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For the longest time, Shoko used to think that she’d end up alone.
Although she enjoys the intimacy of intercourse, she’d rather not indulge in penetrative sex if she can help it. She likes being on the giving end. In charge, setting the pace, strap perpetually on. She also likes masturbating. Touching herself when she watches her partners get off. It’s a kind of mindless bliss that she doesn’t really feel any other way.
But it’s always been more than a bit difficult to vocalise her preferences when she’s so insecure about them herself. Who would be into a freak like her? Someone who winces when they cross boundaries, someone who doesn’t obtain pleasure from carnal indulgences of the flesh. Someone abnormal and unlovable.
With this mindset, Shoko navigates most of her relationships in such a way that her partners can’t tell. It’s not like she has to fake her orgasms— no, her body’s always been easy to strum. But she has to fake her enthusiasm, her pliancy, her euphoria. Every relationship is like static noise in a broken TV screen, growing whiter and more distorted with every passing day, burning into her eardrums like a beat that never ceases. Until she breaks. And the relationship breaks with her.
Sometimes, she wonders if it’s her fault. She wonders if things would be different if she spoke out about it. If she explained her sexual orientation. But then again, those relationships never last long enough for the opportunity to rise anyway.
***
Everything changes with Satoru.
Satoru is her friend. Annoying shit-eating grin perpetually fixed on his face, blue eyes glinting with the kind of mischief that’s borderline infectious, tall and lanky with legs for days and an ego to rival his frame. Equal parts annoying and endearing and just plain obnoxious. Shoko never would’ve imagined hooking up with Satoru, let alone falling in love with him. But life’s funny like that. When it throws you lemons, you bite into the flesh ‘cause you’re secretly into how sour it is.
It starts with being friends with benefits. Like some cliche American rom-com. Only it’s different when it comes to them. They’re just sprawled out on the couch with the TV playing in the background. Shoko has her hands down Satoru’s pants, palming at his cock, thumbing at the slit and rubbing the precome around the head. He’s whimpering, soft, breathy, desperate; hips thrusting up, bucking into her fist. He’s cute like this, all pliant and debauched under her touch.
“Shoko—” Satoru’s voice hitches when she starts jerking him off in earnest, contracting her fist and trying to tip him over the edge as fast as possible.
She learns quite quickly that she likes the look on his face when he falls apart— eyes going all round and glassy, spit slick lips parting in a broken moan, eyebrows shooting up into his silver hair. So pretty.
And it’s all because of her.
With a low grunt, Satoru slumps back against the couch, chest rising and falling rhythmically as he closes his eyes and licks his dry lips.
“Do you— Don’t you need help, Shoko?” Satoru slurs, peeling his eyes open with effort. He stretches his arm, bones languid, reaching out to give her a hand.
“It’s okay,” Shoko says, pulling her hands out of Satoru’s pants, not bothering to wipe them. She swallows harshly, second-guessing herself, wondering if she should just give in and let Satoru do the normal thing and fuck her. But she chooses against it. This is Satoru, after all, her best friend. She can be herself with him, even if she can’t with anyone else. Satoru is different.
“I uh—” Shoko swallows the lump in her throat, her chest suddenly tight with urgency.
She spreads her legs apart, slowly inserting her cum slicked hand down her panties. She hums as she parts her lips and feels around for her clit. But all the while, she refuses to break eye contact with Satoru, breath hitching when she sees the way his eyes widen as he watches.
“I like taking care of myself,” she whispers, embarrassed by how vulnerable she sounds.
But Satoru nods, lips parting in what looks like appreciation. He turns towards her, eyes a little droopy, still fucked out. There’s a hint of a smile on his lips, amused. It should be weird because it's Satoru. But maybe, it’s because it’s Satoru that it’s not weird at all.
“That’s hot,” Satoru says, voice low and raspy. “You’re fucking sexy, Shoko. Why are we only doing this now?”
Satoru’s words ignite something inside Shoko, something fond, something exhilarating. Validating . She rubs her clit, humming softly, purring under her breath as she continues to play with her clit. She presses a finger against her hole, gently pushing in. The slide is easy because of a combination of her slick and the remnants of Satoru’s cum on her fingers.
“Fuck, Shoko, I’m gonna get hard again if you keep doing that.” Satoru groans, his hands going down to his soft dick. He winces when he palms at it over the layer of his shorts. Shoko can see it twitch and stretch against the damp spot where his ejaculate stains the cotton.
She smiles, reaching over with her free hand and giving him an experimental tug. It’s comical the way he falls apart at just a feather’s brush of her fingertips, oversensitive but simultaneously horny as fuck. Leaning into Shoko’s touch, just taking what she has to offer.
And God, Shoko loves to give.
***
They’re a few months into this weird unspoken arrangement. More than friends, less than lovers. But theirs is the kind of dynamic that Shoko could’ve never even dreamed of. Satoru compliments her in more ways than she can count. He’s still a total brat in every other way though. They still have the same repertoire, the same easy conversation and company. Fitting together like two pieces of a jagged puzzle, imperfect but in a way that’s better than perfect ever could be.
The first time Shoko pegs Satoru, he comes harder than he ever has in all the time they’ve been together. He’s a whiny little mess on the sheets, face down, ass up, drooling into his pillow.
“Does it feel good?” Shoko smiles, already knowing the answer from the way Satoru’s ass contracts around her dildo. She swerves her hips, forcing away the smile on her face as Satoru trembles beneath her.
“Oh fuck—” Satoru wheezes out, his voice sounding absolutely wrecked. He’s cute— why is he always so cute when he’s fucked to an inch of his life? “That feels—” Satoru whines when Shoko bears down on him, pushing in deeper and making his spent cock drool onto the mattress. “Best sex I’ve ever had— For God’s sake, Shoko, just move!”
“You just came like five seconds ago though.” Shoko clicks her tongue teasingly. But she gives in to him, lifting her hips up and pulling out of his ass, watching in fascination as his puffy rim stretches around her plastic cock, a pretty contrast between pink and black. “Such a slut, aren’t you Satoru?”
“Yes—” Satoru groans, arching his back as if he can’t get enough— such an impatient little thing. “Fuck me, Shoko, please. Give it to me good.”
Shoko hums in affirmation, holding the base of her dildo before she rubs it along the cleft in Satoru’s ass. When she plunges in, the rhythm is slow and steady, and Satoru’s wretched moans resonate with the same beat.
Shoko leans forward, pressing her front against Satoru’s back as she bottoms out, feeling him twitch as she plugs him full, the tip no doubt pressing against his prostate. She hums in his ear, making to nip into his earlobe.
Only to press her lips against his mouth when he turns around and captures her lips in their first kiss.
***
Shoko doesn’t like labels. Never has, probably never will. But labelling her relationship with Satoru makes her feel all tingly inside. Another first, once again with Satoru. He’s her
‘boyfriend’
now. What a bizarre word. But oh, does it roll so smoothly off her tongue.
It was somewhere along the way that she came to the realisation that what she has with Satoru is the best deal she’s ever going to get. No one’s ever accepted her the way he has. Without any questions, just falling into place with her and matching her stride. He’s never pondered about why she is the way she is, never tried to fuck her or assert his dominance over her the way most men in her life have done over the years.
No. Satoru is like an amalgamation of everything Shoko has ever wanted and never known just how much.
The feeling— the
epiphany
of it all— washes over her one day, leaving her vulnerable and afraid. She doesn’t think she’s ever been in love, or if she’s even capable of the feeling at all. But she
knows
that what she has for Satoru is the kind of affection that she will be hard pressed to find a second time in this lifetime. It simultaneously makes her feel vulnerable and fucking terrified. But the feeling dissipates almost instantly in the face of it being Satoru. Just Satoru. Shoko isn’t afraid of Satoru, she could never. She trusts him more than anyone else in the world. She trusts him enough to tell him how much he means to her now.
Satoru’s laying across her lap as she jerks his cock with a fleshlight. He’s whimpering under her ministrations, six feet three inches of pliant man, teary eyed and so so perfect. Just for her.
“Hey?” She whispers, hands twitching and making him jerk his hips up. That warrants a disciplinary smack to his thighs, which only makes his cock drool even more. At first, she contemplates beating around the bush, dilly dallying and casually confessing her feelings. But she’s never been one for subtlety, and she knows Satoru will never hurt her, no matter what his answer.
“I think I love you, you know that?”
“Huh?” Satoru looks up, voice breaking on a sob when Shoko resumes stroking his cock through the sleeve, face merciless in spite of the urgent conversation they’re having at the moment. “I love you too, Shoko. You’re the best girlfriend I’ve ever had. Oh fuck—”
“Oh—” Shoko’s breath catches. Her hand freezes in place for a minute. “You— you do? Girlfriend?” She clears her throat, cheeks warming over, chest getting all tingly. “I didn’t know we were a thing.”
“Duh!” Satoru grunts, rolling his hips as if chasing his release by himself. “Fuck Shoko— I thought that was obvious. I fucking introduced you as my girlfriend to Nanami—”
Shoko hums at that, a little miffed when she remembers the absolute agony on Nanami’s face at the introduction, as if he felt like she was kept at gunpoint and forced to accept the relationship. But then again, she didn’t know Satoru was being serious. Now that she knows the truth, everything weighs heavier. But in the best way possible. Shoko chuckles, before going back to Satoru, flicking her wrist mercilessly as she takes him over the edge.
Satoru comes dry for the first time that day, entire body twitching with oversensitivity and exhaustion. Shoko rubs his chest and cards her fingers through his hair the whole time, pressing butterfly kisses all over his cheeks as he mumbles a litany of incorrigible confessions of his love for her.
***
Sometimes, Shoko wonders if they get along so well because of how much Satoru likes to take it up his ass. Not that she’s complaining. But she’s still quite curious.
Her curiosity only grows when they start experimenting with Suguru. Surprisingly, it was Shoko’s idea. A fantasy she’s always been too afraid to indulge in before. Hmm, these are the moments where it feels like Satoru indulges her just as much as she indulges him.
Neither of them expected Suguru to agree when they not-so-subtly propositioned him to take part in their sex life. Maybe he’s bored or maybe he’s curious. But whatever it is, the only thing that matters is that he agrees in the end.
That’s how they end up here. With Satoru on his hands and knees as Suguru pounds into him from behind. For as much of a cocky bastard he is most of the time, he turns into the most considerate lover in the bedroom. He’s gentle but firm, silent but full of soft praise.
“You’re so tight, Satoru,” Suguru keens. “So good for me.”
Shoko sits opposite them, on a chair, with one leg up, finger buried deep inside her core. She bites into her lower lip as she watches Satoru fall apart. The first time they have Suguru over, it’s a bit weird. A myriad of emotions washes over her, overwhelming her senses. She’s jealous of Suguru’s frame, his strength, the way he manhandles Satoru as if he weighs nothing. Shoko can never give that to Satoru. Little licks of vitriolic envy tinge her gut at the thought.
But it’s also unbearably arousing. Watching Satoru look so blissed out, so unwound. Legs trembling, tear tracks running down his cheeks, eyes nearly rolling back into his skull, hair moussed all over the place, chest littered with hickeys, hips marked with the imprints of Suguru’s fingers. It’s fucking sexy.
“Look, Satoru.” Suguru’s voice brings Shoko out of her thoughts. He’s smirking, a little annoying but Shoko’s too into it to comment. “Look how turned on Shoko is by watching you,” Suguru continues, marking his words by grinding his hips down and making Satoru’s knees buckle against the mattress. “She’s touching herself to you, baby. She’s so wet just watching me take you apart.”
“Shoko—” Satoru sobs, a fresh batch of tears spilling out of his pretty eyes. Shoko’s chest twists, her heart flipping over with renewed adoration. Ah, it’s too much. Satoru’s looking at her with all the love in the world. She knows in that instant that even though he’s being fucked by someone else, it’s only as good as it is because she’s right there with him. Something else that’s so uniquely weird about their dynamic.
Shoko smiles, tender and with all the love in her heart. She takes her finger out, watching the way the thread of slick that connects the blunt tip of her nail to her lips breaks in the air. She reaches out and presses the slick wet against Satoru’s lips, smile growing fonder when he parts his lips and takes it into his mouth. She presses it flat against his tongue, cupping his cheek with her free hand as he closes his eyes and hums around her fingers.
Satoru really is everything she’s ever wanted and more.
Fin