Kenjaku doesn’t have a retort.
They run, eyes narrowed, and expression set in all the ways that make them different from Suguru. Satoru doesn’t get the chance to ask if fighting for Suguru’s body is worth dying for.
It’s lucky, because he doesn’t care to hear Kenjaku’s answer. He already knows his own.