#pass the doomed yaoi..... | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

burgojo · 9 hours ago

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VICIOUS KISSES. GETO SUGURU / M!READER

summary. no matter what happens, no matter what he does, he will always be your one exception.

tags. smut | top reader, bratty bottom geto, doomed yaoi or something, angst, childhood friends to complicated to lovers, reader is mentioned to have siblings + come from a non-sorcerer family, mentions of canon-typical violence, wilfully ignorant domesticity with a serial mass murderer but he's in love so it cancels out, geto in a jockstrap, sex toys, they're both possessive, unprotected sex, kitchen sex, edging, teasing, multiple orgasms, reader has a huge cawk and geto has a fat ass yeehaw (they're soulmates)

wc. 11.5k (it's a chunky one)

Since you met as children, Geto Suguru has always known you to be the dependable type. An extra serving of the snack your parents bought that he loved, the neat and detailed class notes you brought to his house when he was sick in bed, stern reminders the day before tests. You were all of these things, and he knew you loved him dearly.

He wonders, staring at your pained expression behind your front door, if this would be the end of whatever unspoken thing you had between you.

His grip tightens on the hands of two little girls. They huddle close to him, wearing muddy indoor slippers in adult sizes, and silently stare up at you from behind his legs.

He killed his family. He slaughtered a whole village, not a one left standing.

You open the door wider and step aside.

—

"Hey there, Shoko."

She turns, short brown hair brushing her collar. She pops a chewed lollipop stick out from between her lips and chucks it in the bin beneath the desk, leaning back in her roller chair. "Hey yourself. What was this about an urgent appointment?"

You smile, lopsided and familiar. You rest your palms on the heads of the two girls beside you, one gripping your shirt and the other gripping your trousers. "Do you mind giving this pair a check-up with a focus on cursed energy? I was hoping to get some bloodwork done, too – just the usual, iron and such."

She nods, gesturing to the three seats by the desk. "Easy peasy. More of your siblings?"

"It seems like sorcery runs in the family now," you say, taking a seat on the furthest side and placing an arm over the back of the chair beside you. Subtly, the dark-haired one in that seat leans towards you.

"No kidding," Shoko says drily, setting up a blood pressure monitor. "That's the whole point of clans – you and these two could be enough to make your own. You two cuties must be his favourites then, huh?"

The blonde one offers a small smile. The other one watches Shoko pull the Velcro arm band open with a riiip.

"I don't play favourites," you hum. "I would do anything for my whooole family. Ohana, you know?" You squeeze their shoulders affectionately. "If I am a little sweeter on some – well, that's a secret I'll take to my grave."

Shoko glances away from her files and forms, picking up the arm band and scooting closer across the wood-patterned linoleum. "Then in that case—" she mimes zipping her lips and tossing away the key "—my lips are sealed. Could you roll up your sleeve for me, honey?"

Nanako obeys, offering her arm. Shoko wraps the band around her bicep what seems like an excessive number of times; the girls are small for their age, and you both know it.

The time passes uneventfully. The girls are unnaturally obedient – to the point that Shoko notices. You might ask one of them to do something or sit a certain way and they'll listen immediately, as if... afraid.

She thinks half-heartedly, maybe he's a shitty brother, but you frown in your gentle way at the same things Shoko does, and your voice softens right after. You comfort them while she takes their blood, and though they seem to settle, they don't act quite... right. They don't reach for you, don't seek you out for support – they sit there stiffly with their arm out, bracing themselves, and startle when you offer a hand to hold and tell them to wiggle their toes, as if abruptly remembering that you're there.

Now, Shoko doesn't want to comment or speculate on other people's family dynamics, but unfortunately for you, a pair of little girls aren't world-class actors.

She grabs your wrist before you can leave. "Can I talk to you for a moment?"

You glance at the twins, who hold each other's hands and gaze back at you. "Sit here for a while, please, okay?" You point to some chairs lining the hallway outside Shoko's shiny new office. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

Shoko closes the door behind you and leans against it with a soft sigh, one hand discreetly grasping the handle. She blocks the only exit, and you notice it, immediately wary.

"They aren't your sisters, are they?" she asks, shrewd as ever.

You eye her, but her features are only tired, her gaze sweeping from item to item in the room conversationally. She's not looking for a weapon – just making you feel at ease without her boring holes into your skull.

"Family isn't just by blood," you say.

"No, it isn't," she agrees. "Did you read the report, by the way? All that death for two children not big enough to see over the dashboard... Maybe I could understand – after a drink or two."

You huff a laugh, wry. "I'll shout you."

"I'll take you up on that. You're the one with the believable ID."

"Are you saying I look old, Shoko? C'mon, now. Low blow."

Her lips quirk up. "You've aged a lot over the last few months. You keep putting off sleep like you are and you'll end up looking like Palpatine."

"Unlimited power." You wave your hands in the air, then huff and chuckle, shoving your hands in your pockets. "Don't worry about me, Shoko. It'll pass. All I want is to make sure the girls will be alright once I get them on a diet of my famous cooking."

"Infamous, more like." She rolls her eyes.

"Hey, Satoru knew he couldn't handle spice. Wasn't my fault he kept going because he wanted to outdo Suguru."

You share a little laugh at the memory, though it peters out at the end. Because that's all it is – a memory, a fragment of the past which you'll never see again.

Shoko steps forward, taking your hands in hers. She squeezes them, her mouth opening and closing before she sighs and butts her head against your chest.

"Take care of them for me. All of them."

All. Not both.

You squeeze her hands in return, pressing your cheek to the top of her head. You wrap your arms around her, and in a rare show of vulnerability, she lets you – she stands there, arms by her sides, her head against your chest, and doesn't push you away.

You pull away first. You have to, or you might never leave. You pat her shoulder, offering a small, sweet smile. "Am I free to go, doc?"

She nods, glancing at the blood samples in their labelled bags. "I'll call you when the results are back."

"Alright. Thank you," you say earnestly. You pause by the door, hand on the knob. "Shoko?"

"Yeah?"

"We're keeping this between us, right?" You offer a little lopsided grin. "If you'll do the same, I won't tell anyone you let me hug you."

Brushing her hair behind her ear, Shoko sighs and grumbles. "You better not. Otherwise, I'm putting rat poison in your soup."

"Okay, okay, I promise. Jeez, woman – violence isn't the only answer."

"If it's my first choice, my problems tend to go away." Shoko waves you out. "Now go get your girls. I'm sure they're bored half to death out there."

—

Suguru's nails dig into his palms until the skin breaks and bleeds. Red trickles down his wrist from where his hands are pressed to his mouth.

"Your anger is heavy," you murmur, crouching by his feet and gently prying his hands open to press a cloth to the red crescents in his skin. You hold it there, one hand cupping his knuckles and the other pressed firm and warm against his palm. It's like you're holding hands, Suguru thinks. "You can't bear it, but you can't put it down. I understand. But this path you're on... I can't follow you. I'm sorry."

"Please." He grips your hand, swallowing around the lump in his throat. "Please don't make me go this alone. You've always been there for me. Do it again just one more time."

You gaze up at him from where you are on your knees. Your living room falls somewhere between barren and cluttered – you'd moved in not too long ago, wanting your own place off of campus, but things had happened so quickly that you hadn't the time to set out all your souvenirs and potted plants neatly. Whatever's out of its box is something with a use, and as such the place looks rather sad and empty. You'll have to change that soon.

"I can't, Suguru." Your voice is soft, and it wavers. You were always the logical, rational type, the mediator when Shoko riled up the other two and then bailed when things got dicey. He hasn't seen you cry since you were children, but it's not hard to tell you're close to it, gnawing on your lower lip to keep it from trembling. "Don't ask this of me."

"Can't, or won't?" Suguru asks sharply, meeting your eyes. His voice begins to rise. "Why? Why do you say you understand but refuse to come with me? If you understood, it'd be an easy damn decision. It's not fair!"

"You're not fucking fair, Suguru!" You match the vitriol in his voice. "Asking me to choose between you and everyone else I love? You're like a toxic girlfriend giving me an ultimatum. That's real fucking shitty of you."

He tugs his hand out of yours, though the immediate cold without them almost makes him backtrack. Stubborn as he is, though, he continues, mopping up the remaining blood himself and folding the cloth several times around his hand. It's something to do so he doesn't have to bear the brunt of your disappointed gaze.

He takes a deep breath, leaning back against the couch. You stand and move into the kitchen, silent as a ghost as you wash your hands and prepare tea from the boiled kettle.

Playing with the edges of the cloth you'd given him, Suguru glances at the clock. Nine at night. Still technically early, but exhaustion drags him down like cinderblocks. The girls are asleep in the bed you made for them, big enough to hold them both and still have room left over because they didn't like to sleep alone.

His sight begins to blur. It's like seeing a curse for the first time all over again, but this time he doesn't have you to fall back on when things got scary. How childish it is, to cry over a boy.

"Suguru." You place a steaming cup in front of him on the coffee table. "I hope you don't hate me." You hold your own over your lap, your index finger tracing the rim of the cup. Occasionally, you cut through the steam, watching the pale wisps tear in half.

"I should be the one saying that, shouldn't I?" he whispers, leaning forward and reaching for his cup of tea. He lifts it to his lips and the couch creaks under his shifted weight. He huffs, a mirthless chuckle. "You're in the presence of a criminal."

"Right. The guys in the big hats don't like you anymore." You sigh, leaning back and tipping your head to stare at the ceiling. "For what it's worth... I meant it when I said I understand. I get where you're coming from. I just think you're doing it wrong."

"Then why won't you come with me? Help me make things right?"

"In your absence, I have to take care of Satoru – make sure he doesn't go ballistic." You chuckle just thinking about it. "It's so obvious the guy's never had friends his age before. Knows nothing about emotional regulation, either. At least Shoko can talk about it, but Satoru? No, no. Just clams up and gets overly bitchy until I drop it. I'd like to think I'm making headway with him, though."

Suguru swirls his cup of tea, staring into it. "Why is that always your job? Always our peacemaker, our middleman, our damn therapist... Someone should pay you for it. At least that'll mean getting some colour in this place."

"Suguru."

He glances over at you. You lean into him, resting a warm hand on his shoulder. You're beautiful, even like this, but this is the first time where, despite your closeness, Suguru feels as if you're on the other side of a glass wall like a museum piece. That wall is there for your protection.

"You grieve," you observe. "Why?"

Playing right into his words, it seems. Suguru chuckles slightly, cupping his mug and raising it to his lips. "You know why. Even if we met up like this every single day for the rest of our lives, it'd never be the same. I'm mourning what we had. I really wish you'd choose to be with me, but, well. C'est la vie."

"You could force me to," you say nonchalantly, sipping your tea and folding your legs like a prince at a boring meeting. "I don't think I could bring myself to hurt you."

"And make you despise me?" he scoffs. "No, thanks. Pretty sure Satoru already does, and my social circle's become frighteningly small. More of a dot, really. A pinhead."

Your gaze softens and you reach out, brushing the back of your knuckles against his cheek and down his jaw with a wistful sweetness. He leans into it, gaze flickering up to you.

Suddenly, his lower lip quivers and he closes his eyes and cups your hand, pulling it into himself. He kisses your palm and strokes your wrist, gripping you tight to keep you there – as if you'll pull away if he doesn't. But why would you? You reached for him to begin with.

"When we die, I want to go first," he whispers. "Promise me that."

Your heart stops.

You stare at him unblinkingly. Then, you put down your cup, doing the same for his, and pull Suguru tight into your arms. He curls up under your chin, fisting the back of your shirt as he commits the warmth of your bulk and the smell of your cologne to memory.

If only he were cruel enough to steal you away – bruised and battered so nobody could blame you – to have you all to himself. If only you didn't love him so wholly and instead alerted the elders when he first stumbled to you, the blood still fresh across his cheeks.

You don't want to think about your failings. You bury your nose in his hair, his milk and honey shampoo making the bile churn in your stomach, and hold him tighter. "I promise."

—

You come when Suguru calls. You always do.

"Hello, darling," he hums, rising from behind his big mahogany desk. He pushes a pile of folders into a drawer and rounds the desk to meet you, his long dark robes swaying around his ankles. "It's been a while, hasn't it? How are the girls?"

"It's been two weeks, so that depends on your definition of 'a while'. They're doing alright," you reply, letting him drape his arms over your shoulders. "I keep telling them to make friends, but apparently all of the girls in their new class are mean and cliquey. At least they like their teachers and subjects."

"That's good to hear," Suguru murmurs, tracing your collarbone with his fingertip absently. "I'll visit soon. When are you free?"

Satoru leaves for an overseas mission in the weekend, meaning there's no chance of him popping in without warning. Well, less of a chance, at least. "In two days. The girls want to go out for shopping and dinner on their own – but they've promised to leave their locations on, won't stray off the main roads, and won't follow strangers into white vans, so they'll be fine."

"You sound so sure about that. You're going to follow them, aren't you?"

"Now, see, that's where you would be right," you begin, "if we had this conversation a few days ago. But after they scolded me for being overly anxious when they're perfectly capable young sorcerers, I've decided to use that day for a date."

"A date?" He tilts his head inquisitively. "What sort?"

"I know how busy you are, so I didn't want to waste too much of your time," you admit with an embarrassed smile, pulling him in by the waist. "Therefore: dinner date, whipped up by yours truly. Two-in-one."

Suguru grins, stepping up on his zori to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth. "I don't suppose you'll leak what's on the menu?"

"Well, I don't know what you're paying yet."

He scoffs, placing a hand over his heart. "Making me pay? Bad with our monthly budgeting, are we?"

"Not bad, just generous. When Nanako says she wants that fluffy cardigan, I can't say no. If Mimiko finds a cute pair of shoes, I say, 'do a little spin'."

Suguru can't help the fondness that trickles into his voice. He's supposed to be stern right now. "So, yes, bad budgeting and a weak will. Fine – name your price."

You pretend to think. "Well... I could do with a little this," you brush your thumb over his soft lips, "and a lot of this." You squeeze his ass beneath his monk's robes. His breath hitches, body jerking into yours, and you smile as you peck his cheek chastely. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he replies, too quick and breathy for someone playing bad cop. "I can afford that."

When Suguru arrives on a fine and sunny Saturday, you can't help the painful little twinge that pings at your heartstrings. Seeing him in front of your door, long hair silky black and lips dabbed with a light gloss... you almost cave.

Take me with you. God, just take me with you.

He stays with you when he can, but when he does, it's dangerous. The moment they find out you're playing house with the worst curse user of them all, you'll be branded with the same iron, and your girls – god, your girls – will have all normalcy stripped from their lives. You couldn't let them lose their family twice.

"Good afternoon," he greets sweetly, hands bundled within his robe sleeves. "I hope I'm not too early."

"No, not at all." You find your voice and let him in. You've gotten exceptionally good at playing at light-hearted domesticity. He steps out of his zori and into his slippers by the door. "Early finish today?"

He chuckles, turning and pressing a kiss to your cheek. "Yes. I rushed my last few visitors so I could spend more time with you."

"Suguru..."

"Oh, don't look at me like that. If you could see yourself from my eyes, you'd understand why I'm so eager." He knocks your chin gently, playfully, as your cheeks warm, and he flutters deeper into your apartment like he has so many times before. "Do you need any help in the kitchen?"

"I, uh – no, you take it easy. I just need ten minutes before I start plating things up."

"My prince charming," he teases, fingers gliding along the edge of the dining table. It seats six and fits just fine in the apartment, thanks to the not-insignificant salary you're paid as a full-time sorcerer. A bottle of wine sits in the middle next to two glasses. "Well, I'll borrow your shower, then. Rinse off the grime of the day."

"Take your time. Use all the hot water you like."

"Is that a challenge?"

"You can't do worse than the twins and their bubble baths."

"Challenge accepted." He steps into the hallway. "I'm going to try some of their fancy skincare products."

The sink and most of the bathroom cupboards and shelves are overrun with the various makeup products and skincare kits they've tried over the years. Lucky you gets a single top shelf, which they can't reach without dragging a stool into the bathroom, and which they graciously offered for your shaving cream and razor. Obviously, you're their favourite.

You busy yourself with setting the table, the plated filet mignon looking straight out of a cookbook. You're pleased with the results. You pick a few subtle candles and snap your fingers – with a precise pop of cursed energy, the candles light aflame.

You turn down the ceiling lights and observe your handiwork, proud of what you've accomplished. You nod to yourself.

Warm arms wrap around your middle. Suguru presses his lips to your neck. "Hello. I feel a little underdressed for the occasion."

You turn, and your eyes widen slightly. Despite having his own full wardrobe, he's dressed in your clothes: boxy t-shirt, grey sweatpants. You're not much better in jeans. "Um – I – wow."

Suguru lifts an eyebrow, stepping in front of you with a teasing smile. His skin is slightly glossy, plump with whatever moisturiser he'd stolen and patted on. "Is it because of the hair? You're so easy to impress, baby. It's almost embarrassing."

"You're in my clothes," you huff, pressing the backs of your hands to your hot cheeks. "That's cheating. You look great."

He grins, taking your chin and tilting your head towards him to land a kiss on your lips. He's affectionate today. "Sorry," he says, not sounding sorry at all. "Now come sit down. I'm starving."

You dart in before he can pull out his chair and do it for him. He giggles softly and accepts, fingertips brushing your chest as he does. He flips his low ponytail over his shoulder and gazes at you with half-lidded eyes as you take a seat opposite him.

"So," he purrs, leaning forward and linking his fingers, "what are you presenting to us today, chef?"

"Filet mignon with butter and rosemary," you list off, popping the wine cork. "Next is a potato and leek soup, and butterscotch pudding for dessert. Not too sweet, just as you like it. Um – that's it."

Suguru laughs like you've said a great joke as you pour him a glass of wine. "And you made that all yourself? I'm so lucky." He hums. "Did you really use nothing else for this steak? It looks and smells divine."

"Salt, pepper, olive oil. I was supposed to add garlic, but Nanako decided she would use it without telling me and I was already searing the meat when I realised," you sigh, then smile sheepishly. "Forgive me?"

"Nothing to forgive, darling, don't be silly," Suguru chuckles, turning his plate slowly to really enjoy your creation. Perfectly juicy, done to perfection just how he likes it. "You could put this in a magazine."

"A-Ah, it's just a steak, nothing too fancy. Please, eat. I didn't make it just for you to stare at it."

"You're so cute when you get shy. I love it," Suguru purrs, though he picks up his knife and fork and begins to slice into the steak. "Take the compliment, darling. You should be used to it by now."

Your face is on fire. "Okay..."

Smile widening playfully, Suguru leans over and cuts a bite-sized piece off of your steak. He lifts it to your lips, giggling when you almost flinch. "Where'd all your confidence go? Wasn't too long ago you were copping a feel and laughing when I hit you. Emotional intimacy too hard for you, hm?"

"No, it's not. I literally set up a candlelit dinner for us." You glare at him without any heat, leaning forward and accepting the bite he offers. He laughs at the sight of you, chewing and glaring at the same time at him like a huffy child.

"Alright... So you like being praised? You've been a good boy for me," he teases, eyes crinkling when you bang your knees against the underside of the table. The candles flicker. He covers his mouth while he laughs, loud and bright. "Baby!"

Hastily, you smooth your palms down your jeans and fix your shirt, grabbing the utensils and digging into your meal with more gusto than necessary. "I'm fine. I'm fine. Let's eat and we can watch a movie and cuddle. Good plan."

Suguru beams, unable to hide his shaking shoulders even as he presses the back of his hand to his mouth and sits back in his chair. He shakes his head, his heart so full it might burst.

If only he could have this every night, he thinks wistfully, meeting your eyes from under his lashes. He smiles behind his wine glass, savouring the rich taste of the meal you've made for him. No fears of poison, no worries about someone who might be watching. It's just you and him in your shared home, dressed far too casually for a three-course meal, smiling and sneaking glances at each other like you're on your first date. He'll carry these memories forever, like a soldier tucking a perfume-scented letter from his darling by his heart.

The two of you aren't much better during clean-up, either. You wash, he dries, and he exploits your inability to move by bumping your hip with his every time he passes behind you, teasing the front of his sweatpants against your thigh. When he's caught up on drying everything, he rests his cheek against your shoulder blades, his eyes closed and his hands on your waist. He hums softly and leans up to kiss the nape of your neck, a feathery little thing that makes goosebumps ripple down your arms.

"You really have to stand so close?" you say drily, though your eyes twinkle. "I'm scared I'm going to elbow you."

"Don't worry," he sighs gently, slipping his hands beneath your shirt. One pushes your waistband down just enough to reveal a sliver of your Apollo's belt, and the other traces the bone back and forth. "I'm a big boy. I can handle a little pain."

Your gaze snaps back and he meets your eyes, his grin sharp and satisfied. He tilts his head. "Something the matter, darling? Do you disagree?"

You huff, turning back to the dishes in the sink. There are only a few left. "You're such a tease."

"Mm, you like that."

"Not when I'm trying to do important things – like not dropping our pots and plates."

He taps his lips, pouting softly as he ponders your statement. "That's true. You might chip our tiles."

His hands are no longer dipping into your jeans. You can breathe again. "That's right, Suguru. You wouldn't want to ruin our home, right?"

"Ruin our home? No. But ruin you? Yes." With a titter, he kisses your neck, peeling himself from your back to stand by your side. He leans against your arm, watching as you rinse off a pan and place it on the dishrack. "Once we're done, I've got something to show you."

"Is it a dinosaur?" you ask playfully, and his smile widens, fond, as he reaches for the pan. He glides the towel over the handle before lifting it.

"Better than a dinosaur, if you can believe it," he replies, nudging your shoulder with his and gazing at you with soft, sweet eyes. "I think so, anyway."

"That's a pretty high bar. Now I'm curious. Can't you show me now?"

"Definitely not," Suguru laughs, setting the pan in a drawer behind you. "Hurry up. The quicker you're done, the quicker I'll show you."

You obey. After you wash your hands in the kitchen, Suguru emerges from the bathroom with his hair down. It's almost waist-length these days, thick and glossy. Replacing the plain hair tie from earlier is a silver clip at the back of his head.

You lean against the kitchen counter and wolf-whistle, crossing your arms with a lopsided grin. "Hair down? Oh, I'm gonna enjoy this, aren't I?"

Suguru smiles as he approaches, pretty feline features coy and playful. "One day I'm going to cut it all off and that'll be your surprise."

You pout, wrapping him in an arm as he notches himself against you. You run a hand through the loose silky locks reverently. "Nooo... I think I'd actually cry."

He rolls his eyes, placing a kiss on your lips. "Crybaby. You just like it long because you can pull on it during sex."

"And you look like a gorgeous princess with it."

He gives you a look.

"What?" you say defensively. "I can have two opinions at once."

He presses a finger to his lips, playing at disappointment. He looks away, casting his eyes high over your head. "You know, I did have a heavy workload today, and I could do with some sleep... Maybe I'll show you your present next time."

"Wait!" You grab his waist and tug him back towards you, caging him in against the kitchen counter in your desperation. He squeaks and laughs, eyes crinkling as he grasps your forearm loosely. "What do I have to do to make you show it to me? You said it was a present. You know I love your presents."

"Well..." he begins thoughtfully. "You could kiss me."

You plant a kiss on his lips, and one on his cheek for good measure.

"You could tell me that you love me."

"I love you."

"With more feeling."

"I love you so much that when I see you without your clothes on, I want to throw myself off a cliff."

He barks a laugh, covering his mouth with the back of his hand. "Is that all you love me for? My body?"

"I love you so much that when I wake up next to you and realise I'm the lucky one you chose to hold you in their arms, I want to throw myself off a cliff."

He coos, turning in your arms to face you and cupping the back of your neck. He gazes up at you through his dark lashes. "No throwing ourselves off of cliffs," he murmurs, stroking your cheek. "You'd be leaving me all alone, wouldn't you?"

Your expression softens and you lean into his touch, cupping the back of his hand. "I won't," you say. "Not ever."

You keep your promises.

"Good," says Suguru, and tilts his face up to kiss you deeply.

His breath hitches as your teeth nick his lower lip, and you lick gently at the tender skin in apology. His lips are warm and plump, bitter but sweet with the lingering taste of red wine. He plays with the baby hairs at the nape of your neck, not so much guiding as pulling you in for a deeper kiss – the way he likes it. He lets it linger, soft and kind.

"You're dangerous, you know," he whispers, closing his eyes and pressing his forehead against yours. "Spoiling me like this, cooking for me... It's nice."

You squeeze his hips. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Really nice." He sighs softly, linking his fingers at the nape of your neck. His palms are warm, the calluses soft with moisturiser. It's almost enough to forget about them. "I wish I could do more for you. Take you places."

You just hum quietly, stroking his hips with your thumbs with an unreadable expression. He notices it. He didn't mean to sour your mood. He knows it in the way you refuse to look him in the eye.

At least you've accepted the fact that he won't come back. That he can't come back. You have stopped asking him to leave his grand ideals behind.

But that's okay. Suguru can have both. He'll make it so.

Suguru takes one of your hands and guides it downwards, letting it cup his ass. A distraction, perhaps, but you let yourself fall for it anyway. He leans up to kiss the corner of your mouth before pulling away to turn around and push down his sweatpants, tugging the waistband below the generous curve of his ass. He hears your breath catch and a pleased smile crosses his face.

"Like it?" he asks, collecting his hair and brushing it over his shoulder. The silver hair clip shines under the kitchen lights. "It's new."

He arches his spine, widening his knees slightly and bracing against the stone kitchen counter as he rocks back into your bulge. His smile grows catlike, marked by coyness and secrecy.

You palm his hips – the strappy black jocks cup his ass and thighs perfectly. It leaves his asshole wonderfully accessible, and you have to steady yourself by gripping him tighter when you spot the purple gemstone peeking out between his cheeks.

You spread him wider, swallowing roughly at the sight of a silver plug nestled in his plump ass. He chuckles softly, nibbling on his lower lip to hide his smile, as you play with it, gently pressing it in and out as if testing him. Just for you, he lets out a teasing, feathery moan, pushing back into your touch, though the gasp he lets out when you tug it free from his hole is a little more real – a little more embarrassing.

"I'm guessing you like your surprise," he says, smile widening as you pull him up to slip off his oversized t-shirt. You toss both things onto the nearest bar stool and Suguru steps out of his sweatpants with a flirty little sway of his hips, emphasising the curve of his waist and hips. He laughs when you pepper grateful kisses along his neck and jawline, his dark eyes crinkling as you pull him back towards you, not letting him squirm away.

"Oh, you have no idea," you breathe, smiling against his skin at the sound of his laughter rumbling through his chest. Meat and blood, flesh and bone. So very human. How could anyone blame you for loving him?

"This is in the way," he murmurs, tugging the hem of your shirt. You allow him to pull it off you and it joins the pile of clothes on the bar stool. He sighs at the sight before him, palms running warm and soft down your chest and stomach, tracing every curve and dip of muscle, scarred or not. His cock twitches in his jocks.

Your hands move towards your belt, thumbs hooking into your waistband, but Suguru, with an impatient look on his face, shakes his head. He smacks your hands away, ignoring your huff, and expertly undoes your belt and zipper, pulling the sides open just enough to fish you out of your underwear.

He's playful with it – glossy lips parting into a theatrical 'O', measuring the size of your girth with a thumb and forefinger and getting all moony because it's bigger than his own, even just half-chubbed. You roll your eyes through the heat in your cheeks, burying your face in his shoulder. He tilts his head to give your teeth better access to his soft, unmarred neck.

"You've got such a pretty cock," he hums, gasping softly as you nip and suck bruises into his skin. One of your hands ventures down from his hip to cup his bulge, warm and hardening by the second. "I – ah, I want it in me. Now."

The demand almost quivers – something like hesitation makes his gaze flutter away briefly. You meet his eyes with silence and a raised brow. Then he doubles down, rubbing his cock against your palm, and he moans as you squeeze roughly, the cloth cup of his jocks growing wet and slick on the inside.

"Need you to fuck me right now," he puffs, pulling you against him by your fucking cock. You grunt, eyes narrowing reflexively into a glare, but he doesn't back off, meeting your gaze unabashedly. You press your thumb into where you know his tip is, and he has the audacity to moan sweetly because of it. He smooths his palm over your cockhead, smearing precome down your shaft with every quick stroke. "Yeah, keep glaring, darling. I know you want this, too."

"Right here?" you hiss, as if it's a secret. "Do you know how unhygienic—"

"Oh my god," he groans, head tilting back briefly, "as if that fucking matters. Cursed energy, wet wipes and a black light – we have options. It'll be fine, worrywart. Don't you have a sense of adventure?"

"I get too much adventure with you," you sigh. His hand feels really good around you, twisting and rubbing in all the right ways, and the warm front of his jocks are growing damp, sticking to his skin. He ruts into your palm, eyes hungry with a sly smile flitting across his features. He rolls his hips the way he does when he rides you, and you let out a gruff moan, shoving your thigh between his legs. He grasps your shoulder for balance. "You're disgusting sometimes, Suguru."

You watch his tan skin flush, high on his cheekbones, as the rough texture of your jeans scratches and rubs his clothed cock. You can feel the heat of him through the denim.

He smiles, airy, and dips his thumb into the slit of your tip. It widens when your hips jerk into the wet ring of his hand. "Am I? Maybe you should fuck me at the temple. Sometimes I miss you and think about you in my office," he breathes, his hard cock poking out of his jocks, up along his hip. The tip is a lovely dusky colour, shiny and slick. "I wonder how you'd fuck me over my desk, make me tip over all my pens, or if you'd sit beneath it and suck me off." His eyes glitter as he runs a thumb over your lower lip, staring at them and biting his lip as if he's imagining it right then. Your cock throbs in his grasp. "Maybe both, if I'm missing you particularly hard."

"Suguru," you hiss between your teeth.

He has the gall to look surprised, to look innocent, to tilt his head in the way that makes his bangs frame his face so well. "What? You don't miss me while you're at work, too?"

You shove your hands into his underwear, wrapping your fingers around his pretty cock. He gasps, eyes widening slightly at the heat that shocks up his spine, and his grip loosens slightly around your length. You wrap your hand around his, reminding him, and he hurriedly returns to his previous pace, a little more haphazard now.

"Don't say things like that," you murmur, jerking him off as you press him into the kitchen counter, leaving him nowhere to run – not that he'd ever want to. You click your tongue. "Damn it. Now I can't stop thinking about how you'd look all fucked out in your robes, with your skirts pulled up around your hips and your legs around my waist – shit, Suguru, the things you do to me..."

He almost whines, but manages to backtrack it into a breathy moan at the last second. He tries to buck up into your hand but you press him back down, your fingers wrapped stubbornly around his tip – and only his tip. Your strokes are quick and shallow.

He covers his mouth with the back of his hand, his ass clenching around nothing. Without the plug, he feels so terribly empty, his hole leaking excess lube down his taint so nasty-dirty-good. Your precome leaks down his palm and wrist in clear rivulets, and the slick sticky sound is enough to make the arousal bubbling in his stomach grow dangerously close to popping. He presses the curve of his nose against your throat like some possessive animal, drowning himself in your scent – clean, light, slightly sweet. Like fresh linens that he falls into at the end of a tiring journey.

"S-Sorry," he gasps, chuckling when he can between pants. He nips a hickey below your ear, far too high to hide with a collar, and hums, pleased, at the sight. "It's also not a skirt."

"Well, fuck me for not knowing."

"What do you think I'm doing?" He squeezes your cock, nails dragging lightly against the veins. He moans as you press deeper into his space, chests pressed together like you're trying to get inside his skin. You let go of his cock and spread his cheek with one hand, the other dipping into his slick hole. It's warm, swollen already from his prep. "Hey. Hands off the merchandise, darling."

Your eyes narrow as he slaps your hand away, handling you like a misbehaving child. He puts your hand back around his cock, guiding your hand up and down at a pace he likes. You mutter, "By that measure, I shouldn't be allowed to do this, either. It's merchandise, too, right?"

You flick your wrist roughly, tugging his cock back and forth. His hips jerk forward, a sweet whimper spilling from his lips, and he glances up at you, eyes half-lidded and hungry. You tilt your head briefly, smug and mocking.

Suguru pouts slightly, still looking up at you through his dark lashes. He knows he looks good, baring his neck and flicking his silky hair over his shoulder to make his neck seem even longer, elegant and swanlike. "Careful. Annoy me too much and you won't get off tonight."

"And how are you going to enforce that? Will you cut off my hands – the hands you seem to love so much?" you taunt, stroking him faster. He moans freely, fucking into your fist.

"If I need to. Hm, fuck—" He inhales sharply, his cock twitching fiercely in the hot, sticky tunnel of your hand. "Fingers. Put your fingers in me – quickly."

Despite his uncharacteristic lack of manners, you obey, swapping your hand from his cock to his ass. He moans in relief, one leg naturally hiking up the outside of your thigh. He hooks an arm around your shoulders, nails digging into your skin for balance.

"Thought you said I wasn't allowed to touch you," you murmur. "Changed your mind that fast?"

"Remember, it's a privilege I can rescind."

His ass is warm and slick, his walls impossibly soft, and he clenches hungrily around your two fingers, taking them in to the knuckle with ease. His hole squelches quietly, lube making things wet and easy. He spends his time gazing at you, memorising your features, those dark eyes and long lashes fluttering as you push your fingers deeper, making him arch flush against you with a keening whine. His cock throbs against your thigh, rubbing your hip.

"Another," he whispers, grinding back into your palm. "I can take another, baby."

Slipping a third finger in offers the first taste of resistance. He is tight, his walls fluttering around you. His eyes squeeze shut and his nails dig into your bicep as he grips you for stability.

"Too quick?" you ask, watching him carefully.

Immediately, he shakes his head, opening his eyes and tipping his head back. His eyes flick from the ceiling to you, and he attempts a smile. "No. No, don't stop. I can handle it."

"Are you sure? I can grab more lube—"

"You'll do no such thing," he snaps, grabbing your wrist to keep you from pulling out of him. His eyes are narrowed, intense. "I've been dreaming about your cock all week, and if you make me wait even a second longer, I will actually electrocute you."

You suck in a breath between your teeth, gently thrusting your fingers in and out of him until he's reassured that you're not running away. "Okay, okay... Sorry for trying to be nice to you, Suguru. I wanted you to be able to walk straight in the morning."

"I don't want to walk straight tomorrow." He's starting to relax around your fingers, and his expression isn't so tight anymore. "I want you to make me ache, baby. I want to press on your bruises when I shower, want to get annoyed because you always put your hickeys far too high on my neck. If I can't have your cock every night, I want to be reminded of it every day – until I can get what I really want all over again."

He continues, tracing shapes into your shoulder: "Cycles, circles, Ouroboros. You're the one beautiful habit I never want to break. Funny, isn't it? That I remember your love through pain."

Suguru takes your silence as acceptance. He pats your arm and you gently slide your fingers out of him. He turns around and aligns your thick, glossy cockhead with his hole. He lowers himself carefully, letting out a low moan as it breaches his hole and sinks inside, inch by excruciating inch.

"Fuck," he hisses, lifting his hips higher. "Fuck, I – hnn. You're always so fucking thick."

"Sorry."

"You're not." His hole clamps around you as he rocks shallowly back and forth, spreading his knees slightly wider to accommodate. "Don't lie, or I'll have to punish you, you know."

"Punish me? Really?" You hum, resting your hands on his hips and allowing him to adjust at his own pace. "How would you do that?"

"Oh, I can think of all sorts of things," he replies breezily, taking a slow breath in. He pushes back against you, harder, and manages another couple of inches – the sight's heavenly, watching your cock slowly vanish into your beautiful Suguru. Your beautiful husband, in another life. He always seemed suited to the picket-fence life.

The squeeze is almost unbearable. If you look down at the skin-to-skin join between your bodies, watch him gradually take inch by inch until you're settled nice and deep in his tummy, you might come early. His soft, ample ass seems almost at odds with the rest of him – broad, tall, elegantly lean in that historical-romance way. You press your fingers into the meat of his ass and the amount of give that dips in is almost obscene.

The jock strap digging into his thighs doesn't help your case. Your cock throbs and you can feel every ridge of him, every vein of your dick scraping against his slick, hot walls.

With his ass pressed flush against your hips, Suguru glances over his shoulder, eyes lidded and smile halfway to drunk. His cheeks are pink, and he arches his back further, as if to entice you.

"Look at me, baby," he pants, palms pressed against the counter. "See how deep you are inside me? See how you ruin me?"

You place your hands on the shelf of his hips – gentle, caressing. With a thumb, you spread his ass, revealing his puffy hole wrapped tight around your cock. It clenches as you stare, like it's winking at you, and Suguru leans down against the kitchen counter and pushes his ass up, trying to take more of your length.

"You're beautiful," you murmur, voice soft and reverent like a prayer. You stroke his thigh up his hip, his waist, across the smooth expanse of his back. He shivers under your touch, arching into it. "I don't want to ruin beautiful things."

"Well, this beautiful thing is asking you to," he says, peering over his shoulder at you with a flippant smile. "Demanding, actually. So get on with it."

You tease him with a slow rocking of your hips, gliding against his swollen prostate with each thrust. "Whatever you want."

A displeased downward turn of his mouth has you swallowing a laugh. He stares at you, brows furrowed, and grabs your hip, attempting to set the pace himself – you don't let him, pushing him forward until he's flush with the counter, the edge digging into his bulge painfully. He winces, a throb of pleasure running up his spine.

"Not like that," Suguru breathes, a frustrated pout gracing his lips. "Harder."

"What if I wanted to take care of you, make you feel good?"

"You'll take care of me by fucking me harder," he orders, and his eyes glint with a challenge. "Remember, this is a present. I can take it back."

"Yeah? Then what'll you do? Go hide in our bathroom and fuck yourself with your modest little toys, maybe two at a time because they're not big enough to stretch you like I can?" you taunt, abruptly snapping your hips forward. He gasps and moans, nodding breathlessly as he clamps around you.

"You can sit between my legs, if you want," he huffs, grinning at the irritated click of the tongue he receives. "Or maybe I'll tie you down. I like it when you watch."

"Brat," you mutter, yanking his hips against yours with a wet slap. He jerks and moans, soft and feathery. He shakes his hair out over his shoulder as a velvet waterfall, watching you slyly from the corner of his eye.

He's too pretty for his own good. He knows you melt when it comes to him, and now he's using it against you, giving you sweet puppy eyes and arching his spine adorably hopefully.

"If you don't tease, I won't either," he promises, rolling his hips. He blinks back at you, his seductive half-bitten smile turning as sweet as strawberry clouds as you nibble at the crook of his shoulder. He shivers and curls up with a soft giggle, ticklish. His eyes crinkle. "Baby..."

"Mm, Suguru?" You sweep his hair to one side, nipping and sucking at his soft skin. As usual, you pepper your love bites far too high – he'll be tucking his hair forward for days. At least it'll be easy to press on the bruises with a subtle hand raise, letting him relive the pleasure of receiving them – the heat of your breath, the sound of your groans – whenever his mind starts to wander.

"I'm trying to be sexy. Don't make me laugh," he whispers, looping his arm loosely around the back of your neck and twisting his fingers in your hair.

Lazily, you thrust deep into him, tip to root, making his breath catch in his throat. The veins of your cock drag against his impossibly soft, warm walls – his insides ripple around you and he shudders, tightening further and pulling a groan from deep within your chest.

"What do you mean? You're sexy when you laugh," you object, your fingers gliding over his bulge, the cloth damp and hot. His hips jolt as you hook a finger into them and tug them down, freeing his wet, twitching length. "Don't you think so?"

He gasps sharply as your touch glides over his tip and your index finger rubs his leaky slit. His hole clamps around you. "I—fuck..."

You keep your pace unhurried, uneven, and mouth at the red bruises blooming across his skin. He's warm and pliant in your arms despite his earlier bravado – you smooth your thumb across the base of his neck, soothing and possessive all at once. He gnaws on his lower lip to suppress a whine – it was too early for that. He wasn't one to be ruined so easily, and he was determined to make you work for it.

"I love you," you murmur, tilting his face towards you and landing a kiss under his pierced ear. "So answer me, Suguru. If you don't, I'll finish with my hand and leave you to the toys you seem to like so much. Is that what you want, angel?"

He nearly bites straight through his lip. The pet name is so terrifyingly domestic, so affectionate, something he can imagine you saying when he greets you after work at the front door. He'd wear an apron and a sweater, soup bubbling on the stove, and you'd kiss him breathless as if you hadn't seen him just that morning. He licks his lips and his head twitches 'no' – barely there, embarrassed at his own fantasies.

"I..." He lets out a shaky breath as your cock throbs, hot and thick, in his deepest parts. "That wouldn't be so bad. At least I'd actually be able to come."

He grins then, breathless and playful, and there's an edge in his gaze as sharp as a blade. Your grip tightens on his hips. "Is that right?"

Suguru hums in assent, sighing in pleasure as you tease him with the pace he wants – just a few moments of it and he's already achingly hard, his cock arcing up towards his stomach. "Or I could... head down to the nearest bar. Find some more obedient company."

Behind him, you go deathly still, and he knows he's got you hook, line, and sinker.

"No."

"No?"

"No," you repeat, firmer, leaning into his warmth and burying your face in his shoulder. Cursed energy swirls beneath his skin, dancing between his cells with a tangy sweetness that fills your skull like a heavy, rich cologne. Your arms tighten around him. "You're mine, Suguru. You've always been mine." You kiss a darker hickey on his neck and he shudders at the twinge of pain that electrifies his spine. He grips your wrist, fingers fluttering nervously over the bones and tendons. "You want a reminder? Well, anything for my angel."

You press him into the countertop and snap your hips forward, skin clapping with the impact. He gasps, jolting forward, and when his mouth opens – to talk back or demand a kiss – all that tumbles out is a shaky, whiny moan.

You keep the pace deep and rough, hands sliding down his toned chest and stomach to rest on the shelf of his hips – two dainty handholds just made for you to drag him back on your cock, to keep him with you. His hair bounces, strands slowly coming loose to frame his blown-out pupils and dark, sinful blush. He flicks his head to toss it over his shoulder and gazes back at you, pink lips glossy and parted into a perfect 'O'. He reaches for your hand, cupping your knuckles – it's like you're holding hands – and grins, biting back cries that come out instead as short, ragged gasps.

"Now, that wasn't so hard, w-was it?" he moans, body jerking and weight shifting forward. He compensates by balancing on the balls of his feet, and it arches his back in a gorgeously tempting way. His cock digs into the edge of the counter and his expression tightens, a choked whimper escaping through his teeth. His nails dig into the cool white stone. "A-All it took – hah – was a little jealousy."

The thick head of your cock crushes his swollen, sensitive prostate. A tremor wracks his body as liquid fire rushes through his dick, making him yelp like a wounded little bunny. Traitor that it is, his cock throbs and leaks faster, precome shining messily on his firm stomach.

"I'd say possessive, not jealous," you respond, watching his tight hole swallow your whole length with pornographic ease. He's impossibly warm and soft, gummy insides tender and uber-sensitive from sitting on the plug for so long. It makes you wonder. All that squirming during dinner – was he fantasising about how you'd fuck him? Wishing the weight of the plug was from your cock instead? "Jealousy implies a desire for something I don't have. But I do have you – I have you all spread out and eager for me, eager for a cock too big to fit in you."

You emphasise your point with a pointed thrust, crushing your hips against his ass and making him choke. His hand flies down to his stomach, pressing on the smooth bump gliding against his walls. His thighs tremble. "You belong to me. The outside—" you kiss his hickeys "—and the inside—" you cup the bulge in his stomach "—is all mine."

Suguru shivers despite the heat burning beneath his skin. He gasps out your name, his heart stuttering as you press a chaste but lingering kiss to the nape of his neck. All of this – it's the same song and dance he plays out when he's haunted by what could have been, his side empty and cold where you should be. Perhaps it comforts him to have control – to know that within these four walls, you would do anything for him.

He's made peace with your choice to stay, but that doesn't mean he loves it. When he was younger, he was bitter. Didn't want to see you. It reminded him of who you'd chosen over him – people like Satoru, who hadn't known you for half as long as he did, nor as deeply. Your experiences were his experiences, and naively, he'd believed that you'd spend your whole lives doing just that: sharing, being together. He thought it was pathetic how shattered he was when you broke that dream.

Now, though – older, a little bit wiser – he appreciates the rest of it that much more. Despite your unwavering loyalties, your strongest beliefs, you made him your only exception – someone you couldn't live without, even if it risked the loss of everything you'd worked to keep.

You'd be exiled. Hunted down. Slaughtered like a feral dog. And still, you reached for him. That meant something.

As you pick up the pace, hips smacking against Suguru's plump ass, so do his pretty sounds. His sighs turn into sharp, drawled moans, punched-out while his mouth falls open, your pace making it hard to breathe. His nails dig into the stone counter top.

"Yes," he breathes, eyes fluttering shut. "Yes. My holes are the only ones you're allowed to fuck. They're yours. I'm yours. I only want you."

It's almost sweet. His voice is soft with gasps and sighs, his usual purring tone sharpened with pleasure. He's behaving now, so you'll let him have what he wants. You slide a finger beneath the strap of his jocks, gliding against his smooth skin, and snap it back against him – his breath hitches and his hole clamps tightly around you. You groan, deep and hungry, at the feeling. He shivers against your chest, his skin prickling with gooseflesh.

"Mm... I never tire of hearing that," you huff against the hickeys on his neck. The sound of skin slapping skin echoes obscenely in your apartment and Suguru's heart knocks up a little bit higher on each thrust, each breath coming shorter and sharper than the last. You grab his arms and twist them behind his back – he stumbles slightly, stomach pressing flat against the cool countertop, and his body seizes at the cold shock. You let out another low rumble, the sound rolling pleasingly into Suguru's warm, sticky skin.

Your grip tightens on his wrists and his slender fingers flex, his index finger brushing against the side of your wrist in the ghost of a hand-hold. He chokes on a cry as you snap your hips into his ass, rough and starved. His knees buckle and you tut softly as you yank him back up and set him on the counter again, burying his weeping cock beneath his own weight. He whimpers softly and tries to lift his hips to alleviate the discomfort, but all that does is slam your cock directly into his soft swollen prostate, forcing it even deeper than before.

He comes.

The world goes white. The pressure of his arms pinned back. His cheek pressed to the hard countertop. The cold stone slick with his hot, creamy release. It all explodes forth in a searing hot burst.

"Wait," he gasps, his tongue thick and rubbery in his mouth. His eyes roll back as you fuck him through it, not slowing down for a second. Moans spill past his red, bitten lips, bouncing off the tiled kitchen walls. "Wait—! Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck, no – more – more, more, feels so good, baby, you feel so good—"

"Speak clearly, angel," you hum, pumping your cock into his tight, wet hole. "Stop? Go? Slower? Faster? How deep do you want me inside your pretty belly?"

He whimpers at the slew of choices, his body working too fast for his thoughts to keep up. You were teasing him just a while ago, but now? He came so quickly after you put it in. He flushes hotly, embarrassment flaring in his chest. He feels like a teenager again: small, vulnerable. Loved.

"Don't stop," he pants, eyes fluttering shut as his cock pulses and spurts, smearing his stomach and the counter below him in glossy white streaks. "Don't stop, don't go slow, please—"

So you don't. You fuck him until his cock softens, until his hole becomes creamy and sticky with your seed. Then you keep going.

You're certain Suguru was made to take your cock. His ass ripples as you slam into him, his taut hole swallowing your dick and milking it with every thrust. Gummy and tender-warm with your precome, his insides flex and quiver, squelching crudely every time your hips clap against his ass.

He doesn't complain when you sink your teeth high into his neck, his mouth falling open as his body jolts with melting pain and pleasure. His spine arches, ass clenching around you, as he tips over the precipice and paints his stomach white.

Time passes. How much exactly, Suguru doesn't know – his balls ache with countless orgasms while his legs tremble and struggle to keep him up. He nearly collapses at one point, thighs shaking so badly he's practically bouncing on your thick cock. His moans are loud, unrestrained, and desperate, as if he belongs nowhere better but here.

Somehow, despite his foggy, clouded thoughts, he notices when your breathing quickens and your thrusts grow erratic. He cries out in anguish. "No! No, don't, hah, don't c-come yet, don't stop fucking me, come with me," he mewls, his throbbing cock so hot it feels like it's going to melt right through the stone counter. "'M close, 'm so close, wanna keep coming on your perfect cock – please," he moans, delirious and teetering on the edge. "Ah, ah, ah—! I love your big cock! I love you so much—!"

You hips stutter. Suguru has never been one to say 'I love you' like that – never so spontaneously, and never so clearly. Perhaps part of him was afraid you'd be taken from him if he said it too loudly – if he would lose you if he loved you to a fault.

"Suguru," you whisper, voice so soft and tender and fragile that it makes him unravel on the spot.

He goes first. He will always go first.

But you can't hold back any longer. Not when he's covered in your marks and teary with bliss you imposed onto him. You slam in, excess lube rolling down his thighs in thick creamy teardrops, and he gasps and scrabbles at anything within reach, trying helplessly to release his crushed, aching cock, wet in its filthy little puddle of sticky come.

He manages to hook his knee over the countertop. His dark, heavy, pulsing cock swings and smacks against the counter, sending shocks of hard pleasure rocketing up his spine. The position makes his eyes roll back into his skull. You hiss, releasing his wrists with one hand to spread his asscheek and drive your cock even deeper into him. He quivers violently. His tight hole scrapes the throbbing veins of your cock and he moans your name in a whiny drawl, hot cheek pressed into the cool stone.

"Feel so good in me," he whispers, mouth lax as he pants, the whites of his eyes showing as you shove right up against his prostate. His spine arches, sweat gathering in the small of his back, and you roll your hand down the curve of his hip, pressing the smooth bulge distending his stomach. With each thrust he unravels a little more, body jolting roughly. "Don't stop. Please don't stop."

"I know, angel," you rasp, not missing the way he clenches at the pretty name. "Fucking dripping for me, aren't you?" You slap his ass with a meaty smack, making him jerk and mewl. His jockstrap digs into his thighs. "Shit, jus' look at you, darling. Drooling for my cock, dressing up all pretty f'me... Can't get enough of my attention, can you?"

Suguru shakes his head dumbly, panting like a dog as his hair constantly brushes the countertop, slipping free from his clip to stick to his damp, flushed face. "Have to – h-hafta make sure I'm the best fuck you've ever h-had – hahh! – s-so you only ever give your cock to – mmn – me." His dark, lidded gaze flicks to yours over his shoulder, his swollen lips parting and sticking at the corners. "S'mine. Don't forget it."

He's beginning to sound a little worn out, chest heaving and breath shaky and uneven. His numbers must be up there by now – six, maybe. You're not far behind. He starts to babble, sharp moans and cries interjected between how full he feels, how perfect your cock is, how he could orgasm from the feeling of your come alone.

It's filling your head. Suguru's praise, the sweet sound of his moans, the adoration thick in his voice each time he whimpers your name... anyone would give it up for him. Anyone would beg at his feet for a sliver of his attention yet here you are, the lucky one drowning in something he gives to you freely. Your cock throbs dangerously, heavy inside him, and he presses back desperately as best he can.

His messy, come-sticky hole gulps you down to the root. With a hungry, desperate growl, you slam into him, his ass rippling with the impact, and he screams your name as your cock stuffs a thick bulge in his stomach.

His head tilts back. His toes curl. His mouth falls open.

He comes violently. Beautifully. It feels even better because you do it together. The overbearing warmth spills into him, thick and creamy, and he gawps as you pin him down on your cock, forcing him to take every heavy spurt and feel every pulse. You hold him protectively, groans deep and pleased and puffing hotly against his sweaty neck.

You stay connected for a while as you fuck him through his high. Yours lasts longer than his – courtesy of his several earlier climaxes – and he lies limp and sated in your grasp as you lazily thrust into his wet hole. Frothy white come dribbles down his taint as you draw back slowly, his puffy taut hole gaping and clenching around you when you eventually slide out. He lifts and wiggles his hips, still calming down from the aftershocks.

You let out a shaky sigh as you lean back and admire his abused hole, fucked wide open. You hook a thumb into his entrance and tug slightly – he trembles, toes curling and thighs flexing, as a thick rush of come dribbles forth down his balls and shaft. He digs his fingers against the counter and you rub your come into his skin, using it like lube to pump his softened, messy cock. He jerks involuntarily into the creamy hole of your fist, hot velvety balls pressing against the edge of your palm, and the loud, sticky wet sounds emanating from between his legs make him quiver with filthy pleasure.

You let go once his body sags against you, thoroughly fucked out with nothing left to give. He lets you lead him into a deep, over-the-shoulder kiss, his gasps and soft moans sleepy and content as your lips smack and mould together, warm and plump. His eyes are closed, his hand resting over yours and curled gently around it.

Finally, you part, both gasping for air. His eyes flutter open, admiring you, and he steals another kiss, moaning lazily as you press your cock between his asscheeks and grind against him. He rocks back into you.

He spends a while just like that, kissing you and grinding against your length as he gathers himself and figures out how to use his legs again. It shouldn't be that hard, but his brain feels foggy, clouded, and the way you kiss him so desperately makes him feel like he's the only one in the world worth knowing.

"I love you, you know," he whispers eventually, blinking slowly up at you like a cat. "Really. I don't want to live without you. I don't think I could live without you."

You turn him over gently, letting him sink into your embrace as he buries his face in your neck, the scent of your musk and cologne tangling his thoughts. His body aches pleasurably.

"It's okay, Suguru," you murmur into his soft dark hair; it smells like coconut. You stare, unseeingly, at one of the many bright mineral dots baked into the white stone. Despite having him warm and breathing in your arms, he feels terrifyingly far away, like brushing fingers over a cliff edge. You wonder if you'll be fast enough to catch him before he falls. "You'll never have to."

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