Work Text:
There’s nothing remotely maternal about Satoru.
Sure, he’s got a womb. And ovaries. And maybe he’s been reluctant to get top surgery because he kinda likes (read: doesn’t hate) the size he’s at right now, but judging by Satoru’s constant efforts to rid himself of anything that could make another think he’s a woman, he’s disqualified himself from whatever biological essentialist argument someone would make to rest their case.
And sure, Satoru loves kids. He cares about them. But doesn’t everyone? He grew up as an only child, and the only interaction he had with people younger than him was when he would go to countless galas and family events with his parents until school took over his time. And yeah, when he started tutoring, he doted on his students: he was sweet on Yuuji and his hell-spawn twin, Sukuna, he loved Megumi’s cynical ass, and he matched Yuta’s infectious energy. While it’s true that Satoru always carries sweets with him to console a tiny tot teetering on the verge of tears, he also carries dog treats for a lucky encounter because Satoru has always been like that.
Satoru just cares. He cares for those around him, he cares for animals, he cares for kids. He cares as anyone who is not an immediate threat to someone’s well-being would.
So, Satoru tries very hard to wrap his head around why, when the week that they both dubbed ‘a week from hell’ is over, and Satoru pushes Toji onto his back, taking Toji’s straight-up-divine cock in his hand to ease it into Satoru’s fluttering pussy; why when Satoru leans into Toji’s space like he’s done countless times, his tits in Toji’s face because Toji loves to lick and slurp and knead and play with them; why when Toji’s dick is so deep in him that Satoru will feel him for days; why when Satoru chants daddy faster Toji you’re so big fuck I’m gonna cum while he rides Toji as though he was getting graded on it, all Toji says as he shoots his load into Satoru’s womb is a very broken and needy mommy.
And Satoru stills, the word echoing in his mind as he froze mid orgasm, and Toji does, too, his face blushing crimson as mortification colours his features. But before Satoru can say anything, before he can ask Toji if they both had issues that would make them a compelling case study of sorts, Toji surges up to kiss him, effectively silencing Satoru and stamping out the little tendrils of confusion. Toji—because he knows Satoru inside out, because he’s eaten Satoru’s pussy and fucked Satoru’s brains out so many times that it should be considered illegal—pushes Satoru onto his back, hovering over him, dwarfing him under Toji’s build, because even after all these years Satoru will always remain a slut for their size difference. Toji guides his softening cock back into Satoru’s pussy, rocking into the wet heat, and even through the pleasant feeling in his cunt, even with Toji’s familiar weight in him, Satoru’s brain remains whirring, trying to replay Toji’s blissed-out expression when he’d groaned the word out, but Toji doesn’t give him any space to linger on the word.
He pulls out, kissing down Satoru’s body until that very perfect, very skilled, very warm mouth of Toji’s meets Satoru’s fucked out hole. His lips worship Satoru’s ruined cunt, lapping up the hot cum mixed with Satoru’s release. Toji’s tongue toys with Satoru’s cock, licking and slurping and nipping, using everything Toji had taken time to instil into Satoru’s body so he has no choice but to cum, until Satoru shudders and whines and goes back to sounding like a broken record that can only spit out fuck and daddy and i love you.
Satoru forgets all about Toji’s teeth digging into his bottom lip when they get ready for bed, and Toji helps him clean up in the shower and gets Satoru a glass of his favourite cranberry juice afterwards. He forgets all about Toji’s hazy eyes when they stand side-by-side in front of their bathroom mirror, brushing their teeth and giggling when Toji makes a joke about some song he heard Megumi playing. He forgets all about how Toji’s voice cracked from the two syllables and how hard he had cum when Toji kisses him once they’re in bed, his soft cock prodding at Satoru’s just-cleaned pussy, pushing in as Toji hitches Satoru’s leg up and pulls him in closer, Toji’s cock deep and warm and snug inside him.
“Night, baby,” Toji murmurs, kissing him again, nipping at Satoru’s bottom lip, and Satoru hums, too sleepy and too tired and too horny to register what went down earlier.
But Satoru remembers when it comes to him in his dreams. Satoru remembers it even when Toji pounds into him from the back while Satoru tries his best not to slip and fall because Toji loves to fuck his ass when they’re in the shower and Satoru gets himself all squeaky clean. He remembers when they’re getting dressed later that morning, and Toji leaves halfway through to check on something he left to simmer on the stove. He remembers when they’re having the breakfast Toji made. He remembers it: to his own detriment, to his own downfall, even if Toji acts as if nothing happened.
Because what the fuck was that?
.
.
.
Satoru and Toji have been together for five years now.
When Satoru tells people how they met, their love story gets dissected by everyone around them, and Satoru has to pull out receipts and text messages and journal entries and do a whole lore dump to make it clear that Toji never made a move on Satoru when he was a horny teen who only agreed to tutor cute little Megumi from soccer practice because he saw his dad drop him off at the club once and had wanted to jump Toji since.
And as luck would have it, Megumi was applying to the same school as Satoru. And since their bougie, dedicated-to-the-Tokyo-elite-school only took admissions for junior high students and promoted them straight to their high school programme, who better to prep Megumi for the ordeal of entrance exams than Satoru, resident top scorer and teacher’s pet.
Satoru’s intentions had never been pure, but once he heard from the rumour mill that Megumi was from a single-parent income household and that his dad didn’t have time to help him with classes, Satoru had doubled down on his efforts to get Megumi that scholarship for almost no payment except a warm meal. Satoru would show up at the Fushiguros’ cosy house and teach Megumi all he knew. He would go over equations and formulas, he would talk about geography and history and the areas that never interested him. He would cut Run Melos into bite-sized pieces and go over English grammar and pronunciation until Megumi was prepared for anything and everything the entrance exam could throw at him.
He did all this while dreaming about Megumi’s hunk of a dad, Fushiguro Toji, fucking Satoru’s pretty pink pussy open before gaping his ass. And Satoru had been a pretty thing then: long hair, soft curves, a sweet voice—and tits. This was when Satoru was raiding Aimerfeel catalogues to find something that fit, when he had more boob than he ever wanted, but even then, Toji paid him no mind.
Satoru would shorten his skirt past the regulatory length, keep his legs splayed just so to let Toji have a glimpse of his pretty underwear, all to no avail. Toji would move through their tiny kitchen space, reheating leftovers for them, acting as though Satoru wasn’t close to stripping just three feet away from him. Toji never put a hand on him during the entire duration of knowing Satoru as his son’s tutor—and not for Satoru’s lack of trying.
Even when Satoru had shown up at the Fushiguros’ doorstep, vibrating with excitement of being a newly-turned eighteen-year-old, Toji had turned him down with stern and gentle words. And Satoru might have curled up on his bed and cried; he might have snuck out to meet the boy from Tōdai, who had been subtly asking him out; he might have stolen a bit of his dad’s prized vodka because no one has ever turned Satoru down. Not when he wanted them this much. The only good thing to come out of this whole ordeal was Satoru realising that he made a pretty decent teacher and applying to all the Literature programmes with a newfound determination and career path.
It takes another five years—Satoru, freshly graduated and tired from applying to master’s programmes and still figuring out the finer points of his transition—for the universe to put Toji on his path again. Ginza, in a newly opened club, away from everyone who once knew them; Satoru finally settling into his lanky frame, all long limbs and alabaster skin, no longer the pretty little thing Toji knew, but something deadlier, and Toji, just as hot, just as enticing, just as tempting.
But this time, it ends with Satoru on his back, his body bent in half as Toji fucks Satoru’s pussy like he was starved off it. And all Satoru can do is moan and whimper and beg; all he can do is whine about how much he wanted Toji to fuck him when he was a pretty girl—
“Really, baby? You wanted Daddy’s cock that bad? Been dreaming about it fucking your pretty little boy hole?”
“Fuck—” Satoru sounds fucked out. He slurs the words out when Toji grinds against him, his cock pressed all the way in. “Yes, Daddy. I need it so bad. Been crazy for it.”
“Yeah?”
“Fuck— Toji, you feel so good.”
“You touch yourself to me, Satoru?”
“Daddy,” Satoru moans, high and needy. Toji does something with his cock, Satoru doesn’t know what, but the pressure is delicious, the stretch makes him float, and all he can do is moan and whimper and let out little ahs.
“Did you get wet while teaching Gumi? Did you have to pinch your little cock so you wouldn’t cum all over your pants whenever you saw me? Did your slutty ass only tutor my son so you could play with your pussy while thinking about me bending you over?”
And Satoru babbles out yeses, because they could have been doing this all this time. They could have been having mind-blowing sex where all of Satoru’s holes got stuffed with Toji’s perfect cock. They could have had so much fun. Who cares about jail when Satoru’s pussy is this good and Toji’s cock is that big?
“I do—” Toji laughs when Satoru pouts afterwards, asking him why they weren’t doing this earlier. He’s curled against Toji’s chest. Satoru can feel his heartbeat. It’s a comforting rhythm. “I’m old enough to be your father, baby. I was almost your age when Megumi was born.”
“But you aren’t my dad, you’re my daddy—”
“And I love it. Fuck, you’re so pretty, Satoru.”
“Yeah?”
“You know it, baby. Took everything in me to not fuck you against the door when you came over after you turned eighteen and almost forced your way into my bed. Was willing to risk it all for a taste of your pretty pussy.”
“Why didn’t you then?”
“You’d rather I go to jail?”
“Okay, I wouldn’t have snitched, but fair,” he mumbles, and Toji runs a hand through his back. He’s so fucking hot, and Satoru might just go insane. “You have to make it up to me, though.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” he rasps, a hand trailing down to stroke Toji’s cock, feeling it harden in his hold. “You gotta fuck me every day. Let me sit on your dick and suck it and have it whenever I want.”
“I can arrange that—”
And Satoru giggles before he slides down the bed, mouthing at Toji’s cock, already collecting his overdue debt. And once Satoru chokes on it, exactly how he wanted, Toji pulls him back up and kisses him, cuddles Satoru close to him until they both fall asleep.
So yeah.
Satoru remembers what Toji said. There’s no fucking way Satoru will forget anything about Toji. Satoru remembers how it all went down, remembers it in crystal clear clarity. He remembers how Toji ground the words out, how his eyes were glazed over because Satoru is just that good at milking cock, because his pussy is so tight and pretty and wet. Remembers how Toji had whined when Satoru pushed his tits into Toji’s mouth—
And oh god, Toji has a mommy kink.
.
.
.
Satoru isn’t judging.
Toji and Satoru have tried out everything under the sun. Their mission, when all was said and done, to tackle five years’ worth of sexual tension, was to fuck like rabbits and try out everything they wanted to do to each other.
Satoru has been Toji’s baby, his kitten, his bunny, his obedient slave. He’s been his secretary, his unsuspecting victim, his son’s babysitter. Satoru has been folded and flogged and tied up and held down. Toji has sat and watched Satoru get fucked by Suguru and Nanami; he’s made Satoru watch Toji eat Mahito out. Satoru has been to Toji’s favourite club; he’s seen the things Toji is into, the things Toji uses to get himself off. He’s been part of a lot of fucked up fantasies he’s shared with Toji; he’s been made into Toji’s pretty little toy.
But this, this revelation, this seemingly harmless word has thrown Satoru off his orbit. Toji has always been the dominant one in their dynamic: Toji has always been Satoru’s sir, his master, his daddy. Toji has always taken care of Satoru, even when Toji refused to touch Satoru in a non-professional manner.
It confuses him.
It’s not something he can ask people about, either. Satoru can’t imagine how that conversation is going to go. “The weather is nice. Oh, by the way, what do you do when the man you call daddy while he’s hitting it from the back calls you mommy one fine day?”
So, Satoru doesn’t bring it up. Toji doesn’t either. They go about their day, their shared meals, shared bed, movie nights, and health check-ups. They kiss and cuddle and fuck, and they remain what they are.
.
.
.
Toji and Satoru moved in together a year ago.
Megumi moves out one fine day because he is, in his words, “old enough,” “needs to experience life outside of the careful confines Toji put him in,” and “Satoru’s too loud and I don’t want to hear my former tutor getting railed within an inch of his life.”
Which, Satoru thinks, is plain rude because he’s not that loud, and he’s sure that even if he is, he doesn’t sound that bad. But Megumi moves out without much fanfare, into a pretty good building in Shibuya that Toji put in the down payment for. And when the Itadori twins move in with him, not even a week later, Satoru can wager a good guess that it had less to do with him being too loud, and more to do with Megumi himself wanting to be loud without his dad listening to him getting railed within an inch of his life.
But all of his complaints and worries go down the drain when Toji asks him, a day after the Itadoris become residents of Megumi’s new abode, if Satoru wants to move in with him. They’re having dinner—an extra-large serving of gyudon from Sukiya and sake because Satoru was in the mood for it—when Toji pops the question. Satoru almost drops his chopsticks off like they would in a drama, almost screeches. He searches Toji’s face for signs of a prank, but there’s nothing there but sincerity and lust.
Sure, the commute to Satoru’s workplace will take longer. Satoru already has a comfortable setup in Minato. All his friends live in and around the city. Den-en-chōfu is too quiet for someone like Satoru. But the idea of living with Toji, of falling asleep and waking up next to him every day, is tempting enough that Satoru says yes even before Toji finishes the question.
Moving Satoru in takes less time than they thought.
Satoru’s belongings had already found their place in Toji’s closet and cabinets. All his course materials, his clothes, skincare, and make-up had infiltrated Toji’s space without them knowing. Satoru’s clothes took up a majority of Toji’s wardrobe; Satoru’s favourite snacks filled their refrigerator and pantry. And whatever Satoru didn’t already have at Toji’s place was deemed not needed, and Satoru, because he has the money to buy whatever he needs, didn’t bother with them either. Though Toji had chided him for it when Satoru had shown up with only two backpacks of “important stuff.” Which led to Satoru letting Mahito go through his stuff to find what they could keep between the two of them and donating the rest.
Their life together is disgustingly boring and endearingly domestic.
Toji wakes Satoru up with kisses before getting on with the chores. The workload gets divided into what they’re good at: breakfast and bentos fall on Toji, dinner is either Satoru’s culinary experiments (rarely) or take out (mostly); laundry is Satoru’s area because Toji treats his designers as if they’re just another piece from Uniqlo; neither of them are messy, but Satoru takes over vacuuming while Toji mops. Sure, they can hire someone to come help out with the money at their disposal, but something about doing all the chores together makes them feel married; it makes what they have feel concrete, makes it real.
What makes Satoru smile the most are the moments when Toji gets home, smelling of sweat and smoke, and how Satoru massages his shoulders because even if they work out together and even if Toji can bench press Satoru with ease, Toji has atrocious posture for someone who sits down for his job. Or when Toji helps Satoru with his shots because Satoru never stopped being fucking terrified of needles, and Toji always kisses him when Satoru has to endure the prick of metal before he gets his dose of T. Or how when Satoru’s chest is too sore from the binding, Toji makes it a point to massage the pain away for him—which hardly stays innocent, knowing the two of them, but Satoru treasures it.
Toji loves him, and Toji takes care of him. Toji wants Satoru to be okay and happy because Satoru is Toji’s baby.
And Satoru wouldn’t have it any other way.
.
.
.
“Are you going with Dad to visit Kyoto for Obon this year?”
The distortion and lag in Megumi’s audio render his voice a staccato rhythm, the boy himself a blob on Satoru’s phone screen. Satoru wonders where in Japan Megumi and his not-so-little henchmen are currently visiting. Somewhere in Hokkaido, Toji had told him the last time he’d asked. Megumi and the twins decided to pack everything up and go on a road trip the moment they graduated because Megumi wants to take some time for himself and travel before dedicating himself to Law School, and those twins of his will probably follow him to hell if he asks.
“Where are you right now?” Satoru asks, squinting his eyes to better see the background. “Are you still in Hokkaido?”
“We’re somewhere near Sapporo!” Someone calls for him out of frame, and Megumi yells something back, blushing when he sees Satoru’s impish grin. “The twins and I’ll make the trek to Kyoto from here, and we’ll be there in time for Obon.”
“You have them wrapped around your fingers.”
“They’re their own people. I’m not—”
“Megumi, you convinced Yuuji and Sukuna to put their weird, competitive animosity aside and get along just to date you. If that doesn’t qualify you for Law School, I don’t know what will—”
“I don’t think the Legal system will let me use my pussy as leverage, Satorun.”
“True,” Satoru sighs. “Still can’t believe three of my cute students are in a throuple now.”
“You only tutored me because you wanted to fuck my dad—” Megumi’s annoyed tone gets a smile out of Satoru. He still remembers the look of horror in Megumi’s eyes when Satoru walked out of Toji’s room with a limp and a smattering of hickeys all over his neck and chest. “So, are you going home for Obon?”
“Toji did mention it when I went to do our rites last week, but he didn’t seem too keen on going to Kyoto.”
“He has every right not to, but Dad has been trying to patch things up with them since Grandma passed away, and it’s going to be tough on him if he’s alone there for Obon. He acts like it doesn’t bother him, but Dad hates going there.”
Satoru can only nod because he knows. Toji’s fallout with his family isn’t a secret, nor something Satoru isn’t privy to. The Zen’in heirship limbo has been dissected and analysed by countless people. Toji abandoning all the wealth and power to start anew in Tokyo was hot gossip the year Satoru turned five; it’s one of the most well-discussed topics in their circles. His father and mother would talk about it when Satoru was asleep, about the wayward Zen’in heir he only saw during galas, who laughed at Satoru’s attempts to ask about his green eyes because Satoru had never met another person who had eyes like his. Satoru thinks that maybe he and Toji are fated. Because how else would Satoru end up tutoring a boy named Fushiguro only to end up with the same, elusive Zen’in?
“He hasn’t brought it up yet, but I plan on going with him, regardless.”
“It’s a hellhole back there,” Megumi grits out. Satoru wonders how bad it really is. All he knows are bits about Toji’s fallout and the eventual fixing of it; the continued efforts to maintain a pleasant relationship with the Clan, which led to him being unceremoniously handed the reins of the Zen’in Holdings Tokyo branch, effectively tying Toji to the Zen’in name once again. “I don’t blame Dad for not going back. But it’s Obon, and he needs someone there. There’s only so much support I can give him—he needs you.”
.
.
.
That evening, Satoru curls up next to Toji, Chungking Express playing on their television screen, and wonders aloud about their plans for Obon. They still have time, but Summer is in full swing. Satoru wants to make sure they have all their bases covered. And with Toji’s reluctance, planning ahead is the only way to make sure they don’t scramble on the day of.
Toji hums a response, an affirmation that sounds nothing like it, and Satoru makes plans for a holiday once they’re done with the responsibilities of Obon. The beach sounds nice, or they can go to Sapporo, take a page from Megumi’s travelogue. A trip to Kyoto means they’ll have to take the shinkansen, unless Toji wants to drive there, which won’t work with either of their schedules. And Satoru doesn’t think he wants to put in that much effort either.
“I’ll book tickets?” He asks, and Toji nods, in time with the first notes of California Dreamin ringing out. A kiss gets pressed against the crown of his head, and Satoru smiles, melting into Toji’s side. “It’s better to book them in advance, or I’ll forget. And I don’t trust either of us to remember.”
“Speaking of,” Toji starts, and Satoru knows where it’s headed. “Did you apply for the job you told me about?”
Satoru lets out a huff, sighing exaggeratedly, and hides his face in Toji’s lap. Toji laughs at Satoru’s dramatics. He’s been eyeing a position as assistant faculty at Tōdai, and when they put up a call for Literature Majors, Satoru had wanted to apply—not that he hates his current job or needs the extra money. He finds teaching high school to be fun and fulfilling, and the brief stints of modelling he does on the side when Mahito bullies him into it is another viable and lucrative option. But Satoru has always wanted to be someone like his mother. He has always wanted to be someone who is as respected and admired as Gojou Ayane.
And Toji knows it, too. But the burden of having an academic as your parent far outweighs the joy. His mother never imposed, but the rest of his family did. Too many expectations, and Satoru thwarted all of them when he came out, fresh out of high school, and started signing up for the Japanese Literature programme at Tōdai instead of any of the pre-approved ones.
“I think you should apply, Satoru,” Toji says it loud enough that Satoru won’t miss it from where he’s trying to burrow into Toji’s lap. “Just go for it. Whether or not you get it is beside the point. You’re more than smart enough. You gotta be more confident, baby.”
“Everyone would beg to disagree. They’re always telling me I’m too cocky—”
“You’re cocky within reason. If I had your looks and brain and body, I wouldn’t shut up either.”
“Really?” Satoru lilts. He lifts his head and meets Toji’s gaze, a little molten, a little dark.
“Really,” Toji smiles as he kisses him. He tastes a little like the jjajangmyeon they had for dinner. Satoru giggles at the lingering sweetness of the sauce. Satoru finds himself getting pulled into Toji’s orbit, half sitting on his lap and letting Toji mark his neck up.
“Really?” He asks again, gasps the word out as Toji lays him down on the couch. Satoru’s legs stretch the length of it as he relaxes into it. They trail down Toji’s body as Satoru wiggles around, getting comfortable where he’s laying down, and he hooks them around Toji’s back to pull him in. Satoru’s so glad they got a new couch that has enough space for their shenanigans because Toji kisses him again, deeper this time, all tongue and teeth like he wants to devour Satoru.
“The prettiest, Satoru.” Toji bites his lips, teeth digging into Satoru’s petal-soft pout. “The smartest, too. How are you so perfect, baby? How am I so lucky?”
Toji’s hand slips under Satoru’s t-shirt, sliding up his body, massaging the soft skin. Satoru shivers when it traces his ribs, over a spot that’s particularly sensitive. The movie keeps playing. Satoru really wants to watch it, but he can’t hear the dialogue over the erratic beating of his heart. Toji steals another kiss from him, hands gliding up until they cup Satoru’s tits, kneading the soft flesh, pinching his nipples, and Satoru arches into Toji’s touch. “More—”
“Yeah? You don’t want to finish the movie we spent a whole week planning to watch?”
Satoru shakes his head, not trusting his mouth with words, hoping the gesture conveys his urgency. They could always go to their bedroom, but he wants Toji to take him here. He doesn’t want to wait anymore. Toji closes the gap between their bodies, his hard cock grinding against the spot where Satoru’s wetness pools. His hands tug at Toji’s shirt, impatient and needy. He needs all of Toji on display, needs his kisses and his touch and his cock. Toji lets Satoru indulge for a while, flipping him over and slipping Satoru’s too-big shirt off him once he thinks Satoru has had enough fun.
He kisses Satoru’s nape, and trailing his lips down the notches of Satoru’s spine, biting and nipping and marking Satoru’s pretty canvas. His tongue swirls and teases until he’s by the globes of Satoru’s ass, biting the flesh of the cheeks before he spreads them apart. Both of Satoru’s holes twitch. He’s so fucking wet that he’s leaking onto the leather and doesn’t care which hole Toji fucks—and he babbles out as much.
“Really?” Toji teases, his fingers digging into the meat of Satoru’s ass, pulling his cheeks apart so he feels it in his cunt. Satoru whines when Toji’s fingers dip down, ghosting over where he wants to be touched so desperately. “You’ll let me fuck both your holes?”
Satoru nods his yes-es into the arm of the couch, arching his back just right so Toji can see how much he needs it, how much he wants it, how much of a slut he is. Toji slides down onto the floor, enough so he can mouth at Satoru’s pussy, where he’s dripping wet, twitching and fluttering. Toji breathes over Satoru’s soaked lips, and Satoru shivers.
“Look at you. So wet, baby. Fuck, I don’t even need lube, do I?” He pushes a finger in, and Satoru clenches around it. Toji plays with his pussy while Satoru whines. He lazily spreads Satoru’s walls apart, smearing the wetness around, but skirting past the spot that Satoru needs him to rub against. His fingers are drenched, coated in Satoru’s sticky slick, and Satoru whines when he pulls them out, only to moan when Toji brings them to Satoru’s hole. He presses the tip of his middle finger against the puckered rim, grinning when he notices Satoru is already loose and glistening. “Did you clean yourself in the shower for me, angel? Did you touch yourself thinking about how much you want Daddy’s cock buried in your pretty ass?”
“Fuck, Daddy—” Satoru whimpers. “I need it so bad. Need you—”
“Anything you want, yeah?” Toji positions himself behind Satoru. He can feel how hard Toji is, can feel him bump against the back of his thighs. Toji lines himself up, pushing his finger in at the same time that his cock breaches Satoru’s pussy. Satoru wails through it as Toji’s thick fingers stretch his hole out as his pussy gushes around Toji’s cock. Toji pulls out once, slow and methodical, thrusting back in, making Satoru’s entire body jolt from the force. His fingers slowly spread Satoru open, plunging in and out of the tight hole in tandem with Toji’s thrusts.
Satoru’s pussy squelches with each well-aimed thrust, the feeling of giving himself up to Toji and having both his holes stuffed heady and addicting. Satoru whimpers every time Toji’s cockhead brushes against his g-spot, the pressure building up so well that he’s close to bursting. He whines when Toji’s fingers pull out of his ass.
“Daddy,” Satoru cries, “Need you—”
Toji kisses his nape again in response, teeth digging into the soft skin. Satoru is too keyed up, he’s wound too tight, and he might explode. All he can let out are little mewls, and it crests into a wail when Toji’s free hand plays with Satoru’s cock, just the push he needed to come. Satoru shudders through his orgasm, fucking back into Toji’s cock through it, squirt dripping onto the couch, drenching the leather and Toji’s cock.
“Fuck—” He hears Toji grit out as Satoru’s walls continue to contract around his length, eager to milk it. He knows Toji’s close from the way his pace slips up, from the bruising grip on his hips, and Satoru just about cries when Toji pulls out, leaving his pussy empty and gaping. Before he can make his displeasure known, he feels a globe of spit fall onto the puffy rim, Toji’s cockhead prodding against it, pushing into the tight heat slowly, Satoru’s slick making the slide bearable. Toji pushes in all the way to the hilt, and Satoru can feel him inside him, will feel him for days, loves and hates how even after all these years, Satoru feels like a virgin when Toji fucks him open. Toji’s teeth dig into Satoru’s shoulder as he rocks into him, letting Satoru adjust to the stretch. He’s so fucking big, and Satoru might just go insane when he pulls out and starts fucking him in earnest, chasing his orgasm, grunting when he’s close.
Satoru reaches behind him, tired and sore as he is, to hold his cheeks apart, letting Toji rut into him. He feels Toji still, a few more jerky moves following, as warm cum floods him. Satoru slumps against the couch, and Toji moulds himself against him, cock still buried in Satoru’s ass. He clenches around the softening dick, and Toji winces, nipping at Satoru’s ear.
“Fuck, baby, god—” He rasps, hips pressed against Satoru’s sweaty skin, tasting him. “So good for me. So perfect for me.”
“Mmmh,” Satoru hums, his soul slowly coming back to his body. He feels light. He feels well-fucked. On the screen, Faye writes something onto a piece of paper, and Satoru blinks up at it blearily. She no longer has the pixie cut, and she’s wearing a flight attendant’s uniform. “What did we miss?”
“I have no idea,” Toji groans, pulling out of Satoru’s ass and watching his cum dribble out. Satoru turns around, hair plastered onto his face, climbing onto Toji’s lap, moaning when he feels the cum seep out.
“No way, did she actually become a flight attendant, or is this some kinky role play?”
Toji lets out a tired laugh, and Satoru yawns. “We should watch it with a third party next time. If we ever intend to finish it.”
“Maybe,” Satoru hums, eyes slipping shut. “Carry me to bed?”
.
.
.
Satoru has visited Kyoto plenty of times.
He thinks it’s a great place. The food is good. The people are fun. He prefers Osaka, though. His ancestors are too rooted in the lore of the prefecture for him to feel fully calm, but he supposes that’s what Toji feels as well. Unlike the Zen’in, most of Satoru’s family shifted to Tokyo sometime towards the end of the Meiji period. Satoru gets why. More opportunities, more wealth to cultivate. New Government reforms, new stomping grounds. And in the long run, the Gojous’ strategic move paid off, just like the Zen’in’s decision to stay.
Personally, Satoru won’t ever move back to Kyoto. He prefers Tokyo’s bluster and chicness; he loves how loud Shibuya gets. Maybe he’ll pop in for a visit every now and then because Toji still feels connected to the place, and who is Satoru to deny him that—even if his family is horrible.
Satoru still doesn’t have the full picture of what went down between Toji and the rest of the Zen’in. All he knows—from the bits he’s learned from gossip and Megumi and Toji slipping up—is that Toji left his family behind when he was 19, moved to Tokyo for university and started a band. He fell in love with his lead guitarist, and married her when they were still students and took her name and entered her family registry—which was enough for the Zen’in to disown him. They had a kid shortly after, and when she passed away, Toji took care of Megumi on his own, working multiple jobs while trying to complete his degree.
His connections to the Zen’in were more or less scrubbed clean, erased from existence. Toji made it through university and got an internship while working towards his law degree, and saved up enough to put Megumi’s ridiculously smart ass in a good school. Which is where Satoru came in later, which is what he knew Toji as for the longest time. He was always a Fushiguro to Satoru—never a Zen’in. Satoru loves their house in Den-en-chōfu, but he misses the cosy little Setagaya apartment he used to go to.
Sometime during the years that Satoru had lost touch with them, Toji had somehow gotten back on the Zen’in’s radar, and, all of a sudden, he was back to being the Zen’in heir and on track to inherit everything.
And while Satoru doesn’t have the details, he knows enough to know that Toji hates his family with a passion, but that the anger has tempered over the years with Megumi growing up and the Zen’in mellowing out. The Zen’in empire almost rivals the Gojou. Satoru says almost because he doesn’t want to give them praise, but he also knows Toji has been working tirelessly at their Tokyo branch. Still, Toji has enough problems with them that Satoru has taken to hating them as well.
So, as far as the trip is concerned, Satoru isn’t expecting a lot.
He doesn’t expect the Zen’in to be paragons of virtues or kind, caring entities, but this is Satoru’s first visit to their estate since they made it official—it’s his first time meeting Toji’s family, who largely don’t matter to either of them, but do in the bigger picture.
Satoru knows the main players: Naobito, Jinichi, and Ogi. They’re the clan elders, the ones overseeing and approving everything. Satoru has seen them from afar, but he never cared about the Zen’in, nor did his parents force him to. But he knows, from the countless anecdotes he’s heard over the years, they’re cutthroat and ruthless. The Zen’in pretty much rule over Kansai, and their influence is unrivalled. Satoru thinks all that wealth amounts to nothing if they’re shitty people.
He’s heard about Toji’s cousins, too: Naoya, Maki and Mai, Ranta, and a few unnamed people. The twins are the only ones Megumi speaks highly of; the others are still suspect. He goes as far as calling Naoya a sex pest, and not even entertaining conversation about the rest. It used to confuse him at first: how Megumi completely divorces himself from the Zen’in label, only acknowledging it when it comes to Toji, how Toji does, too—to a lesser extent.
And after spending five minutes surrounded by the Zen’in, Satoru understands why.
The Zen’in are as haughty and conceited and contrived as everyone has mythologised. They exude the same convoluted aristocracy that Satoru is used to from his family, but not even the Gojou on their worst days could hold a candle to these people. If this is them mellowed out, Satoru doesn’t want to know how they were treating Toji when he was younger.
“You’re a Gojou?” Someone asks Satoru when he’s taking a stroll through the well-kept garden in the sprawling Zen’in estate. For all their perceived faults, the estate premises are pristine: the huge garden, the tastefully decorated interior, and the carefully maintained exterior reek of old money and prestige. Satoru can understand why Toji loves his home so much, even if he hates its inhabitants. The stranger lets out an annoyed sound at being ignore, which grates at Satoru. He turns around, trying not to make a face at the horrible hair of the newcomer. Satoru needs to have a word with his stylist.
“You finally turned around,” the man drawls, and he sounds sleazy. Satoru didn’t see him when they had ushered him and Toji in, but he has an inkling who he could be. “Didn’t get here in time for the introductions, but I’m glad to catch a glimpse of Toji’s elusive partner. Don’t know how he ended up with the heir of our biggest rival, but he did a good job.”
“Do I know you?”
“Jinichi,” the man smirks. Satoru bristles at it. He looks like bad news. “Toji’s older brother? You’ve never heard about me or what?”
“Nope.” Satoru makes sure he enunciates the words clearly. It’s not even a lie, either. Whenever Toji has to interact with any of the Zen’in for work, Satoru makes sure to implement a “no-work-talk-in-the-house” policy, which Toji readily agrees to and actively maintains. The last thing either of them wants is Toji carrying their judgement and vitriol coming from his hellish relatives to their shared space.
“Really?” The man asks. Satoru can sense his displeasure. He takes a steadying breath; goes over the aikido basics he picked up in high school. “Toji and I worked together a few times this past year. I’m surprised he didn’t introduce us when I was over in Tokyo last month. I kept insisting, but he kept putting it off. He really has no respect for his elders—”
Satoru remembers this. Toji had been agitated the whole week. He was tense, tired, and teetering on the verge of a meltdown. There was an acquisition project in desperate need of finalisation, meetings with investors and the board of directors, and other words that Satoru banned from their bedroom. Toji hates talking about work, and Satoru hates seeing Toji this frazzled. He had tried his best to cheer him up, but there’s only so much he can do when he can’t get rid of the root cause of Toji’s problems without destabilising the economy. He almost came close to it when Toji would come home drained of his will to live.
When it got too much, when the project was finally wrapped up, when Toji was more a zombie and less Satoru’s Toji, he had pushed the tired man onto their bed and was determined to milk his cock to rid him of the frustration bubbling out of him, only for Toji to call him—
Satoru’s cheeks colour at the memory. He coughs to cover it up when Jinichi looks at him in confusion. Satoru does not want to get into Toji’s kinks—that Satoru himself did not know of—with his relatives.
“Is the brat not coming?” Jinichi asks again, as if Satoru wants to be an active part of this conversation. But the only way is through, so Satoru clears his throat and answers.
“Megumi will be here soon. They’re driving here from Gifu—”
“They?”
“Megumi and his friends. They’re on a countrywide road trip.” A voice interrupts them. Satoru relaxes when he sees it’s Toji. He’s taller than Jinichi, much more imposing in his stature, but Satoru can see how tense he is. “He’ll be here tomorrow.”
“Well, I look forward to meeting Megumi and his friends.”
“I don’t think they’ll stay long enough for that.”
“That’s no fun, Toji-kun. Megumi should mingle with his family,” Jinichi laughs, patting Toji’s shoulder. There’s no humour in his tone. “You and that kid of yours act like you’re not Zen’in. You never show up to any of the family events, and both of you refuse to change your name to what it should be—”
“Fushiguro works just fine for most of our associates. I don’t see why I—or Megumi—have to change it to suit your fancy.”
“Is it our fancy when we merely want the Zen’in prince to look and act like one?”
Satoru swallows. A lot goes unsaid in the exchange, but he can see each word chipping away at Toji. He doesn’t want the tension to escalate.
“Toji,” he blurts out, and two pairs of eyes turn to face him. Satoru falters for a moment, but he catches a glimpse of relief in Toji’s face. He puts on his best airhead voice, the one that grates at everyone around him except Toji—their favourite get out of jail (unwanted social situation) card. “You promised you’d show me around. I really want to try going to Arashiyama—”
“Ah—” Toji stumbles, but he nods. “That’s why I was looking for you before I got distracted. If you’ll excuse us, Jinichi, Satoru was talking my ear off about seeing all the touristy places—”
“Very well. Be back for dinner. Or Naobito Oji-sama will have your head.” Jinichi says, and heads back inside. Satoru feels himself relax. Toji does, too, if the way his face slumps into his hand is an indication.
“Thanks for that,” he shivers. Satoru walks over and hugs him, smiling when Toji’s tension melts away. “But seriously: Arashiyama?”
“I had to think of something quick. You looked like you were going to cry.”
“I know. Fuck, what would I do without you, baby?”
“Suffer, probably. But now you have to take me shopping or else we’ll have to talk to your family for the rest of the day.”
.
.
.
Satoru spends the rest of the day wandering around the streets of Kyoto, acting like he’s a tourist, and not someone with a very comfortable home on the other side of town. And Toji plays along, taking on the role of an over-enthusiastic tour guide, and going along with Satoru’s whims. Satoru loves the idea of a date with Toji where nothing can bother them—and he says as much, getting a kiss in return.
Their relief is just as quickly extinguished.
By nightfall, they’re required to be present for dinner. They reluctantly take a seat by the table, surrounded by the rest of the Zen’in, who gathered for Obon. The dishes they’re being served are extravagant and mouthwatering, and Satoru unlaces his fingers from Toji’s to fill his plate up. The first half passes them by peacefully. Toji and Satoru eat their fill, and it’s only when the sake comes out does the night get derailed.
“So, tell me, Gojou-san, what is it that you do?” Naobito sounds amiable, but it feels like Satoru’s walking into a trap. Toji straightens up next to him. “I heard from the grapevine that you aren’t very keen on taking over?”
“I—” Satoru puts his cup down. While he might need all the alcohol to deal with these people, Satoru does not want his senses impaired. Toji places a hand on Satoru’s thigh, squeezing lightly. “I plan to teach literature once I get my certification. I’m aiming for Tōdai and Chuo right now.”
“Ah, so there are no plans to take over the Gojou group?”
“It’s still in consideration,” Satoru answers, knowing the quicker this gets done, the quicker they can excuse themselves. The soft cotton of his yukata feels constricting. The weight of Toji’s hand grounds him. “But my father has pretty much left me to my own devices. As long as he’s healthy, I can focus on my current ambitions—”
Naobito hums. Silence reigns over them, and Satoru reaches for the cup, taking another sip. Someone next to Jinichi—Ogi, Satoru recalls—murmurs something, and Jinichi’s eyes turn to him.
“And your father is okay with your lifestyle?”
Toji’s hand tightens at Jinichi’s question, but Satoru’s too stunned to register it, and he exclaims: “My what?”
“Let’s not act like you aren’t living with a man who’s old enough to be your father. If I remember correctly, Megumi and you aren’t that different in age, right? I would have been livid if my daughter started dressing weird and told me she was dating a man that’s closer in age to me than her—”
“Huh,” Satoru swallows. He supposes this conversation was bound to happen at some point. He just didn’t expect it to be so direct. He at least commends them for waiting until dinner was done. “I—”
“You don’t need to answer that, Satoru,” Toji says. Sternly. And Satoru nods, turning Toji’s palm over to lace their fingers together. “Jinichi,” Toji turns to the man, his eyes narrowed, voice tight with rage. “I told you to respect my partner before I agreed to come. This is very unsightly—”
“Unsightly? What’s unsightly is the supposed Zen’in heir shacking up with an onabe. Aren’t you too old to rebel, Toji? Don’t you think it’s time you put the past behind us and started living properly?”
“Rebel? You think I’m dating Satoru for some sick sense of rebellion?”
“Are you not?”
Toji turns to face Naobito, silently begging to put an end to this. “Is this what you invited us here for, Naobito Oji-sama?”
“I don’t think he’s said anything wrong, Toji-kun. Your brother is simply making an observation.”
“This is far from an observation—”
“But is he wrong?” Naobito slurs the words out. His eyes are red. The flush on his skin leaves him with the countenance of a Tengu. “Your actions tarnish the family name. It’s one thing if he’s unknown, but the entire world knows what goes on in your girlfriend’s mind. If Akiyoshi had been alive, he would have reconsidered the will. Mieko wasn’t in her right mind. She should have never given you the inheritance out of guilt.”
Toji laughs. It’s an odd sight. Satoru can hear how tired he is, can see why he hates coming here. “Must everything go back to it?”
“Everything does go back to it, Toji. You abandoned the family when you got the chance. If it weren’t for my brother and his wife being blinded by their love for you, you wouldn’t be sitting with us right now.”
“I abandoned the family because you kept shielding Naoyoshi—”
“Asking us to punish family, without proof, over your delusions would have led nowhere.”
Voices continue to rise. Everyone seated at the table has something to say about Toji; they have some comment to make about his supposed delusion. Satoru can put two and two together, and the picture isn’t pretty. Satoru stands up, disrupting the argument. All the eyes turn to him, and Satoru pulls Toji up with him.
“We should leave,” he bites out. Toji looks at him, stunned and tired. Satoru has never seen him this agitated and weary. “C’mon,” he tugs Toji along, eager to get the fuck out of this house. “We can come get our stuff later, but we can’t stay here any longer.”
And Toji nods, belatedly, following Satoru through the corridor with unsure steps.
.
.
.
The bed dips under his weight, and Satoru lets out a groan.
The night feels like a fever dream. If Megumi wasn’t currently blowing his phone up with angry texts, Satoru might just think he made it all up. But Megumi’s anger alongside Satoru’s and Toji’s despair feels all too real, all too putrid. Satoru picks up his phone and types a quick: everything is okay. toji and i will sleep now.
Megumi sends him another flurry of texts and asks for their location so they can come straight there, and not have to run into the Zen’in. Satoru sends him an affirmative, followed by a link to where they’re staying, before he says goodnight and shuts his phone off. He hears the shower turn off, and Toji walks in, having changed into the ryokan’s yukata.
“Hey,” Satoru says, and Toji hums in response. “You feeling better now?”
“Much better. Was that Megumi?”
“Yeah, he’s angry. It’d be cute if he wasn’t using swear words I didn’t even know existed in the Japanese vocabulary.”
“He’s never been a fan. Barely tolerated them. Megumi made his displeasure very clear the few times he came over, so I told him to stop coming altogether.”
“I don’t blame him,” Satoru replies. Toji just shrugs, taking up the space next to him. He smells slightly of sandalwood, and Satoru curls against his chest. “We can stay here for the next two days and go for the grave visit. You came all this way, you know? You deserve to see your ancestors.”
“Yeah, you’re right.”
“I’m always right.”
“That, too,” Toji says, pressing a kiss to Satoru’s forehead. “You’re everything to me. You know that, right? Whatever Jinichi said, it’s not true—”
“I know that,” Satoru whispers, leaning in to capture Toji’s lips in a kiss. It’s meant to be gentle, a little reassuring, but Satoru can’t stop once he starts. And Toji can’t either, from the look of it. Satoru runs his fingers through Toji’s scalp, angling his head so it’s more comfortable. Satoru pulls back a bit, loosening the tie of Toji’s yukata so he can feel his skin. Toji’s back is so broad, his skin erupts into goosebumps with each brush of Satoru’s fingers. It’s so cliche, Satoru thinks absentmindedly: the yukata, the ryokan, the innocent touches that stray.
“Are you sure you want to?” Toji asks to be sure, and he sounds just as gone as Satoru, just as wanting. He gets the hesitation, but Satoru thinks it’s impossible to not want it, not when Toji needs it, not when Satoru wants to give it.
“Baby,” Toji tries again, nipping at Satoru’s lips. Satoru can feel the muscles on Toji’s back tighten uncomfortably. He’s tense.
“Tell me,” Toji prompts again. Another kiss. Another dance that Toji leads. Satoru doesn’t know who needs this more: him or Toji. He doesn’t know what they need.
A sense of trepidation lingers alongside the earlier fear. Satoru moans into the kiss, eager to dispel it. But he feels it loom, with each gentle prodding of Toji’s tongue: the way his shoulder blades are set like a spooked animal’s, his eyes a little vacant, his voice a little hollow. Even now, even when he’s barely holding it together, Toji takes care of Satoru. He refuses to let Satoru feel discomfort, doing well on his promise to be a good daddy for Satoru. And Satoru thinks it’s not fucking fair.
Satoru pulls back, pushing Toji away at the same time, putting distance between them. A flash of hurt and confusion appears on Toji’s face, and Satoru wants to yell. He gets out of their bed and paces around the room for a bit. His yukata almost comes undone, but Satoru doesn’t care. Toji looks stricken, but he schools his expression to something neutral, to something less worrying, and Satoru doesn’t want that. He wants to help Toji like he’s helping him.
“Are you okay?” Satoru asks, and Toji nods. As though he’s confused why Satoru is even asking him this in the first place. “I’m being serious, Toji. Are you fine?”
“I told you I’m fine, Satoru. Don’t worry about it—”
“But I will worry about it. I love you. Of course, I’m going to worry about you. Your family fucking sucks. I knew they were bad, but what the fuck, Toji. They’re horrible—”
“I know. We’ll head back once we’re done with the grave visits. Don’t know how that will play out, but God forbid I see Jinichi again—” Toji says, sounding nothing like the Toji he knows. His eyes shut for a moment, and he takes a deep breath. When they open again, Satoru can see the veil that falls over the green. “But you really don’t need to worry, angel. Let Daddy take care of you, okay?”
“What if I don’t want you to?”
“What do you mean? Did I do something?”
“You did nothing wrong. Fuck—Toji. I’m fine. I’m peachy, in fact. Your family being transphobic means jack shit to me.” Satoru feels as though he’s running around in circles. He meets Toji’s gaze: “But are you fine?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Toji,” Satoru almost sobs the words out: “Are you fine?”
“I’m fine. I told you not to worry, didn’t I?”
“You got like this last time as well—when Jinichi was over. That’s why you were stressed that entire week. You didn’t want to be near him.”
“I don’t want to be near any of my family. It’s not that big of a secret. I wouldn’t have brought you here if they were going to be this horrible. I thought they’d behave.”
“I know,” Satoru sighs. “Fuck. I know. I’m not worried about me. I’m worried about you. You look scared, Toji—”
“It comes with the territory,” Toji tries to joke. It falls flat, and Satoru looks at him unimpressed. “What do you want me to do, Satoru? I just wanted to end the night on a good note.”
“I know that—” He worries his lip between his teeth. For all he’s saying, Toji looks close to breaking at Satoru’s rejection. That’s not what Satoru wants. He closes the distance, pressing a kiss to Toji’s forehead. He’s not used to this, but it feels right. It feels so, so right. He kisses Toji’s eyelids, his nose, and then his lips. It’s a soft pressure, a gentle brush, and Satoru speaks into the space between them, “Let me take care of you? Please?”
Satoru can see the reluctance, but Toji agrees with a sigh. Despite the apprehension, he can feel the tension seep off Toji, so Satoru kisses him again, pushing him up the bed until he’s leaning against the headboard. Satoru keeps kissing him, only breaking apart to kiss his way down Toji’s body, determined to let Toji know how much he loves him, to let Toji forget all that transpired.
Toji’s already hard. His cock presses up against the fabric of the yukata, poking out through the slit. It’s an indecent sight. Satoru has never seen Toji dressed in anything that’s not sweats or suits, so the novelty leaves it that much more precious. Satoru kisses the crown, licking over the slit, tasting Toji’s precum. He sucks on the head lightly, paying attention to the spots that Toji likes, and the resulting gasp makes him smile.
Satoru finally frees it from the confines of the yukata, easing the length into his mouth. Toji relaxes against the bed, and Satoru swallows around his length. The cock twitches in his mouth, Toji’s hips lifting off the mattress, his voice cutting off into a moan, and Satoru pulls. Toji’s eyes are closed, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. He’s so beautiful that Satoru might die. He sucks the head into his mouth again, letting his teeth scrape against the sensitive crown, and Toji lets out a choked-out whine.
It’s easy to fall into a rhythm. Satoru knows what Toji loves, and Satoru knows his limits. Luckily, Satoru does not have a gag reflex, so he lets Toji’s cock nestle into his throat, revelling in how it pulls a grunt out of Toji.
“Fuck, Satoru—” Toji groans. “Your mouth feels so good.”
Satoru simpers, pulling back and letting Toji’s spit-soaked cock hit his face. He mouths at the head again, looking up at Toji, eyes wide and beseeching. He knows Toji loves the sight from the dribble of precum pooling at the tip. Yep, Satoru loves him. Satoru’s so in love with this man. He’s sucking his dick, doing everything he can to choke on it, and all Satoru can think is how much he loves him.
He lets go of Toji’s dick and climbs up the bed, sitting on Toji’s lap like it’s his favourite throne. He lets Toji taste himself on Satoru’s tongue, groaning when Toji’s hands undo Satoru’s yukata, exposing his skin to the summer air and letting his tits spill out. Toji’s hands worship the expanse of Satoru’s skin, marvelling at how smooth it is. He writes confessions into the alabaster, rubs circles into the canvas, and Satoru shivers, not breaking their kiss, because he loves this the most. Kissing Toji is addicting. Satoru feels like he’s home. He feels like nothing will go wrong as long as he gets to kiss Toji.
Toji’s hands knead Satoru’s thighs, pulling at the soft flesh. They trail up, following the seam of the yukata until they cup Satoru’s tits. Satoru melts into Toji’s hold, letting him massage them as his hands slip in between them to fist at Toji’s cock. He groans into Satoru’s mouth, and Satoru smiles, lifting up a little to slip Toji’s length between his legs. It’s a testament to how much they fuck that Satoru eases it into his pussy without messing up. He’s so wet for Toji, and he moans the words out as he impales himself on Toji’s dick.
And Toji lets out a needy sound, his words an incoherent babble: “Fuck, your pussy feels so good. Gods, I can’t— Fuck, your pussy is so tight, mommy—”
And there it is: the elusive word. The one Satoru has been longing to hear.
Toji’s lips seal shut, and they open in the form of an apology, but Satoru kisses him, slow and sensuous. He clenches around Toji’s dick, swallowing up the whine that follows. “Yeah?” Satoru moans out. “You gonna be good for mommy?”
It should feel wrong, but it doesn’t. The cock lodged in him twitches, and Satoru loves how it feels. Toji’s eyes have the same haziness to them as that night. “Look at you, baby. You’re making mommy feel so good.”
“Fuck—” Toji grunts out, his hips bucking up into Satoru’s cunt, and Satoru smiles when he feels the warmth spreading in his pussy as Toji’s cock stills. Toji looks embarrassed, but Satoru doesn’t let him mope. His hips gyrate, grinding against Toji, not letting Toji’s spent cock go, until Toji winces from the oversensitivity. It’s only then that Satoru pulls off, but he cups his pussy in time so the cum doesn’t leak out of him.
“Lie down,” he tells Toji, who listens like a good boy. Toji obeys, a pliant piece of clay, a pretty and colourful thing for Satoru to mould into his liking. Satoru groans at the display of submission when Toji looks up at him, expectantly, his eyes sliding to where Satoru is leaking out little dribbles of cum.
He positions himself onto Toji’s welcome mouth, a position so familiar to them, but also not. It’s never been like this. Satoru has always been at Toji’s mercy for it, so to have Toji underneath him, hanging onto Satoru’s word and command, only makes him leak out more slick. Toji licks and slurps the cum out of him, eager and obedient. His tongue works perfectly, almost magical. Satoru rides Toji’s face in abandon. He loves the feeling of Toji eating him out. Loves how Toji fucks his tongue into Satoru’s cunt, plays with his cock, follows the playbook Toji wrote to get Satoru to lose his mind. A scrape of his teeth against the bud, and Satoru cums with a shuddery whine.
It’s wet and messy, and Toji licks it all up, not wasting a single drop. Satoru slumps against the headboard, grinding his cock into Toji’s mouth, only pulling off when Toji taps his thigh thrice.
“Fuck, sorry, that felt too good,” Satoru says once he gives Toji enough space to breathe. He lies down next to him, watching Toji’s skin glisten with his release.
“Don’t be,” Toji rasps, and Satoru leans in to kiss him again. He tastes like spit and cum and slick, and Satoru loves it, loves him.
Their eyes fall shut, and Satoru thinks they need to talk about it when they get the chance.
.
.
.
They don’t talk about it.
The next day gets inundated with Obon rites after Megumi shows up with a desire to set fire to anything and everything Zen’in. Satoru has to calm him down, even if he agrees with him. They spend the rest of Obon going sightseeing and taking part in various celebrations because Toji wants them to. And when the festivities draw to a close, Megumi and the twins come to see them off before taking off for Osaka.
They don’t talk about it.
A week passes them by, and Satoru and Toji kiss and cuddle and fuck, but they refuse to talk about what went down. Well, Toji refuses. Satoru wants to. He plays the conversation out in his mind, eager to come to an understanding—but nothing happens, so Satoru does the one thing he should have done ages ago.
.
.
.
Mahito loves gossip.
He’s the smarter version of Satoru when it comes to people. They’re sitting at one of Mahito’s favourite cafes in Omotesandō, sharing a cheesecake between them because yes, Mahito is on a diet; and no, Satoru wouldn’t hear the end of it if he didn’t get his cheesecake fix. They’re halfway through it, taking a break and letting the gentle rhythm of some J-pop number wash over them, when Satoru decides to take the plunge.
“How do you feel about mommy kink?”
“You’re asking me?” Mahito perks up. His eyes light up, impishly. He’s one kinky motherfucker, and Satoru doesn’t know why it’s him he’s asking. Similar boats, he supposes.
“Do you see anyone else here?”
“Okay, fair,” Mahito scoops up another piece of the cheesecake and looks at Satoru for permission. Satoru waves it off because Mahito deserves it for listening to the shit Satoru brings up in their conversations. “In this scenario of yours: Am I the one calling someone mommy? Or are they calling me mommy?”
“Either works,” Satoru grumbles, regretting even bringing it up in the first place. But if there’s someone who will get it, it’s Mahito. “I’m just curious and trying to understand.”
“I don’t think there’s much to understand. It’s probably the same reason you can’t get off without calling Toji daddy in bed.” He pitches the daddy up ever so slightly, copying Satoru’s whines when he’s close to an orgasm. Satoru shushes him, hiding his face in his hands.
“Why did I ever tell you that?”
“Because you love me,” Mahito lilts. “Hey, I’m not judging. Nanami gets off to me calling him sensei, and Suguru loves being called nii-san, so believe me, I’m not in a position to cast any judgement on you or Toji.”
At Satoru’s silence, Mahito continues: “But I guess it’s ultimately that. I heard from a friend of a friend, who had a dommy mommy arrangement, and he told me it’s all about feeling safe. It’s similar to having a figure you can be yourself around, be vulnerable with. And it doesn’t necessarily mean you’ve got huge tits—which, luckily or unluckily, you do—but I’m sure it’s less to do with your mammary glands and more to do with your vibes.”
“Vibes?”
“Yeah, you get all cozy and comfortable and shit. Surprisingly, it’s very like being cocooned in a blanket, you feel safe, as if nothing bad will happen to you,” Mahito adds. He pauses for a second to take another bite of the cheesecake. “It’s similar to the thing you have with Toji. He makes you feel safe, right?” Satoru blushes at the question. “You can whine and mess around, but daddy’s going to keep you safe and love you—”
And just like that: it all connects.
“Maybe that’s why—” Satoru exclaims, out loud, causing Mahito to raise his eyebrows at him. “Maybe he feels the need to hide it from me because he’s always taking care of me.”
“Care to enlighten me?”
“Nothing,” Satoru mumbles quickly. “I’m just thinking out loud.”
“If you say so,” Mahito smiles knowingly. “If he’s too shy to go about it, you could always take initiative?”
“Why would he be shy?”
“Well, like you said, Toji has always been the dominant one in your dynamic, one way or the other. I’ve seen how he fucks you—” At Satoru’s denial that he’s not talking about Toji, Mahito snorts. “Don’t lie, Satoru. There’s only one man who’s been anywhere near your pussy, and it’s not your mystery beau or whoever you’re trying to convince me you’re cheating on Toji with.”
Satoru huffs. “I don’t know why he doesn’t want to talk about it.”
“He’s probably worried about the shift in your dynamic, and that it might put you off. Maybe he’s worried about misgendering you. It’s a loaded term, you know?”
“But you said—”
“Yeah, I know what I said, but that doesn’t mean he knows it. He could be worried about how you took it—”
“But I didn’t hate it—”
“Did you enjoy it? Or did you only do it because he wanted it? If you did enjoy it, did you tell him that?”
“I—”
“That’s some place you can start,” Mahito says, as though it should be obvious. It probably is. “Let him know whether you enjoyed it or not. And if you did, make it clear that he wasn’t forcing his kink onto you.”
.
.
.
Satoru doesn’t know how to broach it, but he has to.
He decides to follow Mahito’s advice and spends too much time trying to think about whether there was anything about that word that made him feel even more fucked up than usual. The answer comes to a resounding yes. He wonders why it never stuck out to him, and the answer to that is even simpler.
Because Satoru isn’t a Dom like Toji is. He isn’t about control or release or carefully maintained tension. But he enjoyed whatever they got up to that night. He enjoyed having Toji so pliant and trusting. Satoru knows that when Toji is with him, he feels safe; so, to be able to give Toji the same feeling of safety and comfort leaves him heady. He also understands why Toji might be reluctant to bring it up, understands that it takes effort to shed the shackle of his dominance and bring it up with Satoru.
The world, however, has different plans.
Ever since they came back from Kyoto, the Zen’in have been inundating Toji with too much work: a very lucrative deal with a South Korean conglomerate, which Toji has to helm. Something of this stature means Toji spends more time in board meetings and negotiations than at home. He barely has time to talk to Satoru these days, even if he still makes it a point to make breakfast for them, since preparing bentos will eat into whatever rest he could scrounge up. The conversation remains stuck in limbo, and Satoru doesn’t want to add to his troubles.
It takes another week of Toji pulling late-nighters that bleed into the AM, and Satoru waking up to Toji passed out next to him in his work clothes, dead to the world, for Satoru to realise something has to change. He hates that Toji is working himself ragged for the sake of people who have demonstrably never cared for him. Another week, and Satoru takes over breakfast to make sure Toji has time to eat something; another week of Satoru coming home to an empty house; another week of Toji promising this will take a few more days to settle.
Satoru lets it go, lets the dust settle, but he has a plan. On the day the deal is supposed to close, following which Toji will be free, Satoru takes a day off. Satoru has never prided himself on his bento skills. He’s an okay cook, but bentos are Toji’s area for a reason. Still, Satoru pulls up a YouTube tutorial and does his best to create something that’s not only presentable, but also edible. And to his credit, it came out better than he thought it would. He spends the rest of the morning ticking off everything in their chore list, building up the courage he needs to go ahead with his plan.
When it’s around midday, Satoru sets out for Toji’s office in Shinjuku, making sure he hasn’t forgotten anything.
The woman at the reception looks puzzled when she notices him. He’s dressed casually, in the same clothes that he wears at home, and looks nothing like the Gojou Satoru people are used to seeing. He’s never shown up to Toji’s workplace either, even though they’ve been together for so long.
“Gojou-sama,” she bows, and Satoru smiles. “How can I help you?”
“Is Toji in a meeting?”
“Please wait a minute,” she says, dialling Toji’s secretary, and Satoru waits, humming the tune to California Dreamin. When she ends the call and turns to face him, Satoru’s smile is back in place, charming and disarming.
“Fushiguro-sama is in a meeting with representatives from the Fujiwaras. His schedule says he’s free for an hour after that before the meeting with the Parks. Do you need me to tell him you’re here?”
“No, no. That’s alright, Murata-san. I wanted to surprise him.”
“Would that be all, then? I’ll let Fujisaki-san know you’re coming up, and ask her not to tell him.”
“I appreciate that. Thank you for your hard work.”
Satoru bows, taking his leave. His sneakers squeak on the marbled floor. He looks so out of place amidst all the suits, but Satoru couldn’t care less. Toji’s secretary bows to him when he reaches his office, and Satoru takes a seat, idling away on his phone as he waits for the Fujiwaras to leave. Once they do, Toji’s secretary lets him know that he’s not expecting any more visitors, and Toji says a very tired thank you. She bows to Satoru as she leaves, and he steadies his breathing once he’s alone.
Satoru waits a few moments.
When he deems the coast is clear, he opens the door to Toji’s office, locking the door behind him.
“Fujisaki-san, I told you to not let anyone in,” Toji sighs, his head in his hands. He sounds tired. He looks it, too. Hopefully, Satoru can fix it. “I was about to head out for lunch—”
“Really? Not even me?” Satoru asks, keeping his tone light. He doesn’t want Toji agitated. That would work against his plan.
“Satoru,” Toji sounds surprised. His face breaks out into a tired smile. “I thought you had work—”
“I did,” Satoru answers. “I took the day off. After all, I had something much more important to take care of.”
“You want to get lunch together then?”
“Better yet: I brought lunch.”
“Oh—” Toji sounds astonished. “You made me a bento?”
Satoru nods. He walks over, placing the carefully packed bentos on the coffee table. He straightens up and crosses the distance to get closer to Toji. Up close, Satoru can see his dark circles. Satoru slinks the rest of the way, exaggerating the sway of his hips. Toji’s tired eyes darken for a second, and Satoru watches the tendrils of arousal form; watches how Toji tries to steel himself, to will the tiredness from his body. “I missed you, b—”
Satoru kisses him, eating the words up. It tastes sweet and bitter. Satoru eyes Toji’s trash can. And sure enough, his coffee cup is stashed away in it. Toji shudders when Satoru kisses him again, his tongue slipping into Toji’s mouth. He pulls back to look at Toji’s stunned expression.
“You’ve been working so hard. You need to take care of yourself—”
“Huh?”
“You’ve been doing such a horrible job at it, Toji,” Satoru chides, cupping his cheeks. He thumbs at Toji’s scar, gently pressing down on his lips. “Have you eaten today at all?”
“Satoru—” Toji says, exasperatedly, but Satoru just laughs. He climbs onto Toji’s lap, sitting down on those glorious thighs Satoru has come to regard as his own.
“Is that what you should be calling me? Have you forgotten your manners, baby?”
A sharp inhale, and Satoru can feel him relax into his touch, can see his eyes widen in confusion. A haze of lust overtakes the pretty green of Toji’s eyes. He swallows, and Satoru smiles at the reaction, satisfied to see Toji is honest with Satoru—with himself. He leans in to kiss Toji’s cheek, nibbling at his very perfect ears. He’s such a beautiful man, and Satoru is lucky he’s his. They’re bright red, and Satoru bites the shell of it. He whispers, his voice coming out raspier than intended. “Come on, Toji. You want to be a good boy for me, don’t you, baby?”
“Fuck, I do—” Toji answers in a rush. Satoru feels his pulse quicken; his hands twitch at Satoru’s side. His thighs flex underneath Satoru, and Satoru rolls his hips, just enough to get a little friction going. “I do.” Then, quiet as a whisper, but loud enough to set Satoru’s soul alight: “Mommy.”
“Good boy, Toji.”
Satoru rewards him with a light peck. He almost groans when he sees Toji’s face. It shouldn’t affect Satoru like this, but seeing Toji with his eyes glazed over, with his carefully crafted veneer put away because he wants to be good for Satoru, drives Satoru insane. It’s headier than all the sake and shochu and wine he’s had in his life. Arousal thrums in his veins, and Satoru coos. “I packed your favourites.”
“You did?”
“Of course, I did. You’re always taking care of me, aren’t you, baby? Such a big, strong, kind, and caring boy.”
“Fuck, Satoru—” Toji groans. Satoru notices that he wants to touch, that he wants to grab Satoru by the waist and pull him closer, but Toji’s hands stay where they are, seemingly waiting for permission. The role reversal should feel wrong, but Satoru has been in this position enough times to know how it must feel like: to want, but not to think or act; to want, and to be guided, gently, kindly, carefully. Satoru rearranges himself in Toji’s lap, legs on either side of him, and grinds against him, feeling Toji already hard beneath him. Any other day, Toji would have pulled Satoru closer, would have made him take Toji’s cock out of his slacks and ease it into his pussy. Right now, Toji’s hands remain unmoving. Satoru wonders if this is what Toji feels every time Satoru submits to him, whether the absolute trust Satoru puts in him is what brings Toji to completion.
“Use your words, baby,” Satoru moans, missing Toji’s hands on him, but enjoys his restraint, nevertheless. His hips roll in a familiar motion, and Toji grunts out, his fingers tapping out an impatient rhythm.
“Can I touch you, mommy?”
“You can—” Satoru’s hips stutter a bit at how hungry Toji sounds, moaning when Toji pulls him in closer and sits Satoru right on top of Toji’s hard dick, the bulge pressing in just right. The pressure on his cunt makes Satoru whine out something incoherent. Satoru needs Toji’s slacks off now. He needs that dick kissing his cervix. “Look at you, asking mommy for permission like a good boy. Such a sweet boy for me—”
Toji’s grip is vice-tight. He pulls Satoru in closer, their breaths and body heat mingling, and ruts up into him, a crazed animal. Watching Toji’s control snap fucks Satoru up in ways he never knew he needed. All Toji lets out are little whines and mewls. He grunts every time Satoru grinds down to meet his hips. Cute, Satoru thinks as Toji laves his throat with kisses, nipping at Satoru’s skin, sure to leave bruises, marking Satoru up like a possessive puppy.
“You’re so perfect for me, baby. So perfect. Mommy’s glad you’re his.” And Toji keens, his hips stuttering out of rhythm, so not Toji-like, and he groans into the hollow of Satoru’s throat as he cums in his pants. He slumps against Satoru, shakes and shudders. Toji pants, his breathing ragged, sounding as if he ran a marathon. It’s so wonderful to watch him come undone, to see him lose himself. Satoru still hasn’t cum, and he wasn’t planning to. He doesn’t need to, either. But Toji seems to have noticed—
“You didn’t cum,” he tries to say, but it sounds ruined. It sounds wrecked. Satoru groans, kissing Toji, swallowing up his sound of surprise.
“You wanna make me cum, baby?” Satoru moans in between kisses, and Toji nods. He looks hungry. Eager. Like he’ll take anything Satoru will give him. “So precious, so good for me. You really are mommy’s good boy, aren’t you?”
At Toji’s shuddery whine, Satoru pulls back, getting up from Toji’s lap with reluctance. The wet spot on his slacks looks indecent, especially when paired up with his mussed hair and red lips. Toji looks debauched. His lips part with a whine, begging for more. No trace of the powerful man he is in his everyday life. Just a boy who wants to bury his cock in his mommy’s cunt.
Satoru runs a figure over the softening cock, pressing his palm into the obvious mess on Toji’s lap. “You really came in your pants. Did you want mommy’s pussy that bad?”
“Fuck— Sato—” At Satoru’s narrowed eyes, Toji whines out a sorry. “Please. I want to make you cum, mommy.”
“It’s okay, really,” Satoru says, straightening his clothes out. “I wasn’t planning on cumming. This isn’t about me as much as it is about you. We’ll have lunch?”
Toji looks dumbfounded, starstruck; he looks like he saw God and tasted all that’s good in the world, but he nods in response. Satoru walks over to the coffee table and lays out whatever he has prepared. The bento isn’t artistic or elaborate like the ones Toji prepares, but Satoru thinks he did a good job. And judging by Toji’s expression, he thinks so, too. It’s a simple nori bento: nori-wrapped chikuwa, sausages, tamagoyaki, and sautéed burdock roots.
Satoru knocks their knees together as they sit on the sofa, Satoru in his sweats and hoodies and Toji in his cum soaked underwear, eating their lunch quietly. The room smells of sex. Satoru’s still so fucking wet. And everything is perfect. The gentle hum of the aircon, the summer sun spilling in from the glass windows, the sweet lemonade Satoru made: just perfect.
Afterwards, Satoru puts away the dishes and relaxes onto the couch as Toji curls up on his lap. He runs his finger through Toji’s thick hair. The few grey strands stick out to Satoru, and he smiles to himself.
“When are you coming back tonight?”
“Around eight, probably. I have a meeting scheduled for 2:30 with the Parks, and then if everything goes well, we’ll be done with this.” Toji mumbles. “Why?”
“Well,” Satoru bites his lips, suddenly shy, but he pushes through it. “Someone was really eager to fuck mommy’s pussy.”
“Fuck—” Toji groans, burying his face right over Satoru’s cunt. He mouths at the mound. The pressure is good, but Toji doesn’t do much. “You can’t just do this to me, Satoru.”
“Why not? You deserve to feel good, too,” he states, plainly. Toji whines, but he burrows in deeper, and Satoru can feel the wetness seeping out of him. If he spends any more time here, he’s going to let Toji fuck him, and Toji won’t be ready for his meeting with the Parks because Satoru’s starving for Toji’s dick and probably won’t let him pull out until it’s fucked out of Satoru’s system.
“Up,” he says, and Toji obeys reluctantly. His eyes are a little glazed over, lips spit-soaked, and Satoru’s done this enough to know he’s still a little under. “How do you feel now?”
“Better,” Toji breathes out. “Much better.”
“Good, I’m glad,” Satoru says. He kisses Toji again, gentle and sweet. He picks up the nondescript bag and hands it to Toji. “I packed you a new suit, too. As much as I want to have you sit in your own cum, you do have a job to do and an image to maintain.”
“What will I do without you?” Toji laughs, but he gets up and starts to strip. Satoru remains unaffected for the most part, but at the sight of the wet spot on Toji’s grey boxers, Satoru moans, the throbbing in his pussy getting unbearable. Toji looks puzzled, but Satoru beckons him closer, pulling out his soft cock coated in his release, and licking up all the remnants of the drying cum. He makes sure he gets every drop, that he leaves it clean, and when Toji’s cock twitches, slowly hardening again, Satoru pulls back.
At Toji’s betrayed expression, Satoru giggles. “Mommies have to keep their babies clean, don’t they?”
“You’re going to be the death of me,” Toji groans, but he behaves nevertheless. He washes up and changes into the suit and underwear that Satoru bought, and goes back to looking like the man who helms the Zen’in Tokyo branch in record time. Once Toji’s all settled and the room smells less like people were fucking in it, Satoru kisses Toji again.
Rewards, Toji would tell him, kissing him whenever Satoru got stuff done on time. Maybe he’s a bit addicted to kissing Toji. Even after all these years, he’s never gotten enough of it. “Be good, and come home when you’re done. Mommy will wait for you.”
“Yes, mommy,” Toji says, breathless and eager, and Satoru can hear just how much less stressed he is.
If the people notice the red marks blooming on Satoru’s neck like camellias or how messy his usually styled hair is, they don’t say anything.
.
.
.
Satoru sets the stage.
He doesn’t need it to be too romantic. The flower petals and soft music and bubble baths and champagne are Satoru’s vices. Toji loves simplicity. He prefers predictability and stability, and Satoru can give him that. He changes their bed covers to something softer, something silkier. He cleans the entire room once again, airs it out before lighting incense sticks to leave it smelling better.
They won’t use toys today, but Satoru wants to next time. For now, he has this one robe he never wears: it’s soft, but it brings out his curves like no other. He lays it on the bed before slipping into the shower, lathering himself up in his nicest body wash and scrubbing his skin clean. He looks nice. Satoru, with his skin and hair and eyes, always looks perfect, but he takes care to look extra pretty today. The robe feels luxurious on his skin, and Satoru takes his seat on the edge of the bed.
As excited as he is at what’s coming, he’s worried about one particular thing: Satoru’s tits are unsure territory. He’s never had any problems with them; he never really cared much to get rid of them when he got the chance. They went down in size when he started T, and Satoru was content to keep wearing a binder instead of removing them entirely. Satoru no longer viewed them as part of something he loathed being; they just existed. It helps that Toji loves them, and that Satoru loves it when Toji plays with them, but with what they’re about to do, Satoru worries whether it’ll break the illusion. They’re no longer big enough that he can smother Toji with them, which would be nice and ideal in this scenario, but from everything that transpired, it’s obvious it’s less about Satoru’s tits and more about Satoru.
When it’s eight on the dot, their front door opens.
The hurried tadaima, followed by footsteps padding to their room, makes Satoru blush. When Toji opens the door to their bedroom, he looks so excited, so bright, and so, so turned on when he finally lays his eyes on Satoru. The air in the room changes. Satoru knows that if he doesn’t stop the momentum, they’ll end up jumping straight into it and fucking like animals, so he puts up a hand.
“Go shower,” he orders, as sternly as he can manage when everything in him longs to impale himself on Toji’s cock. Toji pouts. He honest-to-God pouts, and Satoru feels his heartbeat leap around as if it’s doing an interpretive dance. He closes his eyes and thinks about the prize he’s keeping aside for Toji. “Dirty little boys don’t get to touch mommy, do they?”
At Toji’s gasp, Satoru revels. He angles his head towards the shower, his eyes still closed. The sound of Toji’s belt hitting the floor, and the shirt and slacks that Satoru chose for him, soon following—all of it works Satoru up. Hurried footsteps make their way to the bathroom, and he hears the click of the handle and the door being opened.
“A proper one,” he says after him, his eyes fluttering open, taking in Toji’s naked back. “Not a rushed one. Get yourself all clean and pretty for me, baby.”
“Okay,” Toji says. He turns around, flashing a boyish grin, and Satoru sees the flush on him; sees his cock already hard and leaking, filled out and curved so perfectly, and Satoru can’t hold back his moan.
“Come here,” Satoru rasps, and Toji ambles over, thick cock bobbing enticingly. “Give mommy a taste of your pretty cock, baby.” The weight of it in his palm is enough to make Satoru’s pussy leak. He licks the precum off that pretty head, moaning at how good Toji tastes. Satoru wants it in him. “You want to fuck mommy’s pussy so bad, don’t you, baby?”
Toji nods, a well-trained dog, and Satoru giggles. It’s so not him. Toji is always in control; he never wastes a moment. He treats Satoru as though he’s made of porcelain, and he fucks him like he can put him back together. And right now, he’s this eager puppy in front of him, and Satoru’s glad that Toji trusts him enough to be.
As Toji showers, Satoru lies back on their bed, a hand slowly slipping in between his thighs. He’s wet, the slick sliding down the cleft of his ass; so wet, his thighs are coated in it. He pushes a finger in, playing with himself while he waits for Toji. Satoru doesn’t stretch his pussy out on most days, and he doesn’t plan to tonight, either. He loves the burn; he loves how red his cunt looks when it struggles to accommodate the girth of Toji’s cock when it plunges into him. He rubs his cock, smearing the wetness around. Moans slowly spill from his lips. He can’t wait for Toji to get here. Satoru wants to give Toji everything. He wants to take care of Toji the way he takes care of him.
When Toji finally steps out of the shower, clean and pristine, Satoru sighs, his legs spreading on their own accord. Toji stalks to him, his steps careful and measured, climbing onto the bed to watch Satoru run his fingers up and down his pussy lips. His eyes slip shut, and he slides the digits into the wet cavern, pulling them out and holding them up to Toji’s mouth.
“Lick them clean for me, baby.”
When Toji’s lips wrap around his fingers, Satoru mewls. Toji slurps and sucks; his tongue dips into the divots and laves them clean, leaving them soaked with his spit.
“Does mommy’s pussy taste that good?”
Instead of answering, Toji just sucks Satoru’s fingers as if he can’t get enough, and another dollop of slick slides out of Satoru’s cunt. “Have a taste then. Mommy needs you to show him what that pretty mouth of yours can do—”
Turns out, Toji doesn’t need much prompting to eat Satoru’s pussy.
He flattens his tongue against the weeping orifice, catching all the slick Satoru leaks onto his awaiting tongue, lapping it all up. His tongue dips into Satoru’s cunt, sucking out the wetness, drinking Satoru up like he’s a parched man. Those plush lips play with Satoru’s cock, engulfing it as he nips at the bud. When Satoru whines, his fingers digging into Toji’s hair to keep him there as Satoru’s hips grind up into the willing mouth, Satoru feels Toji’s grin: sharp and sly and cocky. He pulls back, his eyes hazy, the green murky. The timbre of his voice digs into Satoru’s core.
“Am I making you feel good, mommy?”
“Fuck,” Satoru whines, his voice pitching up with each tantalising suck on his cock. “So good, baby. Your mouth always makes mommy feel good. Fuck, you were made for eating pussy—”
Toji smirks at Satoru’s unravelling, diving to mouth at his cunt again. His hands slide under Satoru’s thighs, hoisting him up until Satoru’s cunt rests on his tongue, just the right position for Toji to fuck it into the warm and wet home. Satoru might just cum at this rate. He might just cum before he can give Toji what he needs, so he taps Toji’s shoulders, three times like they always do, and Toji eases him down.
He looks like a pouting dog at the thought of not getting to keep tasting Satoru’s pussy. His cock is so hard: red and leaking and bobbing with each movement. Satoru, even though he’s Toji’s mommy right now, will always be a slut for the most perfect cock on God’s green Earth. Toji’s cock drives him insane: thick and long and veiny. Perfect length, perfect girth, perfect for bullying Satoru’s womb open to empty his seed into.
“Want to make you feel good,” Toji says, sounding every bit of a brat. The way Satoru does on days he wants to be difficult. Toji being a brat is such a weird concept to Satoru, but not to his pussy, from the way it gushes at the tone and the words. “Mommy’s pussy tastes so good—”
“Fuck,” Satoru bites out. “Fuck— Fuck.”
“Will you let me fuck your pussy, mommy?” Toji poses the question so innocently, so delicately, like he isn’t planning to ruin Satoru’s cunt and leave it sloppy. Satoru looks up at the ceiling, wondering what made him think this was not going to leave him sore for weeks.
“Fuck,” Satoru says. The words are hard to get out. The promise of utter ruination tempts him. “Come fuck me with that cock of yours, angel.” Satoru manages to say, and Toji doesn’t waste a second before his thick cock breaches Satoru’s cunt. He pushes into the hilt without letting Satoru adjust, the stretch burning just right. “Oh god— Fuck, Toji—”
“Your pussy feels so good, mommy,” Toji grinds out, pulling back, leaving only the tip in, and fucking right back in. Satoru can feel his cunt struggling as Toji fucks in and out of the tight channel, the burn giving way to something pleasurable and heady. No one has fucked him like Toji, no one will either.
“Have you always wanted to fuck mommy?” Satoru mewls, not caring how wrong it sounds. “You’re such a dirty boy, Toji. Wanting your mommy’s pussy like this—”
Toji grunts. He leans over, a glob of spit falling onto Satoru’s fucked open cunt. It feels dirty, and Satoru rocks down to meet Toji’s thrusts.
“Shit— I’m gonna cum,” Toji bites out, chasing his orgasm, and Satoru closes his eyes, giving into the feeling of Toji’s cock rearranging his insides how he needs it to. Toji’s fingers roll Satoru’s cock between them, touching him just right, and Satoru lets the orgasm pull him under. Toji follows him soon after, emptying into Satoru’s womb with a choked-out groan.
They take a few minutes to catch their breath, Toji hovering over him, his cock still buried in Satoru’s cunt. He slumps on top of Satoru, and he lets out a breathless laugh. His entire body is sore. His pussy feels numb. But a lightness washes over him when Toji laughs as well. He moves to pull out, and Satoru stops him.
“No,” he mumbles, “stay inside for a bit more. I missed this.”
“I missed it, too. Fuck, I missed you, baby— Thank you for this, Satoru. I know it can’t have been easy for you—”
“We should do this again. I like ordering you around.”
“Yeah?”
“Mmmh,” Satoru hums. “What do you want for dinner?”
“I don’t think I can cook. What are you in the mood for?”
“Can we get mazesoba? Or japchae?”
“Whatever you want.”
“Toji?”
“Yeah?”
“I love you.”
“Love you, too, Satoru.”