Work Text:
“-ah, fuck, yeah, mmm, don’t stop!”
“Shh, be quiet…”
“Busy my mouth the-”
Suguru kisses him before he can finish and Satoru’s toes curl. God, he’s so close, just a few more thrusts, almost there-
“Geto-sama? Are you sleeping?”
…
Satoru is so close to crying.
Suguru pulls out the moment he hears Mimiko’s voice. The emptiness is too sudden but, unfortunately, not new.
“Sorry. Get dressed,” Suguru apologizes with a guilty smile and kisses Satoru’s cheek. “Coming!” he yells louder so the girls can hear from behind the door.
At least someone is fucking coming today.
***
This is unacceptable. They haven’t fucked in two, almost three months! No, more like - Satoru hasn’t cum from a dick up his ass for two months. He’s an edging expert by now, the expert, and let it be very clear - edging was never on his list. He either wills his erection away with thoughts of dead puppies or runs to the bathroom to masturbate like a dumb teenager. The worst part is that he is technically a teenager. Why the hell is he living in a 4-bedroom house in a nice neighborhood, commuting to Jujutsu Tech daily as if going to work? Why has he established two trust funds and, more importantly, why does he feel like Wife, unfucked…?
And the kids don’t even like him! Geto-sama this, Geto-sama that. He’s just Gojo.
Gojo.
He literally gave birth to them (he didn’t), has suffered for nine months (he hasn’t), is spoiling the shit out of them (that one is true) and he’s just Gojo!?
Granted, he’s not that good with kids. And he’s cranky most of the time because he’s not getting a proper amount of action. A deserved amount. That’s beside- no, this is the point. He deserves Suguru’s love, attention and his dick. He works hard for them, he kills more curses than anyone to free time for them, he threatens higher-ups on the regular so they leave Suguru alone, and, on top of that, Satoru became a teenage mother for them. The least he deserves is an insane amount of regular sex. Until he figures out how to engage in other forms of intimacy and maybe talk through it. But for now, he needs to cum, very much so.
A plan is brewing in his head.
***
“Gojo, where is Geto-sama?” Nanako asks, the bold one of the two. She stomps inside his study with a clear purpose blazing in her eyes.
Mimiko trails behind her sister, hugging her plushie tighter. It’s weird that it’s the one Satoru gave her, they usually go with everything Suguru buys for them.
“He’s with Shoko, want me to call him?”
Mimiko shakes her head no.
Weird. Satoru arches his eyebrow, turning his questioning look to Nanako.
Biting on her lower lip, Nanako gives up after a second.
“We need… Um…”
Oh god, it’s happening. The moment. They’re going behind Geto-sama’s back, asking Gojo for something. Finally.
Satoru crouches down, tries to school his expression into that of a trustworthy adult.
“What’s up, kiddo?” he smiles.
Nanako takes one step back and Mimiko hides behind her. Oh, for fuck’s sake.
“Just tell me already, I don’t bite, god.” Satoru pushes his glasses lower and rubs the bridge of his nose. Deep breaths.
“Geto-sama… Geto-sama asked us to talk to you more, so we talk,” Nanako admits, looking to the side as if she’d rather be anywhere else but here.
“That’s it?”
Mimiko nods and Nanako huffs as if she’s the one who should be offended. For fuck’s sake, doubled.
“Okay, I’ll tell Suguru that we spent a lot of time talking, and both of you are super nice and cute. Deal?”
“Really!?” Nanako’s eyes shine bright as the stars and Satoru feels just a tad offended.
“Really. I’m busy anyway, so run along and don’t annoy me.” He shoos them away with his hands and gets up. God, the kids these days. No respect.
“Busy with what?”
“Training.”
“Training what?”
“Infinity.”
“What’s Infinity?”
“My cursed technique.”
“Like what Geto-sama uses to make shadows move?”
“Yes.”
“Can you show-”
“Kiddo, we’re talking a whole lot.”
“...sorry.”
Satoru curses under his breath.
“Wait. Give me your hand.” He stretches out his arm and tries to fake a nice smile.
Nanako glares but she does offer her little palm. As she moves closer, Satoru activates Infinity.
“I…” she clearly puts more force behind her movement, “I can’t-”
“Yup, that’s Infinity. You can’t reach me. Cool, right?”
With a cute, determined crease in her brows, Nanako pushes harder.
He would never admit it, but since the kid tries so hard, Satoru relents. He runs a few equations in the back of his mind, and the point of contact between Nanako’s touch and Satoru’s technique starts distorting into rainbow colors, vibrating in response to her attempts.
“Wow!” Nanako jumps back, eyes wide and focused on her palm.
Mimiko peeks behind her sister. Her bangs fall to the side as she curiously tilts her head.
“Can I try?” she asks, quickly biting on her cheek right after.
A shallow chuckle shakes Satoru’s chest. He nods and invites her closer with a patient swing of his hand.
The situation repeats, though Mimiko, surprisingly, manages to put a bit of cursed energy behind her shove. It’s all over the place and disorganized, but clearly intended, and that’s already an achievement for a kid her age. Why didn’t Suguru teach them anything yet? He dotes on them too much.
Green, red, purple, yellow—colors vibrate and sizzle on the edge of Satoru’s Infinity as Mimiko presses against it. Usually, it would take something like Inverted Spear of Heaven (which he destroyed) or some incredibly strong output of cursed energy like Suguru’s Uzumaki to produce such a visible distortion of Satoru’s technique. But kids like magic tricks, right?
“So we can never touch you?” Mimiko wonders, huge eyes blinking at him.
“Nope,” Satoru grins.
“But Geto-sama touches you all the time?”
Um. He turns to Nanako, her narrowed eyes watching him as if she hopes to catch him lying for her own personal agenda. He literally set up a separate bank account for her, and that’s what he gets? Suguru needs to love him more. He was the one who wanted girls! Satoru just wanted one boy to make fun of, okay?
“I turn it off around him,” he explains.
“Only him?”
Mimiko changes the pressure of her touch to watch the colorful distortion shift in response. Her question rings as an afterthought, full attention on colors dancing under her palm.
Satoru frowns.
“Well, automatically, only him,” he tries to articulate without it sounding incredibly embarrassing. So what if he trained himself to always keep Infinity off around one, only one person?
“Because he’s your brother?”
Ha!?
Stop. Revert that. The spark of red incites Mimiko to poke her finger right into Satoru’s open palm. A broken distortion of a half-assed magic trick sends a gradient of mismatched colors all the way up to Satoru’s elbow, the coat of Infinity glimmering some centimeter or two over him.
“Brother?” Satoru repeats. Nanako nods, then tugs on Mimiko’s hand to take her away—Satoru’s Infinity is glitching. “He said we were brothers?”
“Like Mimiko and me,” confirms Nanako.
Satoru has half a mind to return the cursed technique to its usual modus operandi. He does not enjoy visibly resembling a broken laptop screen.
“Well…” Satoru chuckles. He did promise Suguru they’d be like a family, and… “I mean, yeah, incest is a family matter—“
“Incest?” Mimiko blinks innocently.
“Really, Satoru, incest?”
Suguru asks, cold glare reserved all for Satoru as he gently puts his palms over Mimiko’s ears. Where the hell has he materialized from?
“Insects,” Satoru fixes. “It bugs them that my brother touches me a lot, you know?”
A flash of realization runs through Suguru’s gaze. He sighs, deep and mighty.
As usual, the brats listen to him without talking back, so it takes one nod in the general direction of the living room for the girls to skirt away.
“Hello, onii-san,” Satoru drawls, crossing his hand on his chest.
“Don’t start.” Suguru steps closer; he’s shorter than Satoru and younger. Satoru should’ve said ototo, damn. “They’re too little to learn about other things.”
“You could’ve said we’re just friends!” Satoru whisper-yells. “How do you plan to explain it once they’re older?”
Suguru’s gaze shifts to the side. He stays silent.
“Wait.”
Suguru rubs his nape.
“You didn’t plan to ever explain it to them?”
Satoru’s glasses drop to the tip of his nose.
Groaning, Suguru drags a palm over his face. The ironed collar of his white shirt rustles with the movement and he looks way older than he is.
“It just happened, okay?” Suguru drops his hand and meets Satoru’s gaze. “They asked why they should be nice to you, and I—”
“And you couldn’t give them any other reason!?” Satoru practically screams.
What the fuck? Was he that unlikable to those brats that only the precondition of sharing blood with Suguru made them consider him in a more favorable light?
“Hey.” Suguru cups Satoru’s cheek and nudges him to look down. Their eyes meet. Suguru smiles and pecks Satoru’s lips. “They’re terrified, and you fucking moan all the time,” he mumbles into the shallow kiss. “The only way they could rationalize me constantly ‘taking care of you’ was through a familial bond. Because they never had friends before, they don’t understand anything but sisterhood.”
With the warmth of Suguru’s lips over his own, Satoru is mellow and placid. Suguru can twist and knead him into whatever he wants. It’s so unfair.
“Mhm,” Satoru acknowledges.
He bites on Suguru’s lower lip and tugs. Satoru’s tongue sneaks between and licks the teeth. Suguru heaves a tiny breath and opens wider. His hands circle around Satoru’s middle, bringing him closer; their groins press together because it is a mutual Pavlovian response at this point. Groaning, Satoru deepens the kiss and digs his fingers into Suguru’s shoulder blades. He licks the roof of his mouth, then twirls his tongue around Suguru’s, all the while his crotch ruts into the welcoming warmth of Suguru’s firm body.
“Hey, onii-san.” Satoru tastes the new low and giggles into the kiss, “wanna defile your cute little brother?”
“You’re older than me,” Suguru snorts. His hands travel lower, to Satoru’s ass, he clutches the cheeks and pushes his tongue inside Satoru’s mouth with greedy violence.
Preening, twitching, and on the verge of moaning, Satoru grinds against Suguru’s tailbone. Like a fucking dog. But he’s fine with that, he can be a dog.
The strong hands bruising his behind travel south, low enough to catch Satoru’s thighs and push, hoisting the body up. Satoru breaks the kiss, his ankles clasped over Suguru’s lower back as he adjusts to being held.
“I’ve gained some muscle weight,” he shares, wide smile on his spit-covered lips. “You won’t be able to throw me around anymore.”
Suguru readjusts his hold, bouncing Satoru up and down as if to check whether he really became heavier. He then nips at Satoru’s neck.
“No, still a twig,” he murmurs into the skin. “Satoru-chan will always be my cute little brother, right?”
Oh.
Satoru’s blood runs south. The patch of skin on his neck burns—precisely where Suguru’s lips left a dirty smudge of ‘Satoru-chan’.
He’s very much into it. Embarrassingly so. Should he call Mei-Mei?
“Onii-san,” Satoru purrs, cute blinks of his lashes teasing with faux innocence, “do you like me small?”
It’s fucking hilarious and whatnot, Satoru is pushing 190cm, but why the hell not?
Suguru grins, smirks, a nasty look in his eyes and a greedy spark to ignite it.
“Mhm, Satoru-chan is cute,” he agrees, soft and menacing. He nuzzles the skin of Satoru’s neck, licks a small patch of wetness over the pulse. The tips of his fingers dip into the muscles of Satoru’s tights, clutching and relaxing as if he can’t help it.
Satoru throws his head back to share the expanse of milky flesh for Suguru to dig into. Bite him, suck him, kiss him—Satoru wants everything and more. He’s a spoiled kid, always has been.
The invitation is well-received as Suguru’s teeth sink to the side of a bobbing throat. He loves this part the most, and sometimes Satoru thinks Suguru hopes to crush his windpipe with his jaws alone. He would’ve let him; he can heal.
But Suguru is very kind to cute little things. He wouldn’t do that to Satoru-chan, right?
A hot, flat tongue maps the way up to Satoru’s chin. The saliva feels colder once left behind and Satoru shivers.
“Onii-san,” he whines, rubbing his groin into the middle of Suguru’s body. Pressed flush against him, held by him, gosh, Satoru does feel small. “I want—”
Suguru bites his jaw to shut him up.
“You’re so spoiled, Satoru-chan,” he tsks, as if it isn’t his fault. “What do you want?”
He always asks him. Spoils him fucking rotten and then pretends to be vexed by it. Like a careful dance, a play, a set of motions they go through with steel consistency.
“You,” Satoru replies, as always. “Touch me, onii-san,” he whispers. It tastes like absolute filth on his tongue; it sets his whole body ablaze, especially the nether part.
A lowly chuckle reverberates from Suguru’s chest to Satoru’s belly. He loves him, loves him, loves him so fucking much.
“Whatever you wish.”
Suguru strides to the couch with his cute little Satoru holding onto him like an octopus, long limbs around Suguru’s wide frame. Suguru’s steps are slow, methodical, leisurely enough to fire up a furnace of anticipation in the depths of Satoru’s lower belly.
Satoru clings to him with a tight embrace and tightly closed eyes, breathes in his smell. Fresh but deep. Sage and wood and leather and a hint of tobacco because he steals Shoko’s cigarettes and lies about it.
“Did you smoke, onii-san?” Satoru asks, lips grazing Suguru’s temple and nose tickled by Suguru’s silky, black locks.
Slowly, Suguru settles on the couch. Leather creaks and rasps under their joint weight and Satoru’s knees sink into the cushions around Suguru’s thighs. He shifts, making himself comfortable in Suguru’s lap. His nose still firmly latches to the silk of dark hair and the betrayal of cigarettes emanating from it.
“A little,” Suguru admits.
He stopped wearing his hair in a tight bun, now alternating between half-up, half-down and ponytail hairstyles. The stench seeps into the soft strands quicker than gum sticks to the sole.
Satoru pulls himself away, balancing on the clasp of hands around Suguru’s neck. He stares down at the pretty face of his onii-san and pouts.
“I don’t like it.”
Suguru smirks. He rubs his large palms over the sides of Satoru’s thighs, down to the knee and up to the tailbone. He teases. Touches. What a nasty older brother, a delinquent!
“Hm?”
Suguru tilts his head, light catching in the reflection of his polished onyx earplugs.
Delinquent!
Satoru narrows his eyes at him and grinds down. On the inside of Suguru’s pants, the outline of his cock starts to fill out. Satoru moves closer to it and rubs his crotch over the half-soft shaft. It’s big even now, and it’ll be bigger. Will it fit? Satoru is so small.
“Satoru-chan,” Suguru calls. His smirk is audible. He knows what Satoru is thinking about. “If I promise not to smoke…” Those rough hands, absolutely 180 from the sweetness of his voice, clutch Satoru’s asscheeks. Satoru chokes and a mewl. Pathetic. He licks his lips and stares at Suguru’s purple irises. “...what will I get in return?”
Under Satoru’s leg, in the crevice where the asscheek melts into the back of his tight, Suguru’s cock is all but a rock. It’s hard now. This fucking pervert. Satoru rolls his hips so the pressure elicits at least something of a shame from Suguru.
Fruitless. It’s Satoru who can hardly breathe. Through two layers of fabric—Suguru’s black uniform and Satoru’s sweatpants—Satoru feels each ridge and vein. Truly. He promises.
What a load of bull. He’s the cute one, the hell is he being played with for. Satoru clutches the muscles in his ass and rocks forward, harsh and violent. He digs his nails into Suguru’s nape and leans in so their lips almost touch.
“What’cha want, onii-san?” The cock under him twitches once the terrible, horrible form of address leaves Satoru’s mouth. Fucking pervert.
Suguru’s throat bobs as he gulps, eyes fixed on the curve of Satoru’s lips. Careful and slow, he takes away Satoru’s glasses. Then tips his chin down, smiles.
“Why are you bargaining with me?” he asks warmly. “I doubt you don’t know.”
Busted. Of course, Satoru knows. He looks down at that beautiful, gorgeous face—foxy eyes, thin eyebrows, blink and you miss it blush and saliva glistening on slightly puffy from kissing lips.
Satoru cups Suguru’s cheeks in his palms, skin warm and smooth under his fingertips. He moves closer. Satoru’s lips graze the slope of Suguru’s nose, right between his eyes. Then up to his forehead. Ghost of a touch, caress so light as if a thin coat of Infinity stops him. But no, he never has his guard up around Suguru.
“Onii-san,” Satoru whispers into a shadow of a frown creasing Suguru’s brows. “I like you so much. I think something is wrong with me.” His lips travel lower, under Suguru’s eye. He kisses the sharp cheekbone, then smudges to the temple.
Lowly, Suguru breathes out under him. His hands play with Satoru’s behind, one gets under his black t-shirt, scratches the lower back, then trails over the waistband of his pants. It’s that teasing, insanely gentle touch, laced with pretence of a doubt.
He can, of course, he can. But the way Suguru’s fingers barely touch the skin, as if an invisible force stops him from going further… Fuck, it’s so hot.
“What’s wrong with you, Satoru-chan?” Suguru asks, worried and earnestly concerned.
Such a beautiful liar.
Suguru tickles the line over the naked skin, circles one of the dimples on Satoru’s lower back.
When he plasters Satoru on his stomach, pushes his face into the mattress, and mounts him from behind, Suguru loves to press his thumbs into those dimples. He never says it out loud, but Satoru knows he has an uncanny fascination with that part of Satoru’s body. Suguru trained him to get hot and bothered just from a feathery touch around that area.
As Suguru dips his index finger into the dimple, Satoru gasps for breath. He presses his forehead against Suguru’s.
“See?” Satoru mutters, eyes shut tight. “I like it when you touch me like that. Isn’t it wrong, onii-san?”
Suguru hums, his other hand sneaks under the fabric and traces a line down Satoru’s spine. Inadvertently, Satoru arches his back; the movement brings his whole torso dangerously close to Suguru’s.
“Would you like me to share a secret?” Suguru’s voice is a raspy whisper, his palm flat against Satoru’s back, pushing him forward. He lowers his head to nuzzle the nook of Satoru’s shoulder.
“Yes,” Satoru breathes out. “Sure, yes, please, yes, tell me a secret.” His cock is fucking throbbing. This is the longest, weirdest foreplay they ever did.
Suguru chuckles. He nods lower, his breathing fanning over Satoru’s collarbone, then down to his chest.
“I like touching you, too.”
Through the cotton, Suguru closes his lips around Satoru’s nipple. Hot and wet, he pushes his tongue against it and coats the soft bud in saliva. Damp fabric scratches the sensitive skin, the nipple hardens inside the warmth of Suguru’s smart mouth.
“Ngh!”
The moan gets stuck in Satoru’s throat. A restrained little noise of surprise, pleasure and something else. Satoru arches his body even more, cradles Suguru’s head against his chest.
Suguru’s tongue circles the perked-up little tip. Cotton scrapes the areola, moist and wet and, fuck, Satoru is going to die here.
“Should we make it our little secret?” Suguru mumbles around the nipple in his mouth.
Satoru’s underwear is as damp as the t-shirt Suguru laps at with greedy abundance. He licks the hardened bud, then bites on it, then tugs the oversensitive flesh until Satoru’s whole body shudders from the spike of pain.
“Y-yes,” Satoru shakily agrees. His head is thrown back, soft white strands of hair falling over his forehead as he looks up to the ceiling. “It’s our— ah— our little secret, onii-san.”
Somewhere down, Suguru snorts. The hands drawing abstract patterns on Satoru’s lower back grab his sides firmly instead. They urge him up. Satoru listens. He gets up, balances himself on his knees as the loss of wet warmth on his chest makes him physically wince.
“Good boy, Satoru-chan,” Suguru mumbles into his stomach, right over the navel.
Satoru bites his lower lip and swallows an embarrassingly loud moan.
“Am I?” he asks. What the fuck? But he asks.
“Mhm.” Suguru nods, rubs his face against Satoru’s belly and kneads the behind of Satoru’s thighs in his hands.
“The best boy,” he continues, kissing the line of Satoru’s abs.
Satoru might just fucking die.
“Onii-san, I feel weird…”
“The cutest…” Suguru ignores him.
He bites the tailbone, the t-shirt’s cotton wet and the leather of the couch rasping as Suguru slides down.
“...the smartest…”
Suguru cups Satoru’s asscheeks and squeezes. Satoru gasps, rocks his hips forward on pure instinct. Suguru buries his nose into the crease of Satoru’s crotch, just a shy distance away from the obvious tent of Satoru’s erection.
“...the most diligent…”
He takes a deep breath, as if the musky smell of Satoru’s privates is this damn good.
“...the most perfect boy.”
Satoru glances down. It’s a risk—he may not survive it.
Suguru meets his gaze. He knows, of course, he knows when Satoru can’t help but look at him. With eyes only on each other, because Satoru will always seek Suguru, Suguru presses his cheek against Satoru’s pelvis and smiles.
“Satoru-chan, does it feel weird down here?” he asks, blinking all innocent.
Fucking pervert.
Satoru’s cock twitches and precum wets his underwear; the damp spot is already visible on the grey fabric of his sweatpants.
“Mhm,” Satoru nods fervently. “It hurts, onii-san,” he whines. Gods, it feels so good to whine like that.
And it does hurt, he’s so fucking hard it’s unbearable.
Suguru clutches his asscheeks in reply. He nudges Satoru closer and up, his own body half-lying on the couch as Satoru has him caged between his legs. The implication of this position is about to make Satoru cum untouched.
Gently, tortuously slow and careful, Suguru bites on the sweatpants’ waistband and tugs them down. Satoru’s hands fall to Suguru’s shoulders; he’s too numb to even grab him.
He wears tight, white boxers. The brand’s name runs along the band, contrasting Satoru’s pale skin and swallowing the V-line of his tailbones. Fabric stretches over the throbbing erection, darker and moist in the most obvious place.
Suguru spits out the cloth of Satoru’s pants with a low phaw and chuckles.
“Satoru-chan, look at you… you got it all wet,” he chastises. Then leans in and runs the tip of his tongue over the wet spot of precum. Satoru digs his nails into Suguru’s shoulders.
“You won’t tell anyone, right?” Satoru asks, he can barely trace the scenario.
Suguru smacks his lips, tasting the smudge of precum he collected. He smiles as he looks up.
“Of course,” he nods slightly. He kisses the tip of Satoru’s cock and Satoru feels himself leaking. “You’re still so immature. It’s fine, Satoru-chan,” Suguru assures. “It’s only natural.” He flattens his tongue and presses it against the underside. Wet and hot, it hugs Satoru’s cock from below and then licks up to the crown.
“O-onii-san!”
Satoru moans.
Like a girl.
Because what the the fuck!?
Suguru went down on him so many times it’s impossible to count. But maybe now is just that special. He’s a good boy now, after all. The cutest, the smartest, the most diligent. Fucking finally, someone acknowledges he works for it. He wasn’t born this good.
That devilish, vicious tongue narrows and dips into the slit, its tip solid, full of intent as it presses into the sensitive crevice. The mixture of spit and precum wets the cloth of ridiculously expensive boxers, it scuffs and scrapes the head of Satoru’s cock. Is it punishment? The final Judgement?
“Your cute little cock twitches when I lick it, Satoru-chan,” Suguru laughs. The warmth of his breath teases the damp spot and sends a jolt through each nerve of Satoru’s ‘cute little cock’.
He’s large enough to stretch Suguru’s throat and cum all the way down it without a drop landing on his tongue.
But that’s Satoru. Satoru-chan has a cute little cock. Sure. Why not. What the hell.
“Should I take it out?” wonders Suguru, mouthing over the underside. “It must be so uncomfortable.”
The tips of Satoru’s fingers dig into Suguru’s shoulders as he all but moans his agreement.
“P-please… It hurts a lot, onii-san…”
It takes all of his self-control so not to rut and rub his hard cock all over Suguru’s face.
It’s such a beautiful face.
It looks so fucking good when Satoru’s cock slides up Suguru’s cheek, slaps it, taps it with its head. Then, as customary, Suguru smiles like a vixen and nuzzles the length.
But not now.
Now Suguru pecks the head with gentle lips and snorts in a shallow laugh, full of warmth and devotion and the purest, nastiest delight. It seeps out of him. Oozes. Satoru can see it flowing out of his pores as he looks at him.
There are tells.
The concentration in Suguru’s gaze as he tugs down the underwear, helps with his palm to free Satoru’s angry, painfully red erection.
The hunger he doesn’t hide when he runs his tongue over his lower lip.
The absolute pleasure dusting his cheeks pink and glazing his eyes with a veil of glassy want.
Suguru wants him. Really. Fuck.
Satoru forgets it sometimes—Suguru is quick to end things should there be a hint of children noticing. Sometimes, he does things because it’s Satoru who’s horny, like a polite marital obligation. (Yes, marital, that was the word.)
But not now.
Now, Suguru wants him. Truly, fully, in an all-consuming feeling of need.
“Suguru,” Satoru calls, he can’t help it. He cups Suguru’s cheek and urges him to look up.
He meets a dazed, ravished gaze. If he didn’t know better, he’d think Suguru was drunk.
“Hm?”
“Do you want me, Suguru?”
Because Satoru’s greed could swallow a nation.
Suguru turns his face and kisses the lines on Satoru’s palm.
“I always want you,” he repeats, for the millionth time, but Satoru never gets tired of hearing it.
The foxy eyes snap up to him, rooting him to the spot. “My lovely, greedy Satoru. How could I not?”
Suguru bites Satoru’s thumb, no warning, only wetness as he circles his tongue around it. A hasty inhale shakes Satoru’s chest.
“Onii-san is greedy, too,” he reminds, muses, and pushes his thumb a bit deeper, pressing the tongue down under his pad. “What a disgrace, right?” Satoru rubs the surface of the slimy tongue while his cock throbs a breath away from Suguru’s face.
“My respected, well-loved and generous onii-san—” Satoru tugs his finger free and hefty smudges spit down Suguru’s chin. Under his touch, he can feel the tremble. Suguru is on his last bits of self-control, too.
With the ghostly light caress, Satoru nudges Suguru’s face closer to his cock. It pulses with anticipation, precum beading pearly drops on the tip. Suguru licks his lips as the heated flesh grazes his cheek.
“It feels so weird,” Satoru confesses. Rubs the head of his cock against the corner of Suguru’s mouth.
Whitish, tangy liquid melts into the dip between the lips. It's waxy and thick, but Suguru’s tongue darts out to catch it.
Satoru smiles. The whole world is at the palm of his hand and Suguru Geto is about to suck the life out of him. He must’ve done something right in this life, surely, to have this view.
“I know, Satoru-chan,” Suguru coos, rubbing his palms soothingly up and down Satoru’s thighs. “Will you let me help you?” he asks, fucking tease. His warm breath fans over the damp and leaking tip.
“Please.” There’s a croak to Satoru’s plea, voice thick and scratchy.
How Satoru wants him.
He breaks a little.
A lot.
“Please, fuck, Suguru, I’m about to explode, what the fuck are you doing, Suguru, fucking please—”
The flat tongue licks from the hilt up to the crown, shutting Satoru up.
“I like how you beg, but don’t ruin the mood,” Suguru says. “I’m surprisingly into it.”
He peppers kisses down the prominent vein curving on the side of Satoru’s cock. He doesn’t put any weight behind his words, just throws them out there.
Haaa. For real? Is this even real?
Satoru blinks. The words spilled out of Suguru’s mouth finally take shape in his mind and realize their full might.
Suguru is surprisingly into it.
A murky memory of one particular night resurfaces. Suguru’s dorm room, scarcely lit by one lamp. Satoru’s shaky leg, tapping the floor in anticipation. The worn notebook hidden in Satoru’s duffel bag, his research written down in messy lists and comparison tables.
Back in the brightly lit study, where shelves of books and a mahogany wood table try to sell maturity, Satoru throws his head back and laughs.
Laughs, laughs, laughs.
He’s floating.
He’s so high he might’ve stolen some drugs from the infirmary and accidentally gotten doped out of his mind.
The warm mouth teasing his manhood keeps licking and kissing, but Satoru still can feel the way Suguru’s lips spread in a smile.
“Onii-san is so, so bad,” Satoru manages through shaky breaths. “But I won’t tell,” he promises, “it’s our little secret.”
He won’t ruin the mood.
He is so fucking into it.
“You’re so obedient.” Suguru grabs the base with a loose fist and squeezes. “You should always listen to me like this, Satoru-chan,” he coos, his hand pumping up the length. The texture switches between dry and moist with saliva, and Satoru can feel it intimately. He’s so hard the foreskin has slid down and the pink-red head glistens in full, begging for someone to finally do something.
“I’ll reward you,” Suguru promises. And puts his mouth on the tip, lips around the girth and tongue flat against the slit.
“Ah!”
Suguru pumps his fist all the way up until it meets his lips and then spreads the slick mixture of bodily fluids down to the base. It makes that nasty, hot shlick noise and it echoes through the empty room louder than the panting breaths Satoru can’t control.
He puts his hands on Suguru’s head and buries his fingers in the soft hair.
Suguru circles his tongue around the head and sucks, lightly, just to tease. Satoru shakes, gasps for air. He wants to ram his cock into that mouth and push it deep down Suguru’s throat.
But Suguru holds his hips with one hand while the other slides down to his balls, so he can’t move at all. Those crafty fingers play with his sack while the wet heat engulfs him a bit deeper. Too slow.
The only thing Satoru can do is clutch the silky hair in his fist and tremble all over.
“Hm,” Suguru hums, satisfied. Satoru is being very fucking obedient.
Gently, Suguru lowers himself down the length. He has half inside as the tip of Satoru’s cock hits the back of his throat.
Biting his lip, Satoru refuses to stare; he won’t be a good boy if he sees what’s below. His hands shake, his thighs are tense, straining to stay in place.
There’s a rhythm to the way Suguru bobs his head. Up and down, sucking and then trailing veins with his tongue.
Suguru squeezes his balls and rolls them in his palm, hollowing his cheeks around the pulsing cock at the same time.
“F-fuck!” Satoru bends in half, his nails digging into Suguru’s scalp as a full-body tremble shakes him.
Accidentally, he pushes Suguru forward, the tip of his cock breaching the tightness of Suguru’s throat and sliding down it. The change in pressure sends jolts of pleasure down to his curling toes.
“I’m sorry,” Satoru pleads. He rocks his hips and fucks just a bit deeper into the tight wetness. “I’m sorry, onii-san,” he babbles. The squelch of his next thrust louder and nastier. “You- you can punish me later,” he begs. Another thrust so he feels Suguru’s nose in his pubes.
He goes deep inside, knows Suguru has no gag reflex, feels the way he relaxes his throat and then tightens it when Satoru rams back into it. He can’t help but fuck this wet, accommodating heat like an animal. “But it’s just—” he tugs on Suguru’s hair to push him away, and then shoves him forward at the same time as he thrusts inside—”so fucking good…”
Suguru swallows around him and Satoru’s belly contracts as he cums. Too fucking good. He spills down Suguru’s throat, deep inside, Suguru’s face pressed against his pelvis.
It’s mellow. Floaty. It shakes him and curls his toes and spurts of cum keep coming out as if he hasn’t had a release for days or weeks.
The pressure around his length tightens and relaxes as Suguru gulps down each drop. Not like he has a choice—Satoru’s cock is buried so deep inside him he can’t spit it out. Satoru holds Suguru’s head close, fingers in his hair and his body bent in half as if to hug.
With one last, weak thrust, Satoru releases Suguru and allows him to move away.
Suguru gasps for breath, he’s flushed and sweaty and tears are glistening in his eyes. He sends a sharp look up as he pants, cleans his spit-shining lips with the back of his palm.
Now it hits Satoru.
Oh.
He fucked up.
He really, really fucked up.
He ruined the mood.
Fuck.
Still dumb and boneless from the orgasm, there’s little Satoru can do when Suguru grabs him under his knees and pushes him to the side. Satoru lands on the leather cushions, the back of his head hitting the armrest with a silent thud. It wakes him up just a little bit.
“Satoru-chan,” Suguru rasps, staring him down.
He fixes his hair with one hand while the other presses on Satoru’s sternum. Both of Satoru’s thighs lay on each side of Suguru; he’s spread open over Suguru’s lap, absolutely defenseless.
“Tch, Satoru-chan,” Suguru sighs, disappointed. Satoru gulps.
His useless cock lies spent in the dip of his hip and pearly rivulets of cum still shine under the light. It would be a pretty nice view, the sun is pouring into the study through the blinds and casts lines of shadows over them. Another window is right behind Suguru—there’s a faint halo around him.
He looks like something holy. Spiritual. Looming over Satoru, with that calm yet studying look in his eyes. They run up and down Satoru’s messed-up form as if deciding—does this sinner deserve to enter the cycle of reincarnation?
“Onii-san,” Satoru whispers, biting his lower lip in shame. That’s one hell of a powerful look Suguru has, okay? “I’m really sorry.” Satoru knits his eyebrows and puts on the most pitiful performance. He blinks his baby blues, pushing out everything he has until he almost feels his irises glisten, unshed tears and rapid blinks of white lashes.
“Are you now?” Suguru asks.
He grabs Satoru’s ankles and drags him down the couch, both harsh and careful, the way only he can.
Satoru huffs as he gets manhandled, his legs open wide and his ass almost touching Suguru’s groin.
“Really,” Satoru nods frantically. “I got too excited, you’re just so warm…”
A short snort vibrates through Suguru’s chest. His pecs rise and the fabric stretches over them, buttons struggling just a bit to hold everything inside the shirt.
God. Satoru is hopeless.
“You’re such a handful,” Suguru chides. “Is there anyone else but me to scold you?”
No. Not now, not ever. No one ever scolded Satou Gojo, the future of the Gojo clan, the first bearer of Six Eyes and Limitless cursed technique in more than four centuries.
Satoru shakes his head.
“Do you want to scold me?”
Suguru’s hands travel up Satoru’s calves.
“I should,” he nods, diligent, as if it’s very important. “As your onii-san, I need to take care of you and teach you some decorum,” Suguru says. He kneads the skin under Satoru’s knee and leans down just a bit. “No wonder you’re such a little brat, Satoru-chan,” he smiles. “I should’ve taught you better far sooner.”
He should’ve. He should’ve been with Satoru from the moment he was born. If he weren’t so fucking in love with Suguru, he’d even be fine with Suguru being born as his real older brother. At least then it wouldn’t be so damn boring growing up.
“Onii-san, but you like me bratty,” Satoru counters, pouts his lips. It’s exhilarating.
Suguru purses his lips and pinches Satoru’s thigh. Satoru yelps and Suguru chuckles.
“Do I?” he asks, faux contemplation on his face. “No.” Suguru shakes his head. “You’re just trying to get out of it,” he says in a way that doesn’t invite any argument. “I need to be strict with you, Satoru-chan.”
Somehow, it goes straight to Satoru’s cock. It’s pathetically visible to both of them as the spent flesh twitches back to life.
Suguru, of course, notices. He arches his eyebrow, sends Satoru a curious look. Satoru wants to sink into the cushions, so they swallow him whole. His cheeks burn. He simply can’t stand it—he averts his gaze and frowns, gnawing on his lower lip.
“Satoru-chan,” Suguru soothingly calls, “You know I care about you, right?”
Sinking his teeth into his lower lip until it properly hurts, Satoru nods. He still avoids Suguru’s gaze. But he can feel Suguru’s hands going up his thighs.
“So I can’t let it slide, you understand, right?”
Suguru’s hands grab the hem of Satoru’s t-shirt and tug it up.
“Hands.”
Satoru raises his hands obediently and lets himself be undressed. He stares to the side, at the mahogany table bathing in zebra-pattern shadows of the blinds.
“Satoru-chan,” Suguru murmurs. The t-shirt lands on the floor in a heap of white fabric and with a barely audible thud. “Look at me.”
No. He won’t. He’s never been this fucking embarrassed in his life.
It’s one thing to get aroused with some weirdass incest play, it’s completely another to… to do what Satoru just did.
“Satoru.”
It’s far sterner, an order. Even the innate softness of Suguru’s voice can’t mask it, it’s unmistakable.
Dejectedly, Satoru turns his head and looks at Suguru.
Suguru cups his cheek with one hand and smiles.
“It doesn’t matter,” Suguru says. He scoots back and then leans down, both hands on each side of Satoru’s head, caging him. He moves closer, pecks Satoru right on the lips. Into the soft skin, he whispers, “I’m here now, right? I’ve been scolding and nagging you for years.”
Satoru licks Suguru’s upper lip and then catches it between his teeth. Suguru chuckles. Satoru kisses the spot he just bit and then kisses the lower lip. He hugs Suguru’s middle and buries his face in the crook of Suguru’s neck. He can’t let Suguru see.
With all the care, Suguru brushes a lock of white hair behind Satoru’s ear. He balances on one arm but Satoru doesn’t care, Suguru is strong enough to carry him. He’s the only one who’s strong enough for that.
“_____, ___”
“What was it?” Suguru asks, his gentle fingers running through Satoru’s hair.
Shit. Satoru thought his mumbling was inaudible. Or maybe he really wanted Suguru to hear.
“No one nagged me before you,” Satoru says.
Suguru’s soft laughter reverberates through their bodies. Satoru nuzzles the skin of Suguru’s neck and the smell, the closeness, everything in general—all of it makes him want more, again.
“I could tell,” Suguru huffs. “Satoru-chan, I’ll be gentle, okay?”
Satoru nods, his forehead rubbing the fabric of Suguru’s perfectly white shirt. He’s so mature sometimes. Satoru feels like a dumb kid in comparison.
“Onii-san,” Satoru whines. He clasps his legs behind Suguru’s back and lifts himself up, just enough to touch Suguru’s groin. “You can punish me now, I’m super ready,” he whispers hotly into Suguru’s ear.
Suguru pulls himself away, and unwillingly, but Satoru unwinds his hands and lets Suguru out of the embrace. Thankfully, he doesn’t suffer for long. Now that Suguru has both hands free, he grabs Satoru’s cock and gives it a nice pump. The cum and saliva are almost dry, sticky, it’s painful more than pleasurable but Satoru likes it that way.
“Ngh!”
He arches his back, trying to push the half-hard length into the circle of Suguru’s hand. He needs more of this torture of a friction.
“Be patient,” Suguru reprimands and clutches the base, harsh and forceful. Satoru gasps, eyes wide open.
Fuck.
It’s so good.
“Sorry, onii-san,” he mutters.
“You’re relentless, Satoru-chan,” Suguru sighs. “It won’t work.”
Ha?
Satoru glances at Suguru. He slides his hand up and down Satoru’s cock in afterthought, his contemplative gaze focused somewhere on Satoru’s second left rib from the down. The hell?
“Hey, Satoru-chan.” Suguru suddenly looks at him. “I’m going to fold you, okay?”
Ha!?
“W-what?”
Suguru nods to himself. He gently squeezes Satoru’s now fully erect cock as if to say goodbye and grabs the waistband of Satoru’s sweatpants.
“Onii-san?”
In any case, Satoru raises his hips when Suguru drags down his pants.
“Scoot up.”
Satoru does. Places his head on the armrest and carefully watches each of Suguru’s actions.
Suguru is busy getting Satoru out of his pants. Satoru wants to kick them off fully but Suguru stops when the waistband stretches around Satoru’s knees. He spreads Satoru’s legs wider, the stretchy fabric of the sweats tightens like a string.
“Perfect,” Suguru confirms.
Satoru gulps. Perfect what…?
Before he can ask, protest, or react in any way, Suguru grabs his ankles and forces them up. Breath leaves Satoru’s chest as Suguru weighs Satoru’s own legs on top of him, folding him like a fucking pretzel. The sweatpants cuffing his legs together are stretched to their maximum as Suguru, somehow, hooks them behind Satoru’s head. Fabric digs into Satoru’s nape, his knees press onto his shoulders, his shins almost touching his temples. Satoru didn’t know himself he was flexible enough to pull it off.
What the fuck?
Satoru tries to move but he realizes he can’t, can only flail his hands like a dimwit fish. His ass is all on full display, his hard cock smudges precum over his abs.
Shifting, Suguru backs off just a little to admire his work. He sits on his calves and traces his hand over the back of Satoru’s thigh.
“Look how flexible you are,” Suguru praises. Folded in half, Satoru only gapes. He can’t even register the position.
The pads of Suguru’s fingers trail lower until they reach Satoru’s hole. He has never been exposed like this. Never.
Curiously, Suguru circles his index finger around the rim. It’s too much. Satoru feels himself tightening from the touch.
“It’s puffy,” Suguru notes, unbothered, just making an observation.
Heat rises to Satoru’s cheeks. Of course, it’s puffy; they had sex this morning and it was gloriously interrupted because Nanako wanted pancakes. Satoru had to jerk off in the shower.
“What are you doing?” Satoru hisses.
But he can’t fucking move because the fucking sweatpants around his knees are looped over his head and hold him hostage. In the most embarrassing, open position ever. He was never shy but the way Suguru looks at his hole makes him feel all sorts of terrible ways.
This is a punishment alright.
“Thinking,” Suguru replies.
He taps the hole with his index and middle finger and it twitches in response.
“Onii-san,” Satoru says, voice low. “Take them off.”
It dawns on him that he can’t be menacing when folded in half like this.
“Hm?” Suguru looks up, his fingers playing with Satoru’s hole as if it's his toy to do whatever.
“I don’t like it.” Satoru flails, trying to grab his sweats and somehow remove them. Noticing this attempt, Suguru grabs one of Satoru’s wrists.
“No,” he murmurs, “keep your hands down.” He lowers it back until the palm sticks to the leather cushion. With only one hand unrestrained, Satoru can hardly hope to free himself.
“This is humiliating,” he snaps.
Suguru pushes two fingers inside. It’s dry. It’s painful. Only possible because Suguru puts enough force behind his shove. Satoru feels each ridge of Suguru’s knuckles as they stretch him. He closes his eyes and gasps.
“Satoru-chan,” Suguru coos, wiggling his fingers inside. “It’s supposed to be like this,” he explains, as if it’s a lecture. “How will you learn otherwise?”
A warm, tangy liquid drips onto the rim of Satoru’s hole. He creaks his eyes open—Suguru drools on him. Fuck. It’s hot.
The digits inside him move out, then catch and smear the newly added wetness, pushing it back inside as if to slicken from within. The thrust is smoother, gentler. Satoru swallows a moan.
He can see everything. Not his hole, but the way the veins on Suguru’s wrist shift when he moves his hand. He can see his cock twitching and balls tightening. It’s too much. He’s selfish, sure, self-absorbed, too. But this is too much.
“Onii-san,” Satoru almost sobs, “I get it, okay?”
The fingers inside curl up, pressing into the spot. The spot Suguru knows too well. The jolt runs through Satoru’s nervous system, he digs his nails into the leather cushion and hears it croak and screech.
“I was bad, I didn’t think, I’m sorry,” he mutters, half-lidded eyes watching the tendons on Suguru’s wrist move as he curls his digits more. They rub and press and caress that fucking spot, milking it dry. “I’m sorry, okay, please, I’m so sorry!”
He trembles all over, the leather under his nails is about to rip, his lip is bitten bloody.
The thrusts are all well-aimed, switching between harsh pushes to gentle probing. Suguru knows Satoru all too well—how to touch him, where to rub, how to stroke, which side of the small bud hidden inside is the most sensitive.
There’s a pool of precum on Satoru’s belly, it trickles to his chest, slowly and tangy. It would itch if Satoru weren't too busy dying of prostate abuse.
“Satoru-chan is so cute,” Suguru chuckles. “You’re leaking so much. Do you like it?”
Satoru pants, heavy breaths suffocating him—his thighs pressed flush against his shoulders and his sheens almost touching his ears. The stretch of his sweatpants digs into his nape, hard enough he thinks half of the blood flow to his brain is cut off.
“Onii-san,” Satoru moans. He’s light-headed and his hole twitches like crazy around Suguru’s fingers the same as his cock. “I l-like it…”
The third finger stretches his rim perfectly. Satoru’s mouth hangs open as fresh tears start to gather at the corner of his eyes. He’s dripping wet and he can’t feel his toes.
He’s going to die like this and it will be glorious.
The orgasm is pooling in his gut, he can feel it. Just a bit, a few more thrusts into his prostate, a few more teasing, pressing rubs of it, and he will reach nirvana.
His eyes roll back and he can’t even talk.
Suguru’s fingers scissor a bit, stretching the hole, then plunge inside and curl up just right.
Almost there.
“More,” Satoru pleads. “Suguru, fuck, give me more!”
Suguru takes away his hand. It’s empty. His hole gapes around nothing and the curling heat in his belly unravels without the stimulation.
He falls into the pit of blankness. Hollow.
What a damn tragedy.
“Fucking hell,” Satoru mutters, blinking his eyes open. “Why did you stop?”
Did the kids knock on the door? Is this another instance of Satoru’s misery?
Suguru’s face is unreadable. He narrows his eyes at Satoru. Then moves his hands up and grabs the sweatpants caging Satoru in an embarrassing fold. He tugs them off. Without their support, Satoru’s legs fall back on each side of Suguru.
The relief is so all-encompassing he breathes out and then gulps air with a full chest.
“That was an insane fucking thing you did,” he reprimands with no real heat.
Suguru huffs.
“Why are you so troublesome?” he asks. He sounds honestly annoyed. “I liked you all cute, then you go and have to be a fucking brat.”
That’s bad. Suguru is very annoyed.
Satoru hears the clasp of Suguru’s belt. Then the swish of it being taken out of the loops on Suguru’s pants. He risks a look.
“Um…” Satoru half-smiles. “Suguru?”
Suguru stares at him, a shadow over his frowning face.
“Onii-san?”
Suguru folds the belt in half.
“Now it’s onii-san, huh?”
Satoru scrambles up the couch, puts his hands in front of him in a mock defense.
“Onii-san, yes, don’t be mad,” Satoru chuckles nervously. “You know how I am, don’t you?”
The expression on Suguru’s face makes Satoru’s brain all mushy and the tips of his fingers tingle.
With a flash of movement, Suguru catches both of Satoru’s wrists and loops the belt around them. He tugs to tighten it, then secures the restraint. Satoru watches silently, only gulping and then feeling his cock leak.
Grabbing the remaining length of the belt’s leather, Suguru whips Satoru’s hands over his head. Satoru almost moans.
He glances up at Suguru.
“Didn’t you promise to be gentle?” Satoru asks.
Suguru tilts his head to the side, thinking.
“I guess I lied.”
He lowers his body and something hot, thick and long rubs against Satoru’s abdomen. He knows it intimately, recognizes the curve and the girth and the way it fits against Satoru’s own erection.
He bites down on a moan.
Finally, Suguru is about to impale him on that ridiculously huge cock of his.
“Don’t be greedy, okay, onii-san.”
Satoru pushes himself up and rubs his cock against Suguru’s.
“Give it to me, yeah?”
He feels its veins and ridges and the way the crown catches against Satoru’s tip and, fuck, he might just be into edging if this is his reward.
“Give it to me good, will you? How else can you put a brat in place, right, onii-san?” Satoru babbles as he ruts himself against Suguru, he can’t stand it anymore.
“You have to rod them, and bring them to their knees, and leave a few scars so they remember.”
Suguru tugs on the belt around Satoru’s wrists and forces him to stretch. His other hand is planted into the cushion, right by Satoru’s head. The violet irises of Suguru’s eyes clash with the blurry blue.
“Shut up, Satoru-chan,” he hisses. “You really have no idea what you’re talking about?”
Satoru smiles widely until his cheeks hurt.
“But I do,” he assures. He winds his legs around Sugur’s waist and presses on his lower back with the heels of his feet to bring him closer. “I was raised in a very strict, traditional clan, remember?”
Suguru thrusts his hips, their erections snuggled against each other as the trickles of precum mix with each movement.
“Oh? And were you ever punished, Satoru-chan?”
Satoru tries to wiggle himself up, just enough so he can catch Suguru’s cock between his thighs. He succeeds with Suguru’s help. The throbbing cock slides down his balls, hole, the line between his wide-spread asscheeks.
“Nope,” Satoru replies, shameless.
He has the tip of his tongue out in concentration as he tries to get fucked. Why can’t Suguru just put it in?
“But others were. They kneeled for hours in the temple. Or got flogged on the shins. Or worse—” Satoru is so intent on staring down between their bodies that he barely notices the gentlest touch brushing away his bangs. “They got whipped in public. Ultimate shame, you know?”
There’s a silent laugher as Suguru pinches his chin, then tips him up so their eyes meet.
“You want me to punish you the way your clan does?” he asks, mirth dancing in his eyes.
Satoru’s hands are free now—relatively, they’re still cuffed by the belt—and he uses this freedom to hook them around Suguru’s neck.
“Onii-san’s gonna flog me?” Satoru asks in mock horror.
Suguru’s hand travels down between their bodies.
“Up.”
Satoru raises his hips higher.
The tip of Suguru’s cock catches at his rim and he almost cums. How pathetic.
“I condone corporal punishments, Satoru-chan. What do you think of me?”
He pushes the tip deeper, slowly, slow enough that Satoru feels the stretch of his rim and the exact moment the pressure changes to suction. It’s dry and harsh and only the precum of Suguru’s cock slickens the movement a tiny bit but…
Fuck…
How fucking great.
And his hole listens to him well—swallows the head and clasps tight around the girth.
Satoru bites his lower lip hard enough he reopens one of the tiny, bloody gushes from before.
It feels so fucking good.
He throws his head back and breathes out.
“Onii-san is too violent and pent up,” he mumbles, “he should take it out on me instead.”
Suguru thrusts inside, one nice, deep thrust all the way to the hilt. Satoru hiccups and gasps and hugs Suguru’s shoulders and his toes curl and…
“You just fucking say whatever, huh?”
That soft, honey of a voice taunts right into his ear, warms him with the exhale of hot air.
Satoru nods, pressing his heels into the small of Suguru’s back to force him deeper. The position is perfect for going deep, Suguru should fold him again, too.
“Y-yes,” Satoru agrees.
He finds Suguru’s eyes and uses his tied-up hands around Suguru’s nape to bring him closer. He taps Suguru’s forehead with his own.
“Onii-san,” Satoru smiles, “fuck me, hm?”
There are smoldering embers in the depths of Suguru’s eyes. Probably. But Satoru knows for sure—once he squeezes his walls, Suguru won’t have enough self-control to play with him.
So Satoru does exactly that.
Suguru’s jaws tighten; the vein on the side of his neck pulsates.
He takes out his cock to the tip and then rams inside. Their skin slaps, the thrust scratches the rim and the insides—the lack of lube is an insanely savage ordeal.
“Rip me,” Satoru mumbles.
“What?”
“I’ll heal later, just rip me now,” he orders urgently, “It’s too fucking dry.”
“You lunatic,” Suguru chuckles lowly. He kisses Satoru’s cheek and then his temple. “I can go get some lube.”
Satoru uses all of his limbs and even his hole to force Suguru to stay in place.
“Don’t you dare,” he threatens. Suguru stopped thrusting, now only rolling his hips so his cock does that fucking thing with Satoru’s insides and that spot. Satoru can’t think at all. “Just rip it open, you love it anyway.”
With a bit more force and intent behind it, Suguru rolls his hips so the tip of his cock almost breaches the sigmoid colon.
“Ready?”
Satoru raises his knees higher and tightens his hole.
“Give me your all,” he says and grins.
He wants, wants, wants everything, always, as much as possible and then some.
Suguru snorts. He lowers his head to wordlessly ask Satoru to release him.
Albeit unwilling, Satoru unhooks his hands from behind Suguru’s neck and throws them over his own head.
As thanks, Suguru bites on his collarbone and only then straightens up. He’s still fully clothed while Satoru is all naked under him and it also sends a weird spike of pleasure through each of Satoru’s nerve endings.
Suguru grabs Satoru’s knees and brings him closer, plasters him over his lap so that Satoru has to curve his back and put most of his weight on his shoulder blades. Suguru settles his hold on each side of Satoru’s hips. He moves away, tilting himself back more so that the angle of his next thrust would potentially pierce through Satoru’s belly.
“Come on, Suguru,” Satoru rushes, wiggling his lower part in urgent anticipation. “Onii-san, daddy, sensei, fucking rip me apart, because I—”
Suguru snaps his hips forward and plunges his cock too deep and too upward.
The sensitive ring of Satoru’s entrance rips in a few places, warm blood trickles down the inside of his thigh.
The pain is stark, bright, damn incredible. He loves it. It’s always such a refreshing sensation.
He rarely gets hurt with Infinity doing its job—the last time was years ago, when that [redacted] slashed him with Inverted Spear of Heaven. Nothing hurt as much as being gutted like a fish.
But the way Suguru lovingly violates him upon request is nice, too. Almost painful enough to remove all other memories of hurt and ache.
“Just like that,” Satoru mumbles, his hands in tight fists.
Suguru thrust again, the squelch of blood sloshing with it is loud and ringing in Satoru’s ears. It’s slicker now, easier, better. The sting of the rips feels so good he doesn’t want to heal just yet, maybe later. A lot later.
“You’re such a freak,” Suguru laughs to himself.
He rams his cock deep and then presses on the bulge protruding through Satoru’s belly. It’s a routine for him— he loves to check how deep he can get. Satoru bets he can even measure the angle’s effectiveness through the bulge alone.
It’s funny. Really. Who else would ever be able to handle Satoru if not this manipulative, control-obsessed, almost-sociopath?
“But you love it,” Satoru grins.
He tightens his walls and his hole and the wounds bleed more and he might ascend.
“You’re a nasty pervert, onii-san.”
Suguru thrusts quicker, setting a violent, bone-crushing rhythm.
“You like defiling little brothers and getting promising heirs pregnant,” Satoru keeps mumbling.
His body shakes with each slam, the armrest digs into his nape, his spine is curved all awkward. The leather sticks to his sweaty skin. But inside–oh, hell, he’s getting rammed into oblivion on the inside.
“You like when—fuck, right there!— when I… when I beg you—” Satoru babbles, mouth half-open and tears running down his cheeks. “Please, Suguru, fuck me stupid,” he tries to mimic his joking tone but it sounds like an honest plea.
The nails of Suguru’s perfectly manicured fingers dig into Satoru’s hips and leave bright-red crescent-shaped marks. Right below, the pink of future bruises blooms. He clutches onto Satoru’s waist now, dragging him onto his cock as if Satoru weighs nothing, a toy to handle in whatever way.
It’s perfect.
Satoru finds some semblance of strength in his arms and throws them back onto his stomach,
“H-hold me,” he manages through broken breaths.
“Ask nicely.”
Satoru sniffles a sob, blinks furiously to clean the veil of tears.
“Hold me, p-please, onii-san.”
The pace is fucking unbelievable. The pool of blood under him wets his lower back and like hell he would heal himself. It’s incredible.
“Good, Satoru-chan,” Suguru coos. His hair is disheveled, and there are patches of sweat on his otherwise perfect shirt. He snaps his hips forward and forces Satoru deeper into the cushions and no one ever could make a lowly, carnal pleasure feel so sacred.
He grabs Satoru’s tied hands and tugs them down to his abdomen. Satoru arches his back and the next thrust breaches something deep inside him, molding his organs into the shape of Suguru’s cock.
Suguru should start a cult.
The blast of endorphins Satoru’s body produces once this place gets rammed from the other side is fucking godly.
“Ah, fuck!”
Satoru all but screams, his whole body shakes, trying to make sense of whatever is happening. It’s so rare Suguru goes this deep, fuck, Satoru is going to pass out.
“Suguru—” he calls, urgent, “Suguru, make me cum, quick, make me cum, please, fuck, pleasepleaseplease—”
Suguru repeats the thrust, tugging on the belt around Satoru’s wrist. Then again, again, again.
The heat explodes as Satoru convulses. White ropes of cum paint his chest, land on his neck, a few drops even reach his chin.
Another slam of their hips leads him through it, jolting him to his bones.
And then one more.
He can’t control his muscles anymore. He feels his hole and insides twitching but he has no agency down below anymore.
“Damn it, Satoru,” Suguru groans or moans, it’s hard to tell over the ringing in Satoru’s ears.
But the hot cum spilling deep into him is more than enough. He’s all sensitive now, and still he weakly hugs Suguru’s middle with his legs and wordlessly forces him to stay.
There are a few more shallow thrusts, the clap of skin on skin swallowed by their panting breaths and thrumming heartbeats.
Suguru falls on top of him, still buried inside.
It’s uncomfortable and Satoru’s hands dig into Suguru’s lower belly, but he would never complain. He nuzzles Suguru’s sweaty temple and breathes in his scent.
“Hey, Suguru,” Satoru whispers. He’s boneless and tired. His body tingles in the most amazing way.
“Mhm?”
“I’m about to pass out.”
Suguru quickly balances himself on his stretched-out arm, palms rooted to the couch cushion on each side of Satoru.
“What? Just heal yourse—”
Ah, sweet darkness.
***
Bubbles of shampoo float, rainbow dancing on their surface before they burst with one unlucky strike from the stray drop. The water is warm and nice, the perfect temperature to soak in. Long enough so the tips of your fingers wrinkle and all the possible dirt gets washed off.
“When did you make us a bath?” Satoru wonders, his head lolling to the side on Suguru’s shoulder.
“You were passed out for an hour.”
Satoru hums. Maybe he should’ve used RCT, but he kind of enjoys getting rammed into a losing consciousness. Call it a preference.
“Thanks. You cleaned me up?”
Suguru plants a chaste kiss to the tip of Satoru’s ear.
“Of course. But you really need to stop me before I go without lube.”
Aw, he’s so caring once he gets what he wants.
Satoru smirks.
“It’s fine. You prepared it all but no lube? Please,” he snorts. Satoru glances up at Suguru, eyebrow arched in mock of a challenge.
“Ah,” Suguru feigns a drop, a smudge of shame. “What gave me away?”
That makes Satoru laugh. He snuggles deeper into Suguru’s embrace and grabs his hand to play with it.
“We haven’t been interrupted once,” he recounts. “And not once did you tell me to be quiet. It doesn’t take a genius, Suguru.”
Suguru’s chuckle vibrates through Satoru’s back. He tugs on Suguru’s index finger, then curls it. As if this part of his body no longer belongs to him, Suguru allows Satoru to do whatever, his hand almost limp and lifeless in Satoru’s experimental hold.
“True,” Suguru relents. “I sent the girls away with Shoko. That’s why I went out—to pick her up at the station.”
Satoru curls the ring finger, tapping the nailbed as if to reward for finding its place in Suguru’s fist.
“And?” Satoru presses.
He now moves to the pinky. First, he tags on it, then bends each knuckle, then unbends.
“Do I really need to say this?”
“Yes,” Satoru replies, curt and to the point.
The pinky is now lying curled beside its comrades. Except for one finger.
Suguru groans and throws his head back.
“I asked the girls to prank you. There. Happy?”
Satoru stretches the last finger, the lone soldier on Suguru’s palm. The brave one.
Grabbing Suguru’s hand by the wrist, Satoru turns it around so the back of the palm faces the receiver of the message, and flips him off. With his own hand, so it’s poetic enough.
“You pervert, how could you involve children!?”
The anger quickly subsides once Suguru nuzzles the back of his neck.
“I didn’t,” Suguru corrects, lips over the skin of Satoru’s nape. “I merely wanted to plant the idea for further use.” He bites, gently, but sucks a hickey nonetheless. “You escalated it way too fast.”
Satoru blinks rapidly. The water sloshes as he turns around to face Suguru.
“You wanted to plant the idea?” he asks, incredulous.
Suguru smiles, that placid little smile he always wears when he explains something to a child.
“I found your notebook.”
Satoru’s eyes widen.
“It’s plenty interesting. Why did you stop writing in it?”
Because we finally had enough sex!
He wants to scream at it but Satoru refrains. He urgently needs to find another topic to divert Suguru’s attention.
“So, wait,” Satoru says to buy time. “You really used the girls to ease me into this weirdass incest play?”
Suguru rolls his eyes.
“They think it was a prank,” he replies. “In what universe do we look like brothers? They’re young, not stupid.”
Touche.
Satoru really wishes they had one boy to make fun of. Or just someone in this household he could team up with.
A faint memory resurfaces in the periphery of his mind.
“What date is it today?”
***
The only boy available is the exact copy of [redacted]. Just Satoru’s luck.
Fuck all these kinks.
They do missionary from now on.