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"That's enough!"
"No, that's not."
Satoru pouts. He is really, really frustrated, because Suguru is doing that on purpose, isn't he? He has never been so excruciatingly slow with the prep, and Satoru, impatient as he is, usually appreciates the other's impatience as well.
They never have time for it either; it is always a hasty fumble in the rough dorm sheets, or at any location they deem convenient because teenage hormones are a bitch, man, and Satoru can’t get enough of how much Suguru wants him.
Not this Suguru, apparently.
Or rather - this Suguru wants him in a very, very different way, he seems to enjoy unraveling, dismantling, peeling off every layer of Satoru, of his impatience, of his arrogance, of his quickly-ignited lust, to tune his body like a delicate instrument, refining every reaction to the pitch perfect and...
"Aaah," Satoru mewls wantonly when Suguru's fingers brush the sweet spot inside him with such a flawed precision, never where he needs it the most and still making him squirm and sending the hot waves through every cell of his body.
"Such a good boy, Satoru," murmurs Suguru, and his voice is too dark and potent, his fingers are too skilled, his hair is too long, his smile is too alluring, Satoru should probably worry about those divergences, but his prostate is being caressed again - oh so lightly - and he arches forward on the sheets, not able to stop from trying to impale himself deeper, craving the overwhelming pressure that he knows is waiting for him.
"Look at you," chuckles Suguru, and bends down, in between Satoru's legs, his bangs sliding over the overheated skin as another teasing caress, his breath puffs over Satoru's strained, painfully hard cock, it is his curse and his salvation, to feel all of this, all at once. Suguru nuzzles into the inner side of his thigh, before bending even lower, his fingers in Satoru's hole are now scissoring him, stretching the tender rim, exposing him beyond any limits. "You are so beautiful," says Suguru, and licks his perineum.
Satoru moans, bucking his hips up, but another hand grabs his waist, keeping him still. Open. Ready.
"That's enough," he tries to say, but the syllables are turning into molasses in his mouth. "I'm ready."
"Ready for what, Satoru?" Suguru somehow says it while still peppering with kisses his ass, his rim, sucking on the soft skin of his balls, and Satoru chokes on his next moan when three fingers inside him are joined by the fourth. "Your pretty little hole is so greedy, if you could, you'd have the whole hand inside you, wouldn't you?"
Satoru imagines.
Suguru laughs.
"You clench so deliciously at that, baby. Like the idea?"
It is probably very good that Satoru cannot answer right now.
His Suguru never calls him "baby".
His Suguru would be red as a tomato and flustered if Satoru suggested something like that (and it's usually Satoru who suggests, because he is greedy and wants to have all that Suguru can give him).
But his Suguru, too, would treat him like he is the most precious thing in the world, to be revered, worshipped, cared for.
It is uncanny, the differences, the similarities, but in his heart, Satoru just knows that both of them are - his. This Suguru just enjoys teasing a tad too much, as opposed to Suguru he is used to, who is also an impatient bastard. And that, Satoru thinks, deserves a punishment of sorts.
He arches up again, legs falling apart, he knows exactly how it looks: his lips are shiny with spit and puffed from chewing on them, his cheeks, and neck, and chest are covered with blush, hair falling on the pillows like an eerie halo. He knows exactly what his looks does to Suguru - to this Suguru, too, apparently, if the hunger in his eyes is something to judge.
Satoru doesn't even need to put on a performance so much - he is on the verge of coming, blissed out, he can feel every heartbeat surging through his body, sending shivers down his spine, unbearable heat coiling in his abdomen.
All he needs to do is expose himself completely, taking in the slightest frown on Suguru's forehead, his confident movements halting, and moan:
"Suguru, please..."
He doesn't do it often. Gojo Satoru doesn't beg (or at least frantically denies the fact afterwards), but he knows the power this little word has over Suguru.
This Suguru as well, it seems.
His expression is almost pained, there's something hidden in his tense jawline, in his cocked brows, something that Satoru cannot really grasp or give a name to - but somehow he understands that for whatever reason his plea hurts Suguru.
No can do.
He reaches out with his hand, brushing away silky black strands, getting a better look at Suguru's face - so familiar and unfamiliar at the same time.
There are no words, just a simple caress, non-demanding and mellow, but it seems to snap Suguru out of his daze.
He catches Satoru's hand and kisses his fingers.
And smiles - a little mean.
"As you wish."
Satoru splutters as he is being turned around and yanked to his knees, Suguru’s palm holding his throat - now quite squeezing, but the pressure is enough for him to start hyperventilating.
Suguru’s voice falls over his skin like silk, and the things he is whispering in Satoru’s ear make him gasp some more.
“You’re gonna do it yourself, sweetheart,” he says, and Satoru’s hole, fingered so thoroughly, dripping with the excess of lube, flutters and clenches in anticipation around nothing at the use of the petname. “Be a good boy and sit on my cock, you were made for it, after all, made for me and only for me, to fill you, to take you, to wreck you.”
There’s not enough air left in his lungs, but Satoru whines and wriggles back, eager to comply; he just needs it, needs it, needs it, he is so close to the edge already, and the mocking praise he gets doesn’t help at all; if anything, it makes him turned-on even more.
He feels Suguru’s sharp exhale on the crook of his neck when the hot, searing hardness nudges his ass, and it fills him with smugness. Whatever this Suguru is able to do to him, he is not immune to Satoru, never will be. So Satoru raises a bit on his shaking knees, grabs his asscheeks, spreading them apart, and rolls his hips back and down, teasing, probing, smearing the slick along Suguru’s tip that is prodding at his rim.
He starts lowering down, slow and cautious, it goes surprisingly easy but still the feeling of a thick flesh dragging on his walls tears a strangled, short moans out of his chest, and then the cursed energy in the room goes amok, concentrates in one singularity - even his Six Eyes cannot discern where it comes from, - and Suguru says: “Just in time,” oh-so-sweetly, grabs Satoru’s hips and jerks him down, punching the rest of the oxygen out of his chest.
Satoru cries.
He feels so full, he is burning, melting, perishing in this fire, and through the tears swelling in his eyes, he sees the dark maelstrom in the middle of the room, boiling, raving mad, and in the center of it, right in front of the bed, materializes…
Suguru.
His Suguru, in a dishevelled school uniform, loose strands of hair falling out of the messy bun, a scratch mark on his cheek, fingers crossed in the jujutsu incantation.
Satoru twitches, trying to lurch forward, but he is pinned into place, spread shamelessly, put on the display in front of their visitor, and Suguru behind him increases the pressure on his throat, fucking into him in measured, powerful thrusts, each of which makes Satoru wheeze and shudder.
He has never seen Suguru’s eyes open so wide, he thinks dazedly. He sees his lips moving, but he can’t hear a word, not now, when the pleasure is being wrangled out of his body, when his cock starts throbbing and leaking, when his sweet spot is being abused with such cruel precision, like Suguru knows exactly how to make him wail, bouncing on the hard dick. He can’t think straight, but he notices with a side-eye a flurry of curses, he sees Suguru’s mouth definitely shouting his name, and then, right before he is ready to spill, he is yanked forward, and thrown on the farthest side of the bed, convulsing in the throes of the ruined release.
They clash - Suguru and Suguru. Satoru curls up into a ball, trying to return his breathing to at least a semblance of normal, trying to shake off the edge he was left hanging on.
He sees familiar curses from both sides. He sees some new ones from the other Suguru. They are exchanging not only blows but words as well, but Satoru still cannot make out what both of them are saying. He just knows that his Suguru is furious, and that he is aiming to kill.
Not that it is easy, though - the other Suguru is older and more experienced, and while Satoru is flailing on the bed, trying to get up, he catches Suguru in a headlock, whispering something into his ear.
It doesn’t last long, though - the younger Suguru topples him with a round and squishy mushroom curse and rolls away, panting heavily.
Satoru grabs the headrest, getting on his knees.
The fight seems to stall for a moment before they clash again. This room must have some kind of protective barrier, not a usual veil cast over it, or it’d be destroyed in a few seconds.
The younger Suguru falters.
Satoru shouts his name.
Both dark-haired heads turn to him.
But he also sees how his Suguru summons one of his special grade cursed spirits, nimble fingers fold into a gesture for manifestation, and he knows - just knows, he’s not sure if it comes from the Six Eyes or not - that the gaze of the older Suguru lingers on him too long to react properly to the threat.
That’s why he does the only thing which comes to his mind.
The cursed energy pulses through him clean and strong - despite the daze, despite the collapse, it is somehow even more potent than usual, coming to his fingers at the first whim.
Red sends the other Suguru flying across the room - and exorcises the cursed spirit on its way.
Oops.
He sits down on the sheets, watching warily how his Suguru is hobbling towards him.
Well, he probably didn’t even like that cursed spirit, right?
Suguru doesn’t say anything; he just takes off his uniform jacket and wraps it around Satoru’s shoulders, squeezing him tightly in a short embrace before turning back to his opponent, who is scrambling to his feet.
“It must be a cursed apparition of sorts,” he says, raspy. “We just need to figure out the conditions to exorcise it.”
“You are welcome to try,” says the other Suguru amiably, wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth and fixing his simple navy-dark kimono - much to Satoru’s chagrin, he kinda liked it staring at that ripped body. “It was a curse, alright, but neither of you was its initial target.”
The air behind his Suguru’s shoulder writhes with the shadows of his projectile curses, ready to be summoned. Satoru grabs his hand.
“Wait,” he croaks. His voice feels foreign in his throat, and a fleeting thought of the fingermarks on his neck, which will definitely appear later, almost sends him back, into the daze, and the heat, and the wrecked-up, sick arousal still lingering in his body.
“Are you crazy?! After what he just did?”
“Wait,” repeats Satoru more firmly and turns to the other Suguru. “What do you mean?”
The man adjusts his sleeves and brushes away jet-black strands from his face. He is too calm, something is off, thinks Satoru. Well, apart from the whole setting of almost being fucked silly by the other version of his “it’s complicated”.
“It was me who was cursed,” explains the other version. He doesn’t make any attempt to summon his curses, which is probably good because Satoru can feel it, can almost see that enormous power swarming behind him, hundreds, thousands of them. He still thinks that they’d win if it came to fighting, even if it might be a little tough. But he also wants to understand - why?
“Cursed with what?” he asks, keeping hold on his Suguru’s hand - just in case. And also because it’s grounding. “Or should I ask - when?”
The other Suguru chuckles.
“Always a smart one, aren’t you, Sa-to-ru~?” Suguru beside Satoru flinches at these words as if he has been hit. “To make it clear, I am not even sure that my timeline is your guys’ future. It probably has to do something with repentance, or not repeating past mistakes, hmm…”
His tone is still playful, but there is something dark in his eyes, and suddenly Satoru understands.
He didn’t feel any sign of killing intent from that Suguru during the fight, not in the slightest. As if the man was doing it to…
“Looks to me that you are about to make even more mistakes if that is true,” growls his Suguru. “You wanna us to believe in time-travel?”
“You can believe in what you want. The important part for you, though, is to remember the things you cannot lose, not in any circumstances.”
“And what is it supposed to mean?”
“I don’t know, Suguru Geto, how about you tell me?”
Satoru senses that they are about to start another round, both of them. Suguru’s hand in his palm is clammy and shaking; he is livid, and confused, and desperately hurt - even his curses are screaming, shouting, crying somewhere on the periphery of the Six Eyes’ vision.
“So,” he says casually, squeezing Suguru’s hand as a warning, “you’ve gotten cursed, and instead of asking for help are doing all that?”
He waves around with his free hand, pointing vaguely at the half-shattered room that looks like a love hotel suite.
“Didn’t peg you for such a loser, Suguru.”
The smile the older Suguru gives him is wicked.
“A loser for whose cock you were begging so desperately some time ago?”
“Wait! Suguru! Shit…”
It is too late, the other Suguru indeed knows how to push all the buttons of his younger version, Suguru yanks away his hand from Satoru’s grasp, squid-like curses materialising in the tense air, discharging at their target. The room explodes with a flurry of hits once again, and Satoru is too tired and too overwhelmed to deal with those two idiots. He closes his eyes and reaches out for the cursed energy that hums softly inside him like a giant purring cat.
The well-measured hit of Blue knocked out most of the curses - without exorcising them this time, because Satoru is generous like that - and brought both opponents to the floor, at the bed’s feet (for a second, he really regrets that he cannot calibrate it well enough to make them sit in seiza).
Satoru cleared his throat.
“Now. First of all, I haven’t mastered the Domain Expansion technique yet, and let’s agree nobody in this room wants to test what happens if I open my Domain, right? So try to behave,” he pointed his finger at each of them in turn. “Suguru.”
“But!..” his Suguru is going to be his biggest headache in all that, isn’t he?
“Listen, aren’t you curious what made you in the future to be like…” he shrugs and waves his hand vaguely, and the invisible strings of Limitless still tied to his fingers are making the whole room shake. What the fuck is happening with his techniques?
“I don’t want to know,” grits his Suguru through his teeth, glaring at the other version. “The only thing I know is I'd rather die than hurt you. In the future, in the past, always.”
It makes Satoru warm and giddy inside, because even if he knew that already, somewhere in the depth of his soul, Suguru never, never said things like that out loud. They were always dancing around the obvious, building whatever they were having on presumptions and inklings, and it is… nice, he guesses? To hear it.
“But you didn’t hurt me. He didn’t hurt me,” he says, softly, suddenly aware that he is still sitting on the crumpled and sullied bedsheets, half-naked, his ass bare and sore, his skin covered with marks, and is lecturing the two versions of the person he would rather fall down back onto the bed and continue from where they’ve stopped.
Wait.
The idea sends a spark of arousal to his groin.
He shivers. He shouldn’t - but he is. Open, sore, already wrecked… and still wanting more.
“Actually,” he murmurs, and shifts his eyes to another Suguru, who looks at him with a fond amusement and longing absolutely unfit for someone who is trying to play a villain here. “I’d like to use this chance and show you both.”
He crawls on the bed closer, not paying attention to the gakuran sliding from his shoulders, and they both stare at him with similar stupid looks, and gosh, that is starting to get interesting. If they were going to make a mess of timelines, of feelings - might as well let it get physical. Let it mean something.
“I don’t know what the conditions are to break the curse,” he says to the older Suguru while pulling the younger into his arms, pressing their bodies together, naked skin to a rough fabric, and Suguru gasps helplessly as Satoru straddles his thigh and ruts without any shame or restraint. “But I have a suggestion on how to get some satisfaction out of it.”
He muffles his Suguru’s protests with a kiss and hears the older version of him chuckling.
“Insufferable as always, aren’t you?”
He pulls away for a short gasp of air and quips back.
“Says who? C’mere, don’t make me wait.”
He thinks that he hears the other Suguru mumbling something like “I’d rather die” with a dire sadness in his voice, but he doesn’t have time to unpack that yet, not when he can have them both.
***
It is actually ridiculous how easy they comply, given how stubborn Suguru can be. It makes Satoru’s head spin - the knowledge of how weak Suguru is to his charms, both of them are, he feels drunk on his power, omnipotent almost, as if it was not him coming undone under Suguru’s touches just some time ago.
It turns him on beyond any limits, the realisation, or maybe it is the salty, savoury taste of two hard cocks curving upwards which he is licking oh-so-eagerly, trying to fit both in his mouth at the same time, choking, gagging, but stubbornly diving forward because he needs more.
Always more.
His eyes are full of tears, but he doesn’t need to see; he feels each raspy moan, each shiver on his tongue, on the back of his throat, in the painful strain of his jaw.
The strong hand grasps his hair, ripping him off, while he keeps chasing the fullness, lolling his tongue out.
“You are so pretty like that, Satoru,” says - the other Suguru? His Suguru? He doesn’t care, whimpering in frustration from being deprived of Suguru’s taste.
Two pairs of hands are turning him around, laying him down on the bedsheets, they shuffle around him, rearranging the entanglement of limbs, he feels the grip on his ankles, his legs are pushed up, spread apart, and he knows which Suguru it is, feels it in every cell of his being, they are too attuned to each other for him to make a mistake, he recognise the hastiness, the roughness that is not aimed to tease but comes from them both being insatiable when it concerns each other.
He doesn’t wait for his Suguru to line up, raising his hips, impatient to get breached, penetrated, claimed, and throws his head back when the hard length pushes through his sore, still leaking rim.
The other Suguru bends down over him and catches his lips in a fierce kiss, shoving his tongue as far as he can, licking the taste of their mixed arousal from the wet cavern of Satoru’s mouth, making him jerk up and tense on the cock drilling into him.
Suguru between his legs groans, bottoming out, and Suguru above him hums contentedly, pulling away - his loose hair tickling Satoru’s face and neck, smelling of incense and cursed energy rather than usual sandalwood and eucalyptus, which is the smell of his Suguru’s shampoo.
“So perfect, like you were made for it,” he murmurs, and grabs his chin, making him keep his mouth open. “So greedy. Here, baby, I know you want more.”
Satoru whimpers.
He does.
The other Suguru shuffles closer, hovering over him, strong thighs on both sides of Satoru’s face, and he grips them, grateful for something to hold on to, sinking his nails into the hard muscles when the older Suguru starts feeding him his thick cock, inch by inch.
His Suguru pulls out before slamming back in, and Satoru thrashes, pinned to the bed, opened wide, filled from the both sides, his body is craned between the two pulsing cocks thrusting into him, his vision goes blank from how overwhelmingly good it feels, he is choking, clenching, he doesn’t even know if it is his throat or his hole that convulses so violently anymore, he cannot locate the pleasure because it washes over him like a tsunami, merciless and sore, and when Suguru, balls deep in his throat, starts pinching and twisting his nipples with calloused fingers, he arches up on the sheets and comes without his dick even being touched, and it lasts ages, it lasts mere seconds, all his feelings go haywire, and those bastards…
They do not stop.
His Suguru grinds so insanely deep Satoru feels it almost in his ribcage, his movements less frantic, more gentle now, he whispers Satoru’s name like a prayer, and when the other Suguru pulls out, letting him finally breath, the string of filthy moans starts falling from Satoru’s swollen, abused lips, each thrust into his oversensitive insides on the verge of pain - but still igniting something in him.
More.
He wants more.
He blinks rapidly, trying to clear the tears, and meets the gaze of the older version of Suguru, full of solemn adoration.
Like Satoru is the best thing that happened to him, like he is the only worthy being on the planet. In other circumstances, Satoru would probably ask why those feelings are misguided, but he is kinda busy still coming down from his high while being fucked, and also…
It doesn’t work that great with words and feelings in between them, does it?
He pulls his sore lips in a grin and grabs a still hard cock in between the other Suguru’s legs, giving him a languid stroke.
“Looks like…” he wheezes, coughs, and moans when his sweet spot is hit again, sending the sparks of devastating heat up to his spine. It is overwhelming. It is like riding the highest surge of the cursed energy, like most powerful techniques are melting into each other, he thinks he might lose his mind from the piercing pleasure, but…
“Looks like we haven't got to the ‘satisfied’ part yet, do we?” he manages. Both Suguru stop his movements, staring at him in bewilderment - and it allows Satoru to catch his damn breath and say more firmly.
“I can take both of you. So don’t make me wait.”
His Suguru frowns, his brow is glistening with sweat, his eyes are dark, pupils almost covering the irises.
“You what?” he asks, his hands stroking absentmindedly Satoru’s legs, like he just can’t stop touching him, caressing him, feeling him.
Satoru wriggles weakly under him, and even this small movement flares up something inside him.
He needs more.
“You won’t hurt me,” he says to his Suguru and looks at the other Suguru intently.
“You can never hurt me, Suguru. In the future, in the past, always. Whatever you did or will do.”
The older version opens his mouth, as if trying to argue, but Satoru raises his hand, cupping his cheek from an awkward angle, and says softly:
“C’mere. Be with me. I want you both to.”
He flinches when his palm on Suguru’s cheek is covered by another hand - his Suguru’s, who is looking at his older self with some ineffable softness now.
“Come here,” he echoes Satoru’s words, and something swells in Satoru’s chest at that. “Come home.”
The other Suguru tenses under their touch, giving a single, shaky breath.
“I shouldn’t.”
And Suguru, Satoru’s Suguru, pulls him into a sloppy kiss, murmuring: “Even if Suguru Geto tells you so?”
***
It takes time for them to rearrange themselves on the bed, and Satoru is simultaneously grateful for a breather and annoyed for stalling, because what do you mean they suddenly stopped listening to his every demand?
His Suguru soothes him with soft, tender kisses, to his temple, to his earlobe, to his nape, holding him in the strong arms, helping him up, to his lap.
Satoru sighs blissfully at the sense of being so deliciously full again; he could spend an eternity or two just feeling Suguru’s hard curve inside him.
The other Suguru kneels in front of them, his fingers glistening with lube.
His brows are tense with concentration, and Satoru all but purrs:
“Kiss me.”
Suguru obeys, softly, gently. Satoru melts under his kisses, relaxing, and his Suguru slips deeper into him, the pressure shifting inside, making Satoru mewl into the kiss.
They are doing it on purpose, aren’t they? Being so excruciatingly slow and all… fuck, now he has a deja vu.
The other Suguru prods at his stretched entrance, stroking the base of his younger version’s cock, and Satoru’s own dick twitches, already half-hard and leaking.
“You take it so well, baby,” Suguru murmurs, smearing the lube around his hole, sliding one finger inside, “relax a bit for me, yeah?”
He tries.
But the more the older Suguru opens him, the deeper the younger Suguru fucks him, and Satoru is not sure he lasts long in this sweet agony.
He weakly kicks Suguru’s side and pants:
“I’m ready.”
He is not ready.
He can never be, it is not possible, to be so full, stretched beyond any limits, he keens when the second cock pushes inside him, the other Suguru settling in between his spread thighs, fuck, why does he feels so big, Satoru literally blew them both just now, it is the same freaking dick he is used to, he is hundred procent sure, he has, like, empirical material…
Suguru thrusts up, and Satoru’s eyes roll into the back of his skull.
He barely hears anything, the obscene squelching sound, his own broken cries, their mixed panting and soft grunts, Suguru - his Suguru whispering into his ear: “Just like that, baby. You can take it. Take us,” he feels like he is coming but nothing comes out of his painfully stiff dick, apart from translucent liquid that keeps dribbling along his shaft.
“You are so tight, Satoru, so perfectly hot,” says Suguru. Which one? He doesn’t know, he is floating, their joint movements lifting him up, from the bed, through the ceiling, someone catches his hand and presses his palm to his belly, and holy shit.
“Can you feel it, Satoru?” Suguru asks. “Can you feel us?”
The bump under his hand is pulsing, retracting only to be shoved further in, and the world goes perfectly still for a moment - just to shatter into millions of colorful pieces when one of the cocks inside him starts pulsing wildly, pumping him with sticky hot fluid, and he is coming again, his release is so strong that he gets some of his own jizz on his face, shaking frantically between two Sugurus, milking them dry with the short spasms running through his body.
His face, and chest, and shoulders are peppered with kisses, when they lower him down on the ruined beyond salvation bed.
He can feel their load - partly inside, partly leaking from his ass, and he instinctively tries to clench, to keep it, to prolong the sensation…
His head is full of fuzzy cotton, his eyelids are heavy, but both Sugurus keep touching him, kissing him, telling him how good he was, and he cracks one eye open, lashes wet and glued together, and says hoarsely:
“See? You can never hurt me.”
His Suguru, who is holding Satoru’s head on his lap, looks at the other one and nods.
“I promise,” he says firmly.
At first, Satoru thinks that it is his delirious state that is playing games with his vision, but the other Suguru starts fading, dissolving into the artificial light which fills the room. Wait, the room starts fading as well?
“I’ll hold you to it,” says the older version of Suguru with a smile full of soft sadness. “You know what you should do.”
The younger version holds his gaze, unwavering.
“You also know what you should do. Find him. Talk to him. Stop it.”
Satoru’s tired eyes can already see the silhouettes of furniture through the ripple in the air, which becomes the other’s Suguru figure.
He wants to tell him so much.
That he’ll never, ever refuse to talk to him, and if other Satoru did - he is an idiot.
That his heart will always find a way to Suguru’s soul.
That the intimacy of tonight gave him a resolution as well - he doesn’t care about fate or premonitions or whatnot, but there are some things he cannot afford to lose, no matter what.
Instead, he notices something - like two sets of other rooms which start seeping into this one - and squawks:
“Does this curse return you to the place you’ve been snatched from?”
Suguru above him loudly gulps. Half-transparent Suguru in front of him chuckles and says something, but Satoru cannot make it behind the “whoosh” of the folding space.
“Fuck,” he says, blinking at the bright lights.
“Fuck indeed,” agrees Shoko, who was crouching in the middle of the room - the hotel suite they were staying in before Satoru was kidnapped. She gives them an unimpressed once-over.
“Okay, loverboys. I don’t see anything that demands urgent medical attention, so I’ll probably excuse myself, but I’ll be in the lobby if you need me. Try to clean up and make your pervy asses look at least somewhat presentable, Yaga will be here in,” she checks her phone, “half an hour.”
Suguru coughs violently; his ears are flaming red. Satoru fares better, but mostly because he is still kinda floating on cloud nine or something.
Shoko turns back at the door and adds:
“Drink some water, maybe, gosh. I’d really prefer that you both were eaten by curses.”
They exchange looks and start giggling as soon as the door closes behind her.
“So much for ‘welcome back, I’m so glad that you are alive’,” snickers Satoru and closes his eyes. Suguru’s fingers are massaging his scalp, slightly scratching, and it feels good. Really good.
“Welcome back, Satoru,” he says softly.
And it feels even better.