Archive of Our Own

“What’s taking her so long?” Satoru complains, fiddling with a stray guitar pick he stole from one of the sheet stands. He scratches his thumbnail against the dark marbled acrylic, tapping it against his finger in an impatient manner.

“I have no idea,” Suguru sighs. He picks up his phone from the floor, tapping on the screen to check the time. “She’s always here first, but today of all days she chooses to be five minutes late.”

Satoru watches as Suguru tucks a stray strand of raven-dark hair behind his ear, watching the numerous silver piercings dangle and shimmer in the light. He wets his bottom lip, as if preparing to kiss the man—though, this is not the time, nor place for that.

Suguru was his best friend, and is still his best friend, just now they make out and touch each other naked quite frequently.

Being Suguru’s boyfriend and dating Suguru is great. Awesome, fantastic, incredible, every good adjective in the book, really—no complaints from Satoru. 

The only downside? Shoko—their bandmate of three years and their other best friend.

Dating bandmates is so awkward! She’d always preach. I don’t want to watch my friends make out while we’re supposed to be working on productive band-related activities, you know? It tears the team apart…

And, well…

She wasn’t wrong. In the past, before the three of them had come together to form their own band, he and Suguru had witnessed many of their bandmates become bandmates with benefits.

Did it ruin the band, like, at least just a little bit?

Yeah.

But that doesn’t mean that their relationship will. Satoru and Suguru are different—very different. First off, they’re actually dating—official boyfriends, if you will. Additionally, they’re in love, which means that nothing is bound to go wrong.

So as long as Shoko doesn’t find out and isn’t alive to scold them, the band will thrive.

“Right? Of course she abandons punctuality on the first day we’re supposed to start the new song.” Satoru groans, biting his fingernail anxiously. “I’m not worried about it being good—we always make something perfect, and the fans always love everything we put out.” Satoru says, leaning his hands back on the carpeted ground they both sit on. “But I am a little stressed about finishing it on time. We need to start lyrics in the next few days, probably. But we can’t do that until we’ve at least figured out the melody and stuff.”

“Yeah, we’re already running a little too late. It’s a bit ambitious trying to come up with a whole new song just a few weeks before a huge gig.” Suguru adds, tossing his phone back onto the ground and scooting a little closer to Satoru, until they’re hip to hip.

“Ambition is my middle name, don’t you know it?”

“Pfftt—Satoru ‘Ambition’ Gojo. What about Satoru ‘Extra’ Gojo—that’s more fitting.” Suguru says, looking at Satoru intently. His gaze flits between his eyes and his lips, and Satoru can feel a blush creeping up his cheeks just from Suguru’s stare.

“Really? That’s the best insult you could come up with?” Satoru snorts, leaning closer to Suguru’s face. “That I’m too extra?” 

Suguru doesn’t respond to that, just scoots a little closer and places a hand on Satoru’s waist. “You think Shoko’s coming in any time soon?”

“Who cares,” Satoru breathes. “Just kiss me.”

Suguru closes the remaining distance, slotting their lips together and tightening his grip on Satoru’s waist. He bunches the fabric of Satoru’s worn Digimon shirt in a tight fist, tugging on it in an attempt to press their bodies closer together.

Satoru still gets butterflies when they kiss, and still feels little sparks fly when their lips meet one another. Like an ocean wave crashing against the shore, eternally bound to meet the sand again in each life.

Crash, recede.

Crash, recede.

Two pairs of lips crashing against each other, biting and clashing and exploring. 

Two pairs of lips pulling back from one another, breathing and licking and nurturing.

It is the cyclical nature of love that persists in every lifetime and exists in every form—ocean waves and yearning lips love just the same.

Suguru grows restless and needy. He is aggressive and passionate—Satoru anchors his hand behind him in an attempt to gain some stability, but it is futile. He’s about to allow Suguru to push him to the ground and take further control before the faint click of metal interrupts them.

They snap apart with a gasp at the sudden metallic sound of the door handle being jostled. Their lips part as quickly as they had come together, and their faces dart away from each other, facing polar opposite directions. Their cheeks are flushed bright red and their lips are swollen and their hair is all messed up, but, like—besides that? You would never know.

The door creaks open, Shoko’s figure filling the frame, two slender drumsticks in one hand, an unlit cigarette in the other.

“Sorry I’m late, there was some cra—” Shoko starts, pausing when she looks up to see both of her bandmates suspiciously flushed and suspiciously close together. “Uhhhhhh…”

“What?” Satoru says, feigning innocence.

“Nothing…” Shoko says cautiously, as if she is approaching two wild animals and not her closest best friends. “Sorry, it’s nothing.” She reassures, shaking her head a little, even as her face remains slightly puzzled. “I’m late, let’s get started.”

Satoru catches Suguru’s wince in his peripheral. He can still see the pink blush painting his cheeks and wonders if he nurses the same flush. 

“Okay, let’s figure this out, we only have, like, an hour left.” Satoru says, immediately settling into their organized rhythm. He stands up, dusting his hands off (there’s no dust on them, they just feel weird because the carpet pressed into his palms and left marks).

“Right, sorry. Any ideas for the song, though? Did you guys think of anything while I was gone?”

Satoru meets Suguru’s eyes across the room for a split second before they both look away. Nope. We were pretty busy doing something else.

“Not really,” Suguru fills in with a steady voice. “I always like a good love song, though. We can take a bunch of different styles with that, use heavier drums and stick in a guitar solo.”

Satoru rolls his eyes. Of course Suguru wants to do a love song.

“Who would you write about?” Shoko asks, a laugh slipping from her lips. “That same evil ex you wrote the last three about?”

Suguru laughs too, rolling his eyes back at the both of them. “No, it’d be like an actual love song, not a regretful diss track.”

“Who’d it be about then?” Shoko repeats.

Suguru shrugs. “No one, probably. Satoru will help write the lyrics anyways, we’ll just make some stuff up.”

Shoko shrugs. “Works for me. Let’s start testing stuff out, then.”

For the next hour, the three of them picked up their instruments—Satoru wielded a guitar, Suguru a bass, and Shoko a drum set. Satoru was also their vocalist, but it was early on in the process, so for now they focused on the instrumentals.

They tested out different instrumental elements, recording a few of their best takes and dispersing it amongst the group for future reference. They waved off their goodbyes, packed up their stuff, and locked up the studio for the night.

By the time Satoru begins his walk home, autumn’s crisp evening chill has settled over the streets, and goosebumps bloom along the pale stretch of Satoru’s bare arms.

He pulls his phone from the pocket of his loose baggy jeans, opening his messages.

[satoru]
ur gonna write the love song ab me right

[suguru]
yeah obviously

[satoru]
ok good

‧₊ ♪˚⊹

Satoru doesn’t really get stressed. He’s perfect—their gigs always go perfect, their fan interactions are always perfect, and everything about this band is perfect because Satoru keeps it from unraveling.

But. Well.

Metaphorically speaking: If they are a yarn ball that desperately attempts to stay together, to remain tight and neat and perfect—this gig has got to be a curious cat batting at the loose threads.

Translation: It’s kind of falling apart.

Satoru’s sigh folds into a blowing raspberry as he lets his neck go limp against the edge of the bed. His back is propped up against the structure, hands fidgeting in his lap. An abandoned notebook and pen lay across his thighs, a fresh new page facing him. It’s not that he hasn’t written anything, but rather that he's scrapped any attempt at a proper draft.

His head lolls to the side, eyes lazily rolling over Suguru’s figure that lays beside him. He’s propped up on his elbows, laying on his stomach watching something on his phone. Upon seeing Satoru blow out his sigh of defeat, he shuts his phone off with a click and directs his attention towards his boyfriend.

One of Suguru’s hands comes up to graze Satoru’s cheek. The pads of his fingers are calloused and firm from years of devoted bass-playing, and his pupils are dilated and eyes relaxed. He faces Satoru, eyes level with his chin, which is like, probably not a flattering angle but Satoru ignores it.

Suguru leans in, kissing Satoru despite their position. It’s a soft, brief press of the lips, and the angle is a little foreign because Suguru is upside-down, but Satoru accepts the touch just the same.

“Hi,” Suguru says, gently and fondly, as if he is cradling the world in his palm. Suguru tells him often though, that Satoru is his world, so maybe Suguru is holding it after all. “Stressed?”

Satoru shakes his head, pursing his lips. “Annoyed.” He corrects. “Lyrics need to be done today, honestly.” Satoru starts, lifting up and crunching at the waist, running his fingers through his hair as he stares back at the empty page beneath him.

“That’s not a problem, baby.”

“I dunno, the lyrics aren’t coming to me—and before you say you can help, I know, but I really wanted to do this one myself.” Satoru says with a frown. “What’s the point of a love song if you’re writing it to yourself, right?” 

“I mean, originally, I was going to write it, so we could also just do that. I’d still like to write one about you.” Suguru offers, his splayed hand tracing fat lines up and down the length of Satoru’s back.

“I know,” Satoru sighs, “I just wish that this one wouldn’t give me this much trouble. I like the instrumental stuff we played around with though—very Paramore, Radiohead-esque.”

“You don’t even listen to either of those.”

“Yeah but you and Shoko are always listening to them, so god forbid I at least know who they are.” Satoru counters with a smile.

“Yeah, you have to leave the stylistic stuff to the seasoned listeners, Shoko and I have enlightened ears.”

“Enlightened ears? My taste in music is seasoned just fine, thank you!”

“You unironically listen to anime intros. You have a whole playlist dedicated to your favorite ones.”

“Okay, who doesn’t want to be serenaded by the Banana Fish soundtrack at seven in the morning?”

“Me.” Suguru snorts. “I don’t have a death wish.”

“Whatever, you and your lack of tolerance to depressing media. Shame on you for being so strong in real life and so weak when it comes to fiction.” Satoru says, sticking out his tongue at Suguru a little. “Maybe I should write about that. How I’ve seen you go through so much, yet see you cry from so little.”

“That’s… not a bad idea, actually.” Suguru says, eyes a little tilted in contemplation. “I still think we should write it together though.”

“How would that work? I don’t want you writing my profession of love.”

“What if, like, we switch off halfway through? The first half is from you to me, and the second half is from me to you. It’s like a love letter but you get to see both sides.” Suguru says, tilting his head and looking at Satoru casually, as if he didn’t just come up with, like, the best idea ever.

“Oh. That’s perfect.” Satoru says, a little bewildered.

“Really? You like it?” Suguru says, eyes lighting up at Satoru’s sudden approval.

“I like anything, if it’s you. But that idea specifically, I like a lot.”

Suguru smiles at that, hoisting himself from the bed and depositing himself onto the carpet floor. It is bathed in long streaks of sunlight that creep through the blinds, and the yellow lines warp to make space for Suguru. There is always space for Suguru, if it is next to him.

“Tear me a sheet,” Suguru says, pointing at Satoru’s notebook, which lays across his knees. Satoru grips the notebook, gingerly breaking the paper threads that coil around the spirals, careful not to break any of the quality space.

Suguru grabs a mechanical pencil and a hardcover book from his bedside table, laying the sheet on top of it and propping up his writing surface on one knee.

“Alright, let’s get to writing.”

‧₊ ♪˚⊹

“The lyrics are done?” Shoko asks, incredulous. “That was so quick, we had literally nothing as of yesterday.”

“We hit a random spurt of motivation, I don’t know.” Satoru says casually. It’s not that casual, he’s an awful liar.

Shoko scans over the notebook page, the full song combined onto one sheet in neat handwriting, the protocol for a final draft.

“They’re good lyrics. Very… loving.” She adds in a skeptical tone, raising an eyebrow.

“It was made using the power of love. And friendship, of course.” Satoru says, scrambling for an explanation.

Suguru just sighs. As if he doesn’t have the capabilities to help Satoru out here or something.

“All right then.” Shoko says, placing the paper onto a spare stool. “I guess all that’s left to do is practice it with vocals included.” She shrugs.

“Sounds like a plan.” Suguru agrees.

Satoru rolls his eyes a little. Now Suguru decides to speak, right. 

Rehearsal is solid—there’s a few minor lyrical tweaks they have to make, a few syllables added or removed in some lines, but overall, the lyrics fit well and they’re even able to get a semi-perfect run through of the song by the end of it.

They all cheer and call it a night, the clock signaling that they ended just a few minutes late, which usually is no problem.

“Oh shoot, we went like five minutes over!” Shoko says frantically when she realizes, rushing to gather her belongings.

“Do you have somewhere to be?” Satoru asks, speculative.

“Uhhh, kind of, sorry, let’s lock up, come on.”

“We’ll lock up, don’t worry.” Suguru says, calm and soothing. Shoko’s eyes widen and she even gives a little bow of appreciation in Suguru’s direction.

“Oh, cool, thanks! I’ll see you guys on Wednesday!” Shoko says, grabbing her bag and hustling out of the room. She’s probably going to see her girlfriend or something.

“You coming back to my place?” Suguru asks once Shoko is halfway down the hall, the door slightly ajar in her absence.

“Why? You trying to get me in your bed or something?” Satoru asks teasingly, gathering his own belongings to pack up, his slow pace a sharp contrast to Shoko’s.

“Am I not allowed to invite my boyfriend home for a night? Is that such a crime?” Suguru feigns offense but smiles wide.

Their walk to the train station is honestly quite difficult. Not because of the inherent nature of the path—it’s literally an empty stretch of flat concrete sidewalk that leads directly to the train station. The difficult part is, well, them.

Suguru lives a bit further away from the studio, has to take a whole train to get home, which is like, kind of annoying when they’re both super horny and trying to get into each other’s pants.

By the time they finally make it to Suguru’s apartment, there is barely enough time to close the door and lock it before their mouths are against one another. Suguru slots a thigh between Satoru’s legs, pressing into his growing erection as he kisses and tugs at his lips.

Their tongues battle for domination, lips crashing and teeth clashing as they yearn to collide deeper than they already are.

“Shower–” Satoru murmurs, breaking away for a moment. “Let’s shower.” He says, already at a loss for air.

Suguru nods, stumbling as he leads them to the bathroom where they both strip from their clothes, leaving them in a discarded heap on the tile floor. Suguru turns the knob to a warm setting—scalding heat is reserved for their personal showers, as they’ve agreed upon—and holds Satoru close while they wait for it to heat.

Suguru wraps one arm around Satoru’s waist and lets the other arm be pelted by the shower stream, waiting until it’s a suitable temperature.

They lock lips again, slower and more searching this time. Their naked frames knock against each other, their leaking arousals bumping and eliciting a whimper from Satoru. 

“It’s warm, come on.” Suguru mutters, slipping away from Satoru to step into the shower, holding the glass door open for him as he awaits his arrival. 

When Satoru enters the humid atmosphere, he allows the hot stream to rush against his skin, washing over his body and bathing him in heat. Suguru gently takes hold of his body, pressing him up against the tile wall. It’s a little cold, makes Satoru shiver a little bit.

He shivers harder when Suguru takes them both in one hand, slowly pumping up and down their lengths with a wet fist. Satoru moans shamelessly in the enclosed space, head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut as Suguru expertly works him. 

“Ah– Feels good…” Satoru moans, fingers scratching through Suguru’s hair as his hips gently buck to Suguru’s rhythm.

Satoru’s moans grow louder and more insistent—he is already vocal but they haven’t had sex in over a week and he’s desperate for his release. 

Suguru trails featherlight kisses down his neck, licking at his collarbones and sucking dark bruises into the skin of his chest, where nobody can see.

It is possessive and considerate and stimulating, Satoru arches into his touch when Suguru begins loosely playing with a nipple, rolling it between his fingers as his other hand stays moving on his cock.

Satoru whimpers and writhes in his hold, mouth open and limp as sounds flow out of him like a gushing stream of water. Suguru trails the hand that was playing with his nipples up to Satoru’s chin. He takes two fingers and presses them up against Satoru’s lips.

“You are so pretty baby, I love your sounds, I really do. But I don’t want your beautiful voice to get damaged, okay?” Suguru soothes, pushing two fingers into the wet heat of Satoru’s mouth. “Suck on them for me, alright? Can you do that, baby?”

Satoru nods, wrapping his tongue around the digits, taking them into his mouth and coating them in his saliva.

Satoru feels pre-cum leaking from his tip, feels the feeling building in his gut—a pot boiling over the edge, doming at the rim of the pot. He’s close, but he holds back for Suguru, who still speaks coherently and barely looks phased by his arousal.

“Good boy, so good for me.”

Satoru tilts his head up a little, lets Suguru’s fingers fall from his mouth for a second to speak. Saliva slips from the corner of his lips but he’s wet regardless and Suguru’s eyes are dark and lustful and full of admiration. 

“S-Suguru–”

“Yes, my love?” Suguru purrs.

Satoru’s breath comes in quick pants.

“Close?” Suguru questions.

“Close.” Satoru confirms. “Can I– Am I allowed to—” Satoru tries, near giving into the blissful feeling.

“Yes, baby, come for me.” Suguru says, and it’s enough to snap the last thread tying Satoru together.

He comes undone, cum leaking over Suguru’s fist as he continues to work them together, their cocks aching against each other.

“Come— Come too, please…” Satoru whines, twitching from his aftershocks, overstimulated and desperate for Suguru’s own release to occur.

“Yeah? You want Daddy to come too?”

The pet name is unfamiliar, and Suguru almost looks regretful as the word slips from his mouth. It must be one of the fantasies he keeps locked away, something he’s ashamed of and keeps private from Satoru.

Satoru doesn’t want that.

Satoru wants him to feel comfortable confessing what makes him feel good—he always does such a good, thorough job making sure Satoru is pleasured, but isn’t usually selfish enough to take anything of his own.

“Yes–” Satoru says quickly, before Suguru can regret this. “Come, Daddy.”

Suguru’s eyes squeeze shut, his fist squeezing a little tighter around their joint lengths. He comes, spurting over his fist and working himself through it as Satoru rambles gratitude in his ear.

“Thank you, thank you—” he chants breathlessly, Suguru’s head making a home on his shoulder, soaked strands of his hair hiding his face and dripping down Satoru’s body.

Suguru’s breaths are labored, cheeks flushed from his orgasm. He tilts his head up, places soft kisses on Satoru’s jaw as his palm smooths across the pale expanse of his stomach.

“Good boy, so good for me…” He says, voice all hot and deep and kind of wispy around the edges.

It’s so sexy.

It makes Satoru kind of want to go again.

‧₊ ♪˚⊹

It’s the day of the performance and Satoru’s palms won’t stop sweating. He’s been drinking a fuck ton of water over the past few days, and hasn’t been speaking as often in preparation for this.

It’s not just the new song, either. They’re playing that one last, which only makes Satoru’s anxiety spike further, but they’ve also incorporated a few other difficult songs into the setlist.

It’s a lot of guitar and a lot of singing.

Suguru has been reassuring him the past few days, and like, it’s helpful and great and awesome, but it’s not enough to fully quell his sporadic nerves. He’s pacing around his room, trying to put together an outfit that is both socially acceptable, but also exudes some aura of a higher being.

He’s already thrown on a pair of dark blue jeans, complete with a black studded belt and heavy black boots. He’s teetering between introducing a new color or just wearing a black shirt, physically weighing the two options in his hand.

In his left, he holds a navy blue graphic T-shirt, one he has yet to wear out yet. In his right, he holds a worn, very well-loved dark grey (almost black, it counts as black—sue him) shirt with a stretched neckline and a faded image of a cat with a cigarette.

After a few moments of hard staring and thoughtful consideration, Satoru chooses the latter and tosses the navy shirt somewhere else. Cleanup is future Satoru’s problem.

He adds a few extra pieces of jewelery—a few rings and some bracelets he borrowed from Shoko. He grabs his guitar and a bottle of water on his way out, locking the door to his apartment and heading for the train station.

After a quick train ride and the few awkward ‘excuse me’s he had to make fighting through the line of people (holy shit, there are a lot of people here to watch them tonight), Satoru makes it backstage to the break room. Suguru and Shoko are already there, hunched over a table, pointing to random lines and discussing something intently.

When Satoru walks in, Suguru’s head snaps up, a light igniting in his eyes at the mere sigh of his boyfriend.

“We’re on pretty soon, you ready?” Suguru asks.

Satoru sighs, running a hand through his hair, adjusting his glasses where they sit on his face. “Yeah, just a little nervous.”

“You got this, come on, we’re prepared for this.” Shoko reassures, and Suguru nods alongside her.

“Yeah, I know. It’s still scary though, especially with this new song. I know everyone will like it, I’m just still anxious about it.”

“You’re Satoru Gojo, if anyone can do this, it’s you.” Suguru says, putting a hand on his lover’s shoulder. Satoru would appreciate a hug but Shoko is standing a few feet away from them, and unfortunately, that would not be very discreet.

“Come on, the current band’s about to finish their set, we should get moving.” Shoko says, grabbing her drumsticks and heading towards the door.

This is it—time to perform.

“Can I say something before we get on the mic?” Shoko says, while they’re actively setting up with, like, at least two hundred people watching them. Obviously, the crowd can’t hear her, but it’s still terrifyingly public.

“What’s up?” Satoru asks, fiddling with the settings of the amp he connected his guitar to.

“I know there’s something between you two—whether you’re dating or fucking, I see it, losers.”

Oh shit.

Satoru’s heart drops. Not tonight. Not when Satoru has been stressing about this for the past weeks. Not when he hasn’t slept a full eight hours in ages because he’s been so nervous about everything, and especially not when he and Suguru have been doing their best to keep it all a secret.

“But,” She continues, and Satoru holds his breath, tries to stop his world from crumbling and let her get out everything she has to say. “It’s okay. I’m happy for you two, really. I see it, it’s not a toxic thing—I can tell you two actually care about each other… so, yeah.”

“Oh.” Satoru says, a little dumbfounded and a little lost for words. He clears his throat. “You really don’t have a problem with it?”

Shoko shrugs. “For some reason, no.” She says, laughing. Satoru laughs too, and Suguru joins in, the three of them still tweaking their instruments, laughing about something the audience will never know.

When everyone seems to be ready, Satoru looks to his bandmates, who both give him a little nod—a signal to start.

“How’s everyone’s night going?” Satoru yells, adjusting the height of the microphone a little. The crowd roars in response, and Satoru smiles, bathed in the white of the spotlight that shines on him. His sunglasses shield his eyes, the otherwise blistering light rendering dim in his vision.

He’d been so worried and wound up thinking about tonight’s gig that he had almost forgotten everything that he loved about this—the love, the attention, the satisfying feeling of a crowd being passionate about your craft.

Shoko’s approval simmers in his veins, bolstering his confidence as he watches the unintelligible shapes of the crowd sway and cheer.

“Alright, I’ll take that as a good night!” Satoru responds with a little chuckle. “We are Hidden Inventory and we have a couple songs to play for you tonight! By a show of hands, who here knows who we are?” Satoru asks, and a sea of hands fly up in the crowd—probably at least half of the audience already knows them, and the other half are brand new listeners. 

“I love to see it! Is everyone ready for our first song?” He yells, and the crowd erupts in cheers again. “Okay, this one is a classic of ours—here is Rainbow Dragon!”

Satoru announces the song title, and on Shoko’s beat, the song begins. They absolutely nail it—it’s one of the first songs they ever played live, and Satoru could probably play it in his sleep at this point. It’s well-loved at the shows, though, and so they try to play it often while also making sure to change it up every once in a while.

Rainbow Dragon ends and they fold into the next—a faster, more drum heavy song called Drummer’s Cigarettes. The lights fade to a darker blue, and the crowd sings along to this one passionately.

The night goes on, Satoru’s voice growing a little raw and exhausted as the sun sets outside them. He chugs a few sips of water, letting the liquid slide against his throat and soothe the angry flesh.

They only have two songs left—another classic and their new song. The anticipation is starting to get to Satoru, but any time he’s nervous he looks over to Suguru, who so confidently smiles at him, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. He mouths the words I love you and makes sure that Satoru says them back. 

Satoru always does.

They play their second-to-last song, sweat dripping down Satoru’s forehead and fingers aching from the strings of his guitar.

“Okay, everyone! We have one last song for you!” Satoru chants, and the crowd cheers back to him. He smiles, wiping the sweaty bangs from his forehead, and huffing out a laugh before he continues. “This song… was written a week ago.”

The audience screams louder than they had prior, clearly excited at the implication of a brand new song.

“We’ve never played it for an audience before, so you’ll be the first.” Satoru says, pausing to listen to the loud sounds of the loving crowd. “This is Olive Branches—I hope you enjoy it!” Satoru yells, and Shoko immediately sets the drums. 

Satoru counts the beats internally—bobbing his head gently to the rhythm and adjusting the guitar strap that hangs on his shoulder. When it's time, he presses his fingers against the strings, starting the song with a complex guitar riff that has the crowd enchanted and cheering.

His fingers slide against the fretboard, voice charming the audience as his pick plucks at the strings, eliciting melodic sounds that echo throughout the hall.

He finds himself getting lost in the music, head swaying as his lips form professions of love—

“I watch you sit in silver armor
As the world breaks apart
I watch glass slip from your eyes
As the world stays strong”

When he gets to Suguru’s portion, the lyrics are foreign on his tongue, but they are sweet all the same. He catches his heart throbbing at some, catching on Suguru’s loving words—

“Sea levels are rising
But it’s in the color
Of your eyes,
I can’t be angry
Even if it’s the world’s demise”

With a final few plucks of the strings, the song ends, and the crowd raves, bathing the three of them in glory and bright concert light as the last notes fizzle out into the crowd.

“Thank you so much everyone! We’re Hidden Inventory and we hope to see you again some time—have a good night!” Satoru yells into the microphone, stepping away to unplug his guitar and to pack up their items. 

Suguru is always faster than him at packing up, so while Satoru is still tweaking a few settings of the amp to reset it, he’s caged between two board shoulders, enveloping him in a warm embrace. 

“You did so good,” Suguru whispers into his ear, thumb rubbing on the exposed skin of his arm. “I can’t wait to fuck you and hear your pretty voice like that just for me.” Satoru freezes, stunned by the sudden shift in his tone—the low purr that erupts from his partner’s lips.

“It’s such a long way home, can you hold it?” Satoru teases, closing up his guitar case and standing it up right.

“No,” Suguru starts, “I’ll just have to fuck you here. I can’t wait.”

Satoru’s eyes widen at his words. “Here? Where the hell are we gonna have sex here? Are you crazy?”

“Follow me, I have a good place.”

‧₊ ♪˚⊹

The door closes with a timid click, and Suguru’s hand slips across the lock dial, flicking it to the right to seal the door.

They shrug off their instruments, leaning them against the wall in a corner of the room. 

“Not a bad spot, really.” Satoru comments, walking over to where Suguru leans against a pale wall, a boot-clad foot hiked against the smooth surface.

When he grows close enough, Suguru tugs at the shirt covering his waist, guiding their bodies closer together. A lazy smile settles over Satoru’s face, the proximity making his skin buzz in delight.

Satoru begins trailing kisses down Suguru’s neck, pausing in some spots to suck dark purple marks into his skin. He leaves them above the collar, which he knows he’s not supposed to do—Suguru hates it when Satoru gives him visible hickeys, but Satoru can’t help himself.

“So greedy,” Suguru comments, threading his fingers into Satoru’s hair, tugging roughly to peel him off of his neck. Satoru pops off with a wet sound, cheeks already flushed and cock already throbbing in his jeans.

Gosh, he wants Suguru to ruin him.

“Leaving marks where everyone can see?” Suguru says, voice growing a little louder, a little angrier. “You know you’re not supposed to do that, baby.” He purrs. 

“I want everyone to– to know you’re mine.” Satoru pants, lips parted and eyes pointed at the blooming bruise on Suguru’s neck. He wants to leave more, wants to claim Suguru as his own.

“I don’t fucking care.” Suguru snaps. His eyes are angry, voice rough as his grip tightens on Satoru’s scalp. He leans closer, voice demanding as he keeps Satoru’s head still. “I told you not to leave them above the collar—I made a rule. Remember that?”

“Yes.” Satoru squeaks out.

“You remember that rule, yet you didn’t follow it?”

“Yes…”

“So guilty-sounding…” Suguru sighs. “It almost makes me feel bad for punishing you.”

“Punish?”

“You broke a rule, did you think it would come without consequence?”

“N-no… I guess not.”

“You remember the safeword, right?” Suguru asks, voice turning a little softer as he steps out of his dominant role for a moment.

“Yeah—Infinity.”

“Good, baby. Use it or tap me three times, okay? Do you understand?”

“I understand.”

Suguru stares at Satoru silently, as if he is waiting for him to say something else. Satoru is confused for a moment, before it clicks.

Right.

They had established a few days ago that Suguru liked to be called by his pet name, and Satoru supposes that it’s really coming into effect now.

“I understand,” Satoru breathes out. “Daddy.”

“Good boy, now get on your knees.”

Satoru blinks once before processing the command, sliding down onto the ground and propping himself up onto his knees, eyes gazing up lovingly towards Suguru.

Suguru’s hand gravitates towards his cheek, grazing it lightly before peeling back and giving it a firm slap. The sound echoes through the room, heat blooming underneath Satoru’s skin at the mark.

His cock strains against his pants, throbbing and likely leaking underneath the layers of fabric and denim. Gosh, he wants to touch himself.

“Another?” Suguru asks, soothing the angry mark with his fingers gently.

“Yes please, Daddy.” Satoru says, remembering all of the things that Suguru always makes him say.

Suguru smiles at his words, pleased with his performance.

He pulls back and gives Satoru’s cheek another crisp slap, one hard enough to jerk tears from his crystal blue eyes.

The sensation is searing and painful but it only bolsters Satoru’s arousal, almost forcing a whimper out of him.

“Good boy, you take it so well.” Suguru croons, and Satoru keens at the praise.

Good boy. That’s me. I do so well, Suguru thinks I did so well.

Satoru keeps his hands on his thighs, fingers digging into the meat of his legs in an attempt to provide any sort of physical relief. Suguru likes when his hands are visible, likes when he gets to decide when Satoru gets off.

Satoru likes it too.

Suguru’s hands travel to the button of his own dark blue jeans, unclasping the silver circle and unzipping his pants. His thumb slides under the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down just enough to free his cock.

Suguru is almost fully hard too—it makes Satoru feel good, knowing that Suguru gets off on this, knowing that Suguru actually likes it. He pumps a fist up and down the length a few times, letting it grow fully hard before he hands it over to Satoru.

“You look so good down there,” Suguru comments, trailing the hand that had just slapped Satoru up to his hair, carding through the locks gently. The touch is loving and soft, a sharp contrast to the rough, sharp pain of their clashing skin. “All mine.” He breathes.

Satoru shudders a little, shifts his weight from leg to leg as his knees ache against the corporate tile floors.

“Open your mouth baby,” Suguru instructs.

Satoru does, even sticking out his tongue a little, looking up at Suguru with a seductive stare. Suguru’s cock twitches a little so he knows he’s doing something right.

Suguru secures his hand around the base of his cock and slides it onto Satoru’s tongue, letting his pre-cum mix with Satoru’s saliva.

“Do what you want, show Daddy your skills, right?”

Satoru nods as much as he can, the motion a little choppy lest he let Suguru’s aching cock fall from his lips. He brings both of his hands up to Suguru’s arousal—one secures around the base and one gently cups his balls.

Satoru leans forward, taking a bit more of Suguru into his mouth. Once he has swallowed up to the tip, he closes his mouth, suckling on the head as his hand pumps long strokes up Suguru’s length.

It’s a little too dry, Satoru thinks, so he pulls back for a moment, spitting into his hand and smearing the saliva onto the Suguru’s pale length, watching as more pre-cum beads at the tip.

“Yeah, there you go, so good for me.” Suguru says, still carding through Satoru’s white hair with blunt nails and gentle pressure.

Satoru takes Suguru back into his mouth, a little deeper this time. He keeps his tongue flat against the bumpy veins of his cock, humming when Suguru begins to grip his hair a little tighter.

“Fuck, haven’t felt your mouth on me for so long.” Suguru groans.

Satoru slides his length deeper into his mouth, tears budding at the rims of his eyes as his lips stretch around the shape of Suguru. Satoru tries to take as much as he can, choking a little when Suguru hits him deep.

“Come on, you can take it.”

Satoru pulls off for a moment, eyes hazy as he attempts to regain his composure. Suguru wants him to take more—he’ll be disappointed if Satoru does not take more.

“You okay?” Suguru asks, his voice laced with genuine concern. His hand trails to Satoru’s jaw, tracing the curve of his cheekbone with his thumb.

Satoru offers an insistent nod, shaking him from his blurry state. “I’m good, I can do it.”

“Okay,” Suguru says, fingers tracing the pale shell of Satoru’s ear, dipping into the crevices and trailing behind, back into the snow-white locks. “You ready for me to use your mouth, or do you want to play with me a little more?”

“I’m ready,” Satoru says, and quickly remembers, “Daddy.”

“Good boy, so good for me.” Suguru purrs, watching as Satoru opens his mouth wide again, watching as he leans forward and settles his lips around the tip. “Tap three times if it’s too much, okay?”

Satoru nods, and it’s all the confirmation Suguru needs before he takes over.

Satoru’s throat is immediately pierced with the tip of Suguru’s cock pounding through the warmth of his mouth. He sets a brutal pace, thrusting in and out of the plush, wet heat.

Saliva drips from the corners of Satoru’s mouth, his eyes closing as he attempts to settle into a relaxed state. Suguru doesn’t let him though, not for long at least.

“Eyes open, I wanna see them.” Suguru commands, his words a little breathless—a sign that he’s enjoying this.

Satoru peels his eyes open, staring up at Suguru’s face, watching as a smile grows across it. 

“Yeah, that’s good.” Suguru groans. “So good, such pretty eyes, such a pretty face, such a pretty mouth stuffed full of my cock.”

Satoru keeps both of his hands balled into tight fists on the surface of his thighs, aching to touch himself.

He might cum in his pants if this keeps up, literally.

Suguru’s fingers are tight in his hair, pulling at his scalp as he controls the pace of his thrusts, bucking his hips into Satoru’s throat.

Satoru likes being treated like this—like some fuck-toy, like some dirty little slut. As long as he’s Suguru’s, it doesn’t matter—he’ll be anything if it means being his.

“You always have to keep that voice so pretty, huh? Your throat can’t take my cock all the time, it has other jobs to do, doesn’t it?”

Satoru moans, the vibrations washing over Suguru’s throbbing dick.

“Every time we’re on stage–” Suguru starts, pausing as he lets out a labored breath. It’s only been a few minutes, but Suguru already seems to be close by the way he’s speaking. “I look at your fucking face, and imagine you like this. Imagine you— on your knees, mouth stuffed full of my cock, moaning for me.” He breathes.

Satoru is so hard he feels like he may explode.

He feels like a star running out of fuel, exploding in a vibrant supernova across the night sky—or like a firework flying towards the sky’s limit and bursting before it can reach the top.

Either way—the point is, he’s like, going to fucking burst.

Soon. Very soon.

“I want to get inside of you, can’t wait.” Suguru rambles, his thrusts growing more erratic as he gradually grows closer to his release. “So fucking perfect, for me, right? All for me, your whole body is for me, right?”

Satoru can’t reply, really, not in his current state. All he can do is offer a few teary blinks, and a moan around Suguru’s length in response.

“Close,” Suguru warns. “Close, baby, in your mouth, right?” He asks, and doesn’t wait for Satoru’s response. He knows it’s okay. It’s always okay, and if it wasn’t Satoru would stop him.

With a few final thrusts into Satoru’s mouth, Suguru comes, hot white spurts hitting the back of Satoru’s throat. A groan rips from Suguru’s chest as he spills into Satoru, and Satoru stays focused on swallowing every drop as he bucks up into the heat.

Satoru almost comes just from the noises that Suguru is making, from the hot feeling of come dripping down his throat. He shifts his weight again, leaning forward a bit in an attempt to garner any friction on his aching cock.

Satoru slowly pulls off from Suguru’s cock, which has grown soft and limp and is twitching from the aftershocks of his orgasm. 

Saliva drips from Suguru’s mouth, his hair mussed and eyes teary, lids lazy.

“Good boy, you did so good.” Suguru reassures.

“Felt good, I liked it.”

“Yeah, really?”

Satoru nods. His hand travels towards his own throbbing arousal, hovering over the hard length, but not touching it. He knows he has to ask Suguru for permission before he touches himself.

“Can I, Daddy? It hurts.” Satoru complains, lips forming a pout as he gazes up at Suguru. His voice is wrecked from sucking Suguru’s cock, throat burning and dry.

“Mmmmm,” Suguru hums. “Not yet, I want you to come on my cock baby.” Suguru says, a frown tugging at his lips. It is sympathetic and a little pitiful, like he feels bad for Satoru, but not bad enough to grant him reprieve.

Satoru whines at this, pouting even further. “Please?” He tries, but Suguru only shakes his head again with the same stare.

“Sorry baby, no.”

Suguru helps Satoru stand—his legs are shaky, like a newborn giraffe first learning how to walk, stumbling about the world. He slumps in Suguru’s hold letting him lead him towards wherever-land.

They make it to a dark grey leather couch-style chair, one almost the size of a large beanbag. They stand behind it, Satoru’s arms anchored on the back of it and Suguru’s own pair caging him in, thumbs almost touching Satoru’s pinkies.

Suguru kisses down the back of Satoru’s neck, trailing kisses over his cotton-clad back, hand hiking up the bottom of his shirt to reveal the expanse of pale skin that lies underneath it.

“Unbutton your jeans, baby.” Suguru whispers, lips on Satoru’s neck.

Satoru complies, standing up a little to shed his pants—his fingers tremble as they work the button, tugging down the zipper and letting the denim fall to pool at his feet.

Satoru’s erection tents his boxers, a small wet spot tinting the front a darker shade. Suguru hooks his fingers in the waistband of Satoru’s underwear, pulling it down and letting it drop to his feet alongside his pants.

“Such a pretty ass, can’t believe it’s all mine.” Suguru comments, hand moving down to grope at the muscle. He tugs and pinches at the supple flesh, giving it a few experimental slaps—none are hard enough to properly brand his skin, but they still sting.

Satoru pushes back a little, wiggling his hips at Suguru a little impatiently.

“Stay still.” Suguru demands, smacking his palm against Satoru’s plump flesh, harder this time—punishing. “I’ll start when I want to, you understand?”

“Yes,” Satoru squeaks out. Another crisp slap meets his ass, another punishment. He forgot Suguru’s title—silly mistake. “Daddy.” He adds, repenting for his sin.

“Good boy,” Suguru soothes, rubbing over the red mark with a soft apologetic touch.

He reaches forward, hooking two of his fingers onto Satoru’s bottom teeth, shoving them into his mouth.

“Wet them, we don’t have lube, love. This’ll have to do, okay?”

Satoru accepts the digits into his mouth, slobbering over them and licking in between the two fingers to get them as wet as possible. Suguru removes them from his mouth, saliva trailing out in a bead as they escape his lip’s grasp.

Suguru tugs a cheek aside with his thumb, pushing the two wet fingers against Satoru’s rim.

“You’re so tight,” Suguru comments. “You don’t let anybody fuck this hole, right?” He asks, lazily circling Satoru’s rim while he waits for a response.

“No one–” he stutters out, “No one except for you, Daddy.”

“Mmmm,” Suguru hums. “Good boy, I like that.” He pushes both of his wet fingers into Satoru’s ass at that moment. Satoru whimpers from the sting of the stretch—his rim is tight and unforgiving but so are Suguru’s fingers.

He battles between pain and pleasure as he feels Suguru’s fingers graze his prostate, forcing his cock to leak out onto the dark leather beneath.

“Tell me how good it feels—use that pretty voice.”

“Feels– ah– feels so good!” Satoru says, saliva dripping from his lax mouth as Suguru repeatedly jabs at his prostate, scissoring his fingers and stretching Satoru out to take him.

“Yeah, good, I love your voice.” Suguru adds a third finger—it’s a little dry but it quickly joins the slobbering mess of Satoru’s hole, lubricating itself as it pushes in and out of the plush walls. “Talk to me more, while you still have your voice, baby.” Suguru groans.

“D-Daddy, feels good– you make me.. Feel– good.” Satoru stutters out, back arching into Suguru’s touch, his hips fucking onto Suguru’s fingers.

“Yeah, that’s good, take what you need love… You think you can take my cock?” Suguru asks.

Satoru nods furiously, standing on the tips of his toes in greedy desire.

“Use your words, come on, tell me how bad you want it. Daddy needs to get hard again, you sucked me so well, I’m still soft.”

“Please— Please Daddy, fuck me— I want your cock, inside of me, only yours, yours, Daddy… please…” Satoru rambles, hands digging into the leather, nails scratching for purchase. He wants to touch himself so badly, can feel his aching release drawing near, but he knows he has to be good for Suguru.

“Okay, love, I’ll give you what you need.”

Suguru pulls down the layers blocking his cock, freeing his erection. Satoru feels the gentle tap of his hot dick against one of Satoru’s cheeks, feels Suguru’s thumb pull a cheek to the side to reveal his twitching, throbbing hole.

The blunt head of it brushes Satoru’s rim, tugging at the loose skin, hesitating to fully push in.

“I’m gonna fuck you now, you ready?” He asks.

“Yes, please Daddy, I’m ready.” Satoru breathes out, and Suguru follows by thrusting in with one swift motion.

Satoru makes a loud, lewd noise, a guttural moan ripping from his throat at the intrusion. Suguru doesn’t move immediately, slowly grinding and undulating his hips as the pain of the searing stretch dissolves and turns into pleasure.

Satoru doesn’t even have to say anything, a silent understanding weaved between them like a coveted fine silk. Suguru pulls out, fucks back in, triggering loud moans from Satoru’s throat.

Satoru falls to his elbows as Suguru picks up the pace, mewling and pliant in his lover’s embrace. 

“Yes, baby, so good.”

Suguru’s hands anchor at his hips, pushing them back to meet his insistent thrusts. His grip is bruising and possessive, one hand sliding to his lower back to deepen Satoru’s arch.

“Sug–uruu– ngh– Good! Suguru!” Satoru babbles. His mind is fuzzy, brain chanting Suguru’s name as he feels his hips snap and pound into him.

“You sound so good, love.” Suguru says, the hand on his back traveling further up. His cock continues to thrust relentlessly in and out of Satoru’s hole as his hips hinge, allowing his chest to be flush against Satoru’s back. His hand travels further up, underneath his body, grazing over his chest before finding his neck.

He wraps his large hand around the pale column of Satoru’s neck. He does not squeeze or properly choke, just rests his hand there, letting the weight carry implications that make Satoru’s head spin.

Satoru stifles a moan at the mere thought of Suguru taking his breath away. He loves when Suguru chokes him, loves when he can only see stars and when his vision almost goes black because it feels so good. He loves when Suguru is in control, when he chooses when he gets to come, when he gets to breathe. It’s a gift to be controlled by Suguru.

People say that control is not love, but this may be the sole exception.

“Fuck, I’ve been waiting so long to do this…” Suguru breathes, his thrusts one with his breath as he continues to slide in and out of Satoru’s slick hole. 

Suguru’s grip on his neck tightens, enough to siphon some of his air and render his head dizzy.

“You have to keep your voice so sweet and pretty to sing, right? Everyone has to watch you sing, has to make sure you sound good? You love when I choke you, when I take your pretty voice away, right?” He says, choking Satoru a little harder.

Satoru cannot nod nor speak but he thinks that Suguru understands that regardless.

“My poor sweet baby, can’t even respond to Daddy’s questions.” Suguru coos.

Satoru is seeing stars. Maybe he is the stars, a piercing bright light studded among the void absent of color or shape. 

His hands scramble against leather, cock dribbling onto the ground beneath them, hanging abandoned in between his legs.

He’s close. He wants to come, needs to come, and he can’t tell Suguru that. Somehow, Suguru knows. The hand secure against his hip travels down underneath his legs, grabbing the base of his cock with firm pressure.

“Let’s come together, okay?” Suguru asks.

Satoru is dizzy and his vision has been mauled by black ink sporing across his eyes. He hears his erratic heartbeat roaring in his ears, feels the piercing ringing cut through every other sound.

He is dying. This is death—so why does it feel so good?

Satoru only notices Suguru has stopped moving when he feels his head go limp against his neck, chin hooked over his shoulder.

He feels something warm painting inside of him, hears Suguru’s distant groan. He feels whispers of his own orgasm but they are an unintelligible message—Satoru is floating in an empty abyss, coated in bliss, free from the physical restraints of his mortal body.

After a few moments, Satoru hears words that he can actually understand.

“You’re so perfect.” Suguru says.

Satoru smiles, gaining some of his rational thought back. It’s enough to retort.

“Yeah, I am.”