Chapter Text
Suguru prides himself on being smart — he's always been the kind of kid to answer every question the teachers threw at him, the picture-perfect student, the textbook poindexter (if one were to overlook his bad boy allure, what with his ear gauges, long hair, and painted nails). Things don't just come easy to him — unlike his best friend and his eidetic memory, who can allow himself the luxury to sleep in.
No, Suguru wakes up at the crack of dawn with a yawn and a cup of tea in hand, ready to delve into his required reading. He can't let any of his university professors down and — more importantly— he can't let himself down.
So now that the point about his massive intellect has been established, at least inwardly, Suguru can move on to more pressing matters. Like the dildo currently stuck inside his butt, for instance.
How could he let himself be put in this exact situation? Suguru mulls over that very same question as he squirms on the tiled floor of his bathroom. (Inhale, exhale, he reminds himself and grimaces when he can literally feel the dildo push even deeper. Well, fuck.)
Like most unfortunate events, it all goes back to one fateful conversation with Suguru's aforementioned best friend — one Satoru Gojo.
--
“Dude, nooo! Let's have another round; come on. You're being a sourpuss,” Satoru whines, then burps and knocks a —mostly— empty can of beer with his elbow. It lands right next to Suguru's poor loafers, and, in the exact succession of events, Shoko’s ashtray topples exactly over Suguru's feet.
“That hurts!” He complains while elbowing his friend in the middle. Shoko, the only girl in their otherwise all-boys club, is nodding off.
Her dark brown hair, which she keeps short and away from her face, is sticking out in every direction. By Suguru's right side, Satoru is not faring much better. He keeps rubbing his eyes with a closed fist — normally, they're as clear as the sky but right now they're bloodshot. Suguru is sure if he were to see himself in a mirror, the image would be equally unappealing, but he doesn't feel all that drunk.
So it falls on him to be the voice of reason. Stumbling up, he hits his toe against the corner of Shoko's table. She snorts but thankfully doesn't comment on it.
“Shoko, lend me your spare key,” Suguru says, ignoring Satoru — who keeps rubbing his face against his shoulder, his white hair tickling Suguru’s neck. Ever since Suguru dragged Satoru to their first-ever party back in high school, he's become acquainted with just how clingy Satoru can get when drunk. The touchier he gets, the closer he is to blacking out. Judging by his current state, Suguru ought to hurry up.
“No? Utahime is dropping by tomorrow morning,” Shoko replies, yawning. Her fan is making a dismal sound, and she curses under her breath. How is it this hot when it's October? She grumbles.
Suguru rolls his eyes, and Satoru circles one arm over his shoulder, resting his body against Suguru's. Shoko stares fixedly at a random point over Suguru's shoulder, already used to their antics.
“She'll drag you out of bed anyway,” he says, and Shoko scrunches her whole face at the prospect of having to get out of bed before noon and nursing a terrible hangover. She tosses the key in their general direction, and Suguru catches it midair — almost toppling over in the process.
Alright, maybe he's not as unaffected by alcohol as he previously considered because black spots dance around the edges of his vision as he struggles to get to the front door of Shoko's apartment.
“Wait, aren't you forgetting something?” She asks, pointing at Satoru, who keeps dangling from side to side like he's also finding it hard to stay on his two feet instead of lying on the floor.
Well, fuck, Suguru thought he was being sneaky. No slipping out unnoticed, then. Another night of fun ending with Suguru carrying Satoru's not inconsiderable weight back to their place. Yay…
--
“I'm serious; you have to stop accepting every challenge thrown your way, Satoru.” This is the very first thing Suguru says in the way of good morning when Satoru enters the kitchen. He's been mulling over it since yesterday, right after dumping Satoru's drunken butt in the shower and turning in for the night. Not that he got a wink of sleep — not until he heard Satoru's footsteps in the hall of their shared apartment and there was the creaky sound of Satoru's door opening and his body collapsing over the bed.
(Suguru had meant to masturbate for a little while as soon as they got back from Shoko's, but he forgot to buy lube, and he fell asleep as soon as he heard Satoru snoring in the other room — the sound lulling him into a deep slumber.
A slumber that got cut short by the alarm he forgot to turn off at 7 am sharp.)
“What do you mean?” Satoru grumbles, yawning as he opens the fridge. Retrieving a package of frozen peas and placing it over his forehead, he sighs and dramatically proceeds to throw himself in his usual chair in the breakfast corner. He must have been seriously drunk because he's not wearing his pajamas, only his boxers. Suguru has to actively fight the urge to either complain about it or make a comment about how hung Satoru appears to be.
Deep breaths — inhale, exhale. Let's tackle one problem at a time.
“You'll jump over a bridge if Shoko calls you a coward if you don't do it,” Suguru hates to spew out the now extremely cliché line. He hates it even more that he's sure Satoru is thinking Suguru's become the mom friend. The corners of his pink lips tremble — how could Suguru ever consider this man his best friend when he's just so mean?
“Or if she offers me candy as a reward for proving myself, yeah,” Satoru admits while shrugging. He seems to have forgotten about breakfast, because he's barely touched Suguru's pancakes. It's such a shame — In typical fashion, Satoru's poured so much syrup over them they must have gone mushy by now. There goes another victim to Satoru's greed and carelessness.
The sun streams through the partially drawn blinds — some of them are crooked and need to be repaired, but money is tight right now. A sunbeam creates a halo around Satoru's head, creating the illusion of that bastard being a holy being, an angel or whatever.
He eyes Suguru, who is having coffee for breakfast for the second day in a row. Bouncing his leg under the table, Suguru tries to remember the reasons why he's committed to quitting smoking. This is the second time this month he's tried, but Satoru always manages to get on his nerves to the point where Suguru can't take it anymore. Not without nicotine.
“I'll cut you a deal,” Suguru starts, clearing his throat and taking a sip of coffee just for the added effect. Even without lifting his eyes, he can sense Satoru's gaze fixed on him. His leg stops bouncing. “For one month,” Suguru lifts his index as if to emphasize his point under Satoru's scrutiny, “you can't give in to Shoko's taunts. No bets, no nothing. Just normal friendly interactions.”
“Is this because of that one time she said I couldn't pull off the gyaru look? I'll have you know I tried my best with that one. It's not my fault pink doesn't look good on me and those leg warmers…”
Both Satoru's and Suguru's faces morph into a grimace. He even convinced Suguru to partake in his shenanigans, and they both ended up showing up late for class dressed in a ridiculous outfit straight out of an early 2000s movie.
(Secretly, Suguru can own up to the fact that he kind of dug what he saw in the mirror that day — the purple shadow making his eyes pop and even the face stickers. He stupidly wonders if Satoru liked Suguru's half-baked outfit too before wiping off the makeup and turning in for the night.)
Suguru takes the abandoned pack of (now not so frozen) peas and puts them back inside the freezer. He can't see Satoru's expression with his back turned to him. It's probably for the best considering what’s about to leave his mouth. He's been mulling over this for a while, and the only way to get a junkie to quit is to offer something in return… Even if that spells more trouble and humiliation for Suguru, if it keeps Satoru out of trouble…
It'll be worth it.
“If you can keep your word and stop rising up to every stupid challenge or bet…”
Deep breaths — fuck, his yoga classes never prepared Suguru for this. Damned Namaste and all that bullshit, what good are they for, now that words fail him?
“Suguboo, come on, don't leave me hanging like that!” Satoru protests from his chair and then immediately regrets it — or that's what it seems because he scrunches his eyes shut. Right, loud noises are bound to affect him after a night of heavy drinking.
“... I'll do whatever you want,” Suguru says, and he hates that his voice sounds so tiny and desperate. Well, apparently, his tone isn't low enough for Satoru not to pick up. He springs up, his hangover forgotten.
“You're not shitting me? Holy fuck…” Satoru's excitement is usually contagious, but this time it sends a shiver down Suguru's spine. Satoru, with his ten-centimeter height difference, is crowding in on Suguru — his clammy fingers grabbing Suguru's oversized band tee for purchase.
“Within reason,” Suguru rushes to say. Satoru hums, and his breath tickles Suguru's skin. Gross, is what he should say to break the awkward atmosphere, but the word is presently stuck in his throat and won't come out.
--
“Why is this the first thing you come up with, and why am I not surprised?” Suguru can't help but moan as he picks up the bunny ears headband dangling from Satoru's fingers — he won't even pretend to act consternated. This right here? It's right up Satoru's street.
“What? This is perfectly in accordance with your rules,” Satoru rounds Suguru's shoulders and starts speaking in a lower, almost conspiratorial tone that definitely doesn't give Suguru goosebumps. “You don't wear this outside where people can see you — god forbid— and I won't take any pictures or video evidence,” Satoru starts to enumerate, lifting one finger then another as he throws Suguru's conditions back at him.
It's a bit impressive that he somehow managed to Rumpelstiltskin his way out of Suguru's carefully thought-out terms. Trust Satoru Gojo to finesse everything — it's such a shame that he only ever gives his 100% when it comes to humiliating Suguru, but beggars can't be choosers.
Ah, I shouldn't have struck a deal with him while we were both hungover, Suguru thinks while snatching the headband from Satoru's hand.
“Anything else?” Suguru grinds his teeth as he turns back to his game. He wants to finish this campaign, then he has to shower and start on his essay due next Tuesday that amounts to more than half of his grade. It's for an elective that he hates, and he meant to start on it the day they went out drinking with Shoko, and now here they are…
“Nope,” Satoru has the nerve to answer Suguru's rhetorical question. Then, right before Suguru can turn his attention back to his computer, he pauses by the open door to Suguru's room. “Oh, yeah, do my laundry.”
The building’s washing machines are not technically outside, and at this time of the day, it's unlikely that Suguru will encounter anyone who could point at his bunny ears and make an ill-fated comment.
But it still makes him red in the face. Suguru curses under his breath and pushes Satoru out of his room. Again, he's in his underwear — he's taken to only wearing boxers when they're both alone, and Suguru finds it too awkward to point out.
“The laundry basket is in my room! Don't forget about the softener this time!” Satoru's sing-song voice echoes in the hallway, and Suguru doesn't even turn around — there's no need; he can hear Satoru's smirk just fine. He flips him off before slamming the door to their apartment shut.
--
Suguru's fears, though founded, were never realized. Their neighbors must be out, or, a more likely explanation, it just might be that 3 PM is an unpopular time for laundry. Either way, after skipping back to his room, Suguru half expected Satoru to be by the door. Wagging his tail, he would be ready with a list of ridiculous demands to be met, and Suguru would have no choice but to acquiesce.
He did give his word, and —even if Suguru's effort to shake off his country bumpkin upbringing were mostly successful— he hates to go back on his promise.
But when he gets back to the apartment, Satoru is putting on his sneakers. His backpack is dangling from one shoulder, a shit-eating grin is splitting his face.
“I got invited to the karaoke; wanna come with?” He asks, even though Suguru can kind of tell Satoru only offered on instinct but is having second doubts about his joining. Odd. Usually wherever Satoru goes, Suguru reluctantly follows. Satoru gives Suguru's bunny ears an appraising stare.
“It's fine,” Suguru mumbles, dropping the laundry basket near the genkan. He takes his shoes off, then gestures towards his room with his head. “I still need to finish that essay…”
“Ah, the one about… Keynes?” Satoru scratches his head, although he keeps sneaking peeks at Suguru's headband. He suddenly pats his pants as if looking for his keys even though Suguru can see them right there on the entryway table.
“Kelsen,” Suguru corrects, still mildly annoyed at Satoru for reasons he doesn't want to unpack. (Is it because of the ridiculous bunny ears? Or not being invited to hang out? Is Satoru going on a date? And why does he look like the cat who ate the canary?)
“Riiiiight, that dude,” Satoru awkwardly provides, rushing for the door without even putting on his shoes first. He's always been clumsy, but this level of clumsy? With his shirt buttoned wrong (he missed a few holes), and he doesn't even have his shoes on? It sends all kinds of alarms going through Suguru's head.
They wave goodbye like usual, and Satoru even cracks a joke about having to think real hard to top his “bunny headband” idea. But the minute the door clicks shut and Suguru can hear Satoru's steps towards the elevator, he rushes to inspect the apartment.
Satoru’s weakest point as a roommate would be that he keeps breaking stuff without meaning to. If he managed to somehow fuck up their apartment while Suguru was doing the laundry, then there'll be hell to pay. It only makes sense that he would want to make himself scarce.
Except Suguru's search contradicts everything he knows about Satoru. He can't find one single item out of place. That is until he lets his guard down and drops on the couch next to a suspiciously fluffed-up cushion. Turning it around with a trembling hand, Suguru curses out loud before tossing it to the opposite side of the room — thankfully missing the PS5 controller, propped a bit too close to the edge of the coffee table.
A cum stain?
“I wasn't gone that long,” Suguru sighs, rubbing his temple. With all the commotion, the bunny ears are now lopsided, but Suguru pays them no mind. In fact, he kind of forgot he's still wearing the silly headband in the first place.
--
The mystery package arrives while Satoru is in class, and Suguru, who's just come back from waiting tables at the university café, is the one who almost trips over it. He turns crimson and looks at both sides of the hall — empty. Picking up the pink-wrapped box with a very suggestive print (aubergines and bananas with anthropomorphic faces) he quickly takes out his keys and enters his unit.
The fact that the mail person (whatever courier service these adult stores hired for their deliveries) got buzzed into the building where they might have crossed paths with their elderly and gossipy neighbors… The very idea is both consternating and bloodcurdling.
To say that Suguru is livid when he calls Satoru on the phone is the understatement of the century.
“Pick up, pick up,” Suguru repeats like a mantra. He picks his nails, ruining the black polish. After a few seconds, Satoru's voice greets him way too cheerfully for it not to be practiced.
“Is that you, Suguboo?”
“Don’t Suguboo me, you pathetic asshole,” Suguru starts, holding his phone with a shaky pulse. “I don't know what kind of prank you're planning, but I sure as hell won't…”
“Guess not!” Satoru's voice, which remains every bit as chipper as before (and how dare he sound so unbothered in the face of Suguru losing his last thread of sanity). “Sorry, I can't come to the phone right now and all that… Hey, Shoko! Haha, well, this is getting long…”
The beep that follows is almost deafening. Suguru sighs, dropping his phone on the cheap Ikea table they managed to score secondhand from one of their kouhais. Satoru, for all of his trust fund money, oftentimes prefers to score a freebie (his words, not Suguru's) and who is Suguru to object to new furniture?
He's still in class. That's what he thinks as he eyes the package out of the corner of his eye. Suguru crouches down next to it — the address is wrong by one number. Suguru sighs with a heavy heart. Somehow, the fact that Satoru had nothing to do with the mishap is a bit disappointing.
(But why? Did Suguru really want Satoru to take his pranks and bets in this direction? Is Suguru so thirsty for some action that he's going mad? All valid questions that Suguru doesn't have the mental spoons to answer.)
With bated breath, Suguru opens the box — slowly but surely revealing its contents. To no one's surprise, underneath the wrapping paper stuffed inside, there's a shiny new dildo. It's pink, and the base has what appears to be a knot. Suguru has seen dogs humping each other once when he was a kid, staying at his uncle's house for the summer. The image of the two strays has been unearthed and is now at the forefront of his mind.
There's a bottle of lube right next to it, the banana logo plastered all over it. A gift card addressed simply to “my beautiful princess” signed XOXO in messy handwriting has been left next to these two items. If Suguru squints, it sort of looks like Satoru's usual chicken scratch, but Suguru can tell by the overly stylized cursive that this package has been delivered to the wrong address.
Suguru takes the box to his room and leaves it on the bed while he looks for the company's number. Whoever sent this wanted to keep his privacy because Suguru's search soon proves to be unsuccessful. Groaning, he shoves the box under his bed and goes back to his paper. Suddenly feeling warm all over, Suguru strips to his underwear and tries to go back over the material he needs to review before he can tackle this assignment. The empty document stares back at him as Suguru flips over the pages of his textbook.
This is shaping up to be a really long day.
--
Suguru wants to say he completely forgets about the dildo, but even after it's out of sight, his mind keeps drifting back to it. Now, like any other healthy boy, Suguru has tried all kinds of things just to get his rocks off. He's not as adventurous as his best friend — who will flirt with anyone left and right, then get rejected and seek Suguru out just to cry over his shoulder. But still, Suguru has touched himself before.
It's just that he's never tried… He's only played with the proverbial backdoor once, and even then, he's only used his fingers. (While going at it, he's pictured someone else's hands… Satoru's voice sounded in his head as he pushed one finger after another, searching inside for that special spot that would make Suguru see stars.)
“Suguruuuuu!” Ah, speaking of the devil… Satoru slumps over Suguru's back. He’s particularly heavy in his winter sweater, but Suguru knows most of Satoru's weight comes from his exercise routine. His muscles, which are visible every single time he takes off his shirt just to show off, are the main attraction around campus, with most girls swooning over him.
And yet, Suguru has it on good authority that his friend hasn't dated in forever. Or, more accurately, ever. They're in the library, and Suguru is, once again, trying and failing to concentrate on his studies. Satoru's dares, although wild, don't hold a candle to Suguru's imagination. He's already decided to give his hidden dildo a try, and now that he's resolved to do it, he's… Gotten hard in public and can't leave this particular table until his “problem” goes away on its own.
Dropping on the chair directly opposite from him, Satoru makes a face. He's always had this preternatural intuition and sees way more than the regular person. Particularly when it comes to Suguru. While growing up and still learning to navigate their friendship, Suguru could never keep a secret from Satoru for long. Which is why trying to will his hard-on away before making a mad dash for the exit is so… dangerous.
Satoru, maybe unsuspecting of Suguru's inner turmoil, pushes his shades back so they rest atop his head. His eyes are bloodshot, and now that his hair is out of his face, his dark circles are all the more noticeable. Satoru looks like he desperately needs a good night's sleep and maybe a glass of water and an aspirin.
“Did you… Oh, crap… Are you drinking and playing games with Shoko again?” Suguru pipes up. The indignation is almost enough to make his problem down there go away. If he's had to dress up like a bunny and do all kinds of stupid stuff only for Satoru to break their promise, he'll seriously crash out.
Satoru shakes his head no slowly. He's acting as though he's about to nod off. In fact, as if to emphasize the sleepy state he's in, Satoru rests his chin on the table.
“Nah. You still need to wear that pink skirt when you get back home; don't worry,” Satoru decides to answer by alluding to their agreement. Ah, the mention of the skirt makes Suguru all the more excited. He wonders if Satoru would walk in on him while he's in the middle of…
“I just need to go over the new reading material... I need to catch up fast if I want to get a perfect score…” Satoru keeps talking about his grade scale and new assignments, but the words go way over Suguru's head. Even though it's true they're in the busiest time of the year, his mind is overly preoccupied with one thought and one thought only.
As soon as Satoru quits his babbling and starts actually reviewing his class notes, Suguru decides to throw all caution to the wind and — with a perfunctory goodbye— he rushes back home. Safe in the knowledge that Satoru will probably not return to their shared apartment until a few hours later, Suguru gets off his clothes as soon as he arrives back home.
On his bed is the aforementioned pink miniskirt. Suguru can barely squeeze into it, and he's sure his butt is visible now that he's discarded his underwear somewhere in the way to his room. Looking for the box under his bed while stroking his dick with his other hand, he moans as he cums embarrassingly fast.
With bated breath, he wastes no time and pours a liberal amount of lube over the dildo. Thinking he's probably relaxed enough after cumming once, Suguru decides not to finger himself — a mistake, as he'll later realize.
The head of the fake cock pops inside easily, and Suguru releases for a second time, feeling incredibly full. Closing his eyes, he briefly wonders what Satoru might make of him — if he'd make fun of him or maybe… If Satoru would offer to help, work the rest of the dildo inside Suguru, uttering all kinds of filthy nonsense while he's at it.