Archive of Our Own

First things first, Suguru Geto is not a pervert.

Really, he isn’t. Not in the traditional sense, at least.

Not that he even knows what a traditional pervert looks or acts like, but it definitely isn’t him. When it comes down to it, Suguru wouldn’t say that he has any unusual fetishes he likes to indulge in, doesn’t even go out of his way to search up some niche porn to get off to. The regular stuff usually does it for him, quick and easy, straight to the point, and no unnecessary plot to follow. 

Not to say that there’s anything wrong with enjoying a more subtle genre of pornography, most people his age tend to find themselves exploring the dubious paths of their sexuality and erotic preferences anyway, whether that be through porn or more direct, immediate gratification offering engagements. And that’s fine. It’s just that Suguru has no interest in any of that stuff. Doesn’t even think about it, really.

But as life often does, things change. Preferences shift, interests expand, curiosity grows. New people enter our lives and introduce us to things that we would usually turn our noses up at. But Suguru soon found out that certain people at a certain time can shift that straight line and bend it out of shape a bit, make us question everything that had always been familiar, make  us dive deep into the unknown, and ultimately confess to things that wouldn't even cross our minds had they never entered our lives. 

And maybe that would have been fine. Suguru would have been just perfect, never thinking about such things, never indulging or even dreaming of things that could probably put an old nun into cardiac arrest. And maybe he should have known better. Maybe he should have smelled trouble the moment he met his new dorm roommate, Satoru Gojo.

They’ve been living together for a few months now. Satoru’s old building got shut down for mandatory renovations right before the start of the new semester, and Suguru’s dorm just happened to be located not too far away from the physics faculty of their university. Considering that Satoru majored in physics, it was a no-brainer for him to move in with Suguru and replace the old roommate who had graduated the semester before. And if there’s one thing good about uni student communities, it's that someone always knows a guy that knows a guy. Someone was always looking for something, and as it turns out, Shoko knew just the guy. Besides, she presented a pretty convincing list of benefits to both of them since she knew them separately; Suguru from a few classes that they shared and Satoru from middle school. And, well, Suguru would trust her with pretty much anything, and she did paint Satoru as an okay guy to live with, so really, he had no reason to say no. 

The guy turned out to be a 6'3 nerd with a loud laugh, witty remarks seemingly ready at all times, hot and sizzly at the tip of his tongue, and a personality so big Suguru fell in love with him instantly. 

Suguru was a history major himself, and at first, he thought that he wouldn’t have much in common with Satoru, considering that their interests seemed to lay miles apart on the spectrum of what was considered compatible. And overall, science and humanities never seemed to go well together, anyway. But as soon as the white-haired man moved in, dropped his bags by his new bed, and started yapping away at Suguru like he was a lifelong friend returned for a reunion, Suguru knew that they were going to be just fine.

And he was right. Living with Satoru is one of the easiest things Suguru has ever experienced. 

And Satoru is great, really, he is. As great as they come. He’s kind and sociable and cleans up after himself just fine. He doesn’t blast music at night, doesn’t bring back strange and unsettling people to the dorm, doesn’t even hog the shower for several hours a day. He might have problems with personal space here and there, but hey, you won’t find Suguru complaining about it. And they’re not even problems per se, more like fun little quirks that complement his unique personality just fine. 

It’s something that Suguru has grown to love so much, even appreciate dearly, at times. And when he really thinks about it, Satoru’s constant need for human contact is the sole reason why they even managed to become so close and personal in the first place. More often than not, Suguru tends to find himself with a handful of a tall, muscular man, draped over him while he’s cooking or curled in his lap like a kitten while Suguru is trying to read. Maybe it caught him off guard once or twice at the beginning, but he doesn’t even notice it anymore, doesn’t react when Satoru jumps into his arms or folds himself to fit in his lap; Suguru just lifts him up and goes about his day as usual. Whatever the action might be, you’ll never find Suguru complaining or even overthinking the fact that his roommate seems to be a direct extension of him. 

And it wasn’t because Satoru lacked boundaries or couldn’t read social cues; in fact, Suguru thinks that he’s one of the most emotionally mature people he’s ever met. He acted the way that he did purely because he trusted Suguru enough to communicate . And what a beautiful thing communication between two best friends could be. Really, it was the best thing about them. Was because, as it turns out, Suguru managed to somehow completely fuck up the most fundamental foundation of a friendship between two roommates and best friends.

But before it all came crashing down on him, they were excellent at communication. Mainly because Satoru had absolutely no problems in telling people how he wanted things done and Suguru, against all odds, was fantastic at conveying those same feelings back. They talked openly and without reservations, asked questions and brought up concerns before they had a chance to rot away and blow out of proportion.  So generally speaking, Satoru had full trust in Suguru that he’d tell him whether he didn’t want to do something or was feeling uncomfortable with anything that Satoru did.

And well, whereas Suguru would tell him that, it never even crossed his mind to do so. Because he wasn’t uncomfortable, it was just natural for them.

The only real time when Suguru had to sit Satoru down and voice out his dissatisfaction with his actions was when Satoru wouldn't stop eating all of his sweets. And it went well, he thinks. Satoru just tilted his head to the side like a confused puppy, scoffed, and said that maybe he should just buy some more then. And, well, Suguru couldn't complain. Not because he really wanted to buy extra snacks, but because knowing that they had one extra thing to share was making him happy for some reason. 

Suguru didn’t really sit with the thought once he realized what was happening, but he likes to hold on to the feeling. It makes him feel warm inside, all gooey and nice. And if an extra bag of gummy worms that Satoru will inevitably snatch away can bring him that warmth, well, he’d pick up an extra bag anytime, then. 

Another perk of having Satoru Gojo as a roommate is that Suguru learned so many new things. So many rules and truths of life that he didn’t even know existed before Satoru taught him the realities of life. 

For example, he never knew that snacks and food had a time limit before they were considered unwanted. Sometimes Suguru would just pick up a bag of chips or hard candies at the store, not because he was craving them, but just in case. Maybe he won’t want to eat them for a few weeks, but after some time, when a random craving hits him, he won't have to go out of his way to get it; it’ll be right there, in his pantry, ready to be consumed. 

Turns out, the world doesn't work like that. At least Satoru’s world doesn’t. Apparently, as his roommate so graciously explained, if the snack is left unattended in the pantry for longer than 3 days, it’s considered unwanted and becomes free game to those who do. Much to his demise, Satoru always wanted it. So, it doesn’t matter how many bags of stuff Suguru purchases for a later time, he never gets to see them after their 3-day period is up. Who could have known? Suguru surely didn’t. 

Overall, they flow together effortlessly, like two separate canals eventually joined in a singular body of water; barely any friction as they lay down ground rules and establish routines. Suguru cooks and Satoru does the dishes, Suguru vacuums and Satoru dusts, Suguru takes out the trash and Satoru mops the floors. Of course, they have personal chores that they don’t share, like laundry and meal prep, and tidying up their own bedrooms, but everything else seems to fall into place right from the beginning.

In addition to living together and being considerate roommates, it doesn’t take long for them to become best friends, either. It’s not surprising that Satoru is easy to get along with. He’s funny in an unassuming, effortless, and kind of blunt way; the way he says the most random things makes Suguru burst out into a fit of giggles more often than not, and well, the unintentional part of it has a charm of its own. Satoru is also caring and sweet and a little too giving at times. And well, they seem to have a lot in common, anyway.

They both enjoy watching movies, something they’ve been doing a lot lately, even though they really should be studying for exams or reviewing their mandatory reading for an upcoming seminar. They also share a love for trashy reality TV, though Suguru insists he only watches it for Satoru’s sake. But Satoru isn’t fooled by his stoic act, especially not when Suguru ends up having more opinions than he does, yelling at the TV when the contestants do something stupid or out of character. A tell-all or a recap episode is always an event in their dorm, something that they both take entirely too seriously and turn into a discussion panel that has earned them more than one noise complaint from the neighboring students.  

They even spend time together while doing their own separate hobbies now; Satoru playing video games, Suguru reading on the couch, both occupied with separate activities but always together, so much so, that Suguru couldn’t even imagine spending his evenings differently. They like coexisting in the same space; each in their own little world, but still connected by the closeness of their friendship. So yeah, it’s safe to say that Suguru really enjoys Satoru’s company. He’s the best roommate he could have asked for. 

So, as soon as Suguru finds out that Satoru loves working out, it’s a no-brainer to ask if he wants to join him in the gym. They should become gym buddies, keep each other accountable and just get their workouts in together; maybe they could even incorporate that in their regular weekly routine, build a strong male friendship by using one of the bro dogmas as a solid foundation to work on.

It might even help them get closer, too; sharing and engaging in common interests is definitely up there on the decent social interaction scale, so he asks Satoru if he’d like to go with him sometime. And, to his delight, it turns out to be an amazing idea because Satoru was just thinking about switching gyms. His old gym was convenient when he lived further in the city in his old dorm, but now, it’s just a hassle to get to. And since he didn’t have any time to research the area and pick a new location properly, Suguru’s suggestion was exactly what he needed. Besides, Satoru was going crazy using the common dorm facilities for working out; the dull and ripped-up benches were even worse than the 3 different weight dumbbell selection they were provided with. 

Satoru missed the cold crisp air of a commercial gym, missed the smell of rubber, the sounds of someone stomping down on a treadmill in full speed, even missed the random protein powder scattered on the ground by the rest benches and the horrible, horrible music that he tried to tune out with his own headphones. Suguru’s suggestion was like a shining beacon to him, an invitation that made him break out into a smile and almost jump into Suguru’s arms with how excited he was. 

The following morning, they get up earlier than usual, Satoru’s initiative. It wasn’t even 8 am before Satoru was jumping on a still sleeping Suguru, yapping away about how he should get up and make them breakfast already, something about having to digest it before they hit the gym. 

They eat their pre-workout meal that Suguru prepares hurriedly, Satoru barely even complaining about the odd texture of the chunky oats or the protein powder mixed in. Just shovels it down and barely gets a few comments out before they head out to hit chest and back, Satoru almost bouncing with how excited he is. 

Going to the gym together, as it turns out, was great. Suguru finds that Satoru isn’t really a talker during his workouts, which is shocking considering the white-haired man can yap away for hours when he has something on his mind. But here, surrounded by dumbbell clanking and elliptical machine buzzing, he seems to be void of thoughts that could manifest into witty comments. If anything, Satoru seems most concerned with keeping track of his sets and laser-focused on good form, lips pulled in a tight line as his mind travels somewhere only an intense workout can get you to. It’s kind of jarring at first, seeing the chatty and easy-going Satoru instantly morph into someone so unrecognizable, but instead of being weirded out or concerned, Suguru takes that as motivation to check his own form several times.

“You should amp up the weight for your last set,” Satoru comments as Suguru gets up to chug some water after his third rep on the cable row machine. “You have one more left, right? Amp it up.”

“Huh?” Suguru questions, breathing heavily from the intensity of their workout. “Why? I did three sets of fifteen reps already, perfect form, why’d I amp it up?”

“Exactly,” Satoru deadpans with a knowing smile, throws on an extra plate on the bar he’s been working with. “You’re doing fifteen without breaking a sweat, barely any effort at all. Your body’s used to it. Amp up the weight and do twelve. Next time, stick to the higher weight and fewer reps. Thank me later.”

Suguru hums but does as he’s told, for some reason, Satoru seems to really know what he’s talking about, and Suguru doesn’t even think of questioning him about it. Especially not after he’d caught a glimpse of him in the changing rooms; all defined, sinewy muscle that looks like it took years to sculpt and perfect, illuminated by the harsh daylight lamps, making every soft angle as acute as possible. Suguru tried not to stare at first, but alas, he’s just a man who’s into very hot guys.

And Satoru, unfortunately for him, seems to be at the top of that chart. Sue him for feeling a little flustered.

And it’s not like he’s never seen Satoru shirtless before. It’s not like these gorgeous, filled-out muscles are a revelation to him. In fact, Satoru seems to favor the no shirt policy at home, walking around bare-chested and making Suguru stare just a little too long sometimes. However, something about him being all sweaty, muscles swollen and pulsing beneath glistening skin, breath coming out in short, labored huffs as he bends down and stretches, arches his back just- 

What was that about?

He shakes his head, trying to mute the strange thoughts that seemingly manifested out of nowhere. His body was feeling weird all of a sudden, entirely too hot, too bothered, tense, and a little pent up. He’s not sure what that’s about, but maybe the amped-up weight wasn’t such a good idea, after all.

They finish their workout in peace after that, Suguru following Satoru’s advice and finding that he, in fact, knows what he’s talking about. They sort their plates into their respective places, wipe down the machines they used, and by the end of it, Suguru feels even more flushed, his muscles pulsing and aching the way they haven’t for a very long time. He chugs down the rest of his water, wipes the sweat off his forehead with his towel, and heads for the changing rooms to shower.

He doesn’t get too far, though, not when Satoru tugs on his shirt and stops him in his tracks with amused eyes and a little pout on his lips.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Satoru’s voice was bordering on a chuckle, as if he expected Suguru to head straight for the showers after completing his last set.

“Uh,” Suguru says and tugs on the ends of the towel around his neck. “To shower?”

Satoru shakes his head, rolls his eyes as he gives Suguru a knowing look.

“What about your cooldown stretches?”

And oh, right . Suguru ducks his head in shame as he groans just a little, a light blush coloring his cheeks as Satoru finally huffs out a little laugh at his roommate’s petulance.

Okay, so, he was guilty of skipping out on those. Whereas weightlifting was a walk in the park for Suguru, routine stretches and sometimes even basic cardio were absolute hell on earth for him. Suguru just didn’t have patience. It was boring and didn’t give him that instant pump that made his workouts so gratifying. And despite knowing the benefits and how vital these exercises were, he still opted to skip out on them most of the time.  

Not today, though. Not when Satoru just shakes his head and tugs on his arm, doesn't let Suguru get a word of protest in before he’s tugging them to the cooldown zone of the gym. They pick up their mats, and Suguru lets out an exasperated sigh as he plops down and stretches his stiff legs out.

Satoru just shakes his head, calls him a big baby, and crosses his legs as he rolls his neck with perfectly practiced ease.

“Stop whining,” Satoru says when Suguru lets out yet another deep, frustrated sigh, “You’re gonna catch a cold if you don’t do your cooldowns, dumbass.” His words come with a complimentary eye roll. “So, stop complaining before I go and get the resistance bands; really give you something to whine about.”

Suguru’s blood runs cold at the mention of resistance bands. He fucking hates them.

“Yeah, yeah,” Suguru grumbles back, opting for doing his stretches in silence before Satoru decides to make his resistance band threats a reality.  And Satoru seems to be satisfied with his temporary compliance, so Suguru isn’t brave enough to tease his chances. He just does as he’s told and watches Satoru in silence as he lies on his front on the yoga mat, puts his body weight on his abdomen, and stretches his back muscles.

Suguru learns two things at the gym that day.

One, Satoru is demanding . He’s not condescending or dominant or even loud, but he is very demanding in getting you to do things exactly how he wants them, exactly as he deems fit. He’s methodical in his approach, calculated in how he verbalizes those demands, clever with his words, and with batting his lashes when necessary. So much so that you don’t even realize you’re dancing to his flute, not until he pats you on the head and calls you a good boy .

Suguru has fallen victim to this more times than he would care to count. And yeah, maybe he has some thoughts about it, none of which he should be having about his roommate, but he digresses.

The second thing, though, that comes unexpectedly. It shifts the axis of Suguru’s world and leaves him questioning his moral ground as a man, a roommate, and just as a decent human being.

Satoru’s in front of him doing a few yoga poses that Suguru, even on a good day, couldn’t name if you’d ask him. He watches Satoru lift himself and turn around, his back to Suguru as he plants his hands on the very end of the mat and stretches across it like a cat in heat; his hands planted firmly in place and spine curling just slightly, like a string on a guitar that has been tuned to perfection. The motion makes his shirt ride up, revealing the hem of his underwear that peeks out slightly, just above the waistband of his sweats. Just a small patch of fabric that somehow manages to catch Suguru’s wandering eye and make him pay hell for trying to be sneaky in the first place.

Suguru feels his heart thump in his chest, his throat close up, and his dick twitch in interest just slightly.

Lace.

Baby blue lace.

Baby blue lace against pale skin.

Baby blue lace against pale skin that belongs to Satoru Gojo. 

Suguru forgets to breathe.

As if all of his basic survival instincts and life-taught lessons had been wiped out of his system, rendered and reduced to a pair of baby blue panties still peeking out from under grey sweatpants. Never in his life had he thought that this set of words could be born in his head or even dance on the tip of his tongue, but now, wide eyes glued to something he’ll never be able to forget, he can’t seem to think about anything else- 

Baby blue lace against-

He doesn’t even notice how Satoru finishes his routine, gets up, and picks his mat off the ground before rolling it up and turning to Suguru with a worried expression on his face.

“Geez, dude, you good?” Satoru’s concerned voice finally reaches him and snaps Suguru back to reality. “You’re all red and shit, did you pull something?”

“Yeah,” Suguru says and finally, finally inhales some oxygen, feels his lungs burn almost as intensely as his skin. Almost coughs once he does. “Yeah, I just…”

Satoru laughs, yet his eyes are still a little concerned as he tugs Suguru up from his position.

“You should do cooldowns more often, bro,” he comments and places their mats back in the basket. “A few stretches shouldn’t get you so heated, y’know.”

Suguru just nods.

You have no fucking idea.

Later that day, it doesn’t take long before Suguru knows he’s fucked. 

He can’t stop thinking about it, can’t get the image of baby blue lace out of his damn head. And it would be fine.  Realistically, him thinking about it is not the worst or even the oddest part of this whole experience. Considering that it’s not the most common or expected scenario in the world, no one would burn him at the stake if they knew that he spent the better part of the day wondering about these things once he was exposed to them. No, thinking and having questions is definitely not the issue here. 

His issue, one might ask?

The more he sits there and thinks about it, the longer he imagines the baby blue lace wrapped around Satoru’s hips - the harder his dick gets.

And maybe that’s fine, too, Suguru tries to reason when his cock twitches in his sweatpants again. He refuses to touch it, though, does his best to ignore the pulsing sensation that almost begs to be relieved the more he sits and wonders whether the panties have an intricate design on them. And its jarring. It’s actually terrifying how he can’t seem to stop coming up with scenarios. 

He only got a peek of the hem, but still, he can’t help but wonder how the rest of them look. Is there an intricate design, are they completely see-through, do they hug Satoru’s ass like little shorts or is it a thong, part of it snug between his cheeks and resting comfortably against the cleft of his ass?

SUguru groans, loud and embarrassed. He’s rock hard by now, twitching and probably leaking just from the thought alone. 

Considering the fact that all of the blood from his head is now residing in his cock, Suguru doesn’t doubt that the strain on his mind and body will eventually take him out, knock him unconscious and store the rest of his vitality in his stupid cock. 

And he doesn’t ask Satoru about it, too. Because that would insinuate that Suguru was staring at his ass, which he wasn’t. He definitely wasn’t. He just happened to see it, ‘is all. 

Besides, that would be kind of weird, right? Friends don’t usually ask their friends about their underwear preferences, and he wasn’t sure how comfortable Satoru would be to talk about it, anyway. And what would he even say? Hey bro, what type of panties are your favorite? Do you have more colors? Can I see them? Can you shove them in my mouth as I-

Absolutely not. Suguru isn’t a weirdo like that.

He needs to get a fucking grip.

A shower could help.

He suffers for a few minutes as he waits for Satoru to finish with his own shower; paces the living room a bit, adjusts his sweats more than necessary. Prays to someone up there silently and hopes that the outline of the bane of his existence isn’t visible because whereas Suguru can do alot of things, right now, he does not have the brainpower to explain to Satoru why he’s hard after their gym session on a Saturday afternoon. 

Just…no. 

Finally, the bathroom doors open, and Satoru steps out, accompanied by a large cloud of steam that follows him out; white hair dripping down his shoulders as he sports a fluffy white robe thrown casually around his frame. Suguru looks at him, wonders whether he’s wearing anything under that robe. Or maybe he’s naked, which would be expected after a shower, but maybe- 

He shakes his head again, feels the blush creep up his neck and spread like a disease across his face. 

“All yours,” Satoru chirps, completely clueless to the demons his roommate is fighting right now, “I set out some towels for you if you want to…hey, are you okay?” 

Suguru jolts, doesn’t expect Satoru to look at him so intensely. And for a moment, he panics, what if Satoru knows? 

What if he’s in Suguru’s head and knows what kind of thoughts he’s been having? What if he saw the tent in his sweats and his genius mind already figured out that Suguru can’t stop thinking about rubbing his stupid dick all over his panty-clad ass? What if he knows that it took Suguru approximately an hour between then and now to come up with an insane number of horny scenarios? All of which have Satoru cast for the starring role. Oh God, what if he-

“‘m fine,” Suguru squeaks out, more so to silence his own spiralling thoughts, sounding not entirely unlike a mouse who just got cornered by a feline. “I’m good, just…need a shower to cool down.” 

Satoru stares at him, bottom lip between his teeth as he nods in understanding. Because it’s not a crazy statement to make, Satoru really did make Suguru push his limits at the gym, putting his body in excess just for the fun of it. Yet he obviously doesn’t buy it completely, Suguru's unusually jittery state making worry etch all across his usually smug face. 

“You’ve been so red ever since we got back from the gym. You sure you’re okay? Maybe you overworked yourself? Do you feel lightheaded or something?” 

I do, actually , Suguru thinks. Not from the gym, thought, from the goddamn blue-

Suguru shakes his head reassuringly, makes a point of showing Satoru that he is, in fact, doing just fine. He tries to discreetly wobble around him and hide in the bathroom, maybe stay there forever, if possible. 

“No, no,” he drawls in a lazy tone that hides the strain of his voice, “I’m fine, haven’t worked out this hard in a while, body’s still getting used to it, I think.” 

“Hm,” Satoru nods, looking like the explanation makes sense in his mind. “Okay. if you’re sure. I’m gonna go study, though. Come hang out later once you feel better, okay?” 

“Okay,” Suguru nods frantically, doesn’t really think he can hang out with Satoru as a regular roommate ever again, but he can’t really say that right now. 

The shower feels like a safe space. It’s enclosed and hidden and shields Suguru from the horrors of facing his own reality. He lets out a relieved breath, something that feels like it’s been held in for way too long. He does feel a little light-headed, a little soft and floaty; like he’s been exposed to a drug that his body doesn’t really know how to handle or process just yet. 

Suguru turns on the sink, lets the cold water run from the faucet as he looks in the mirror, faces the man he never thought he’d become. 

And maybe he’s being just a little dramatic, maybe he’s acting a little too much like one of those crazy men in violent movies who always seem to have a moment of facing their own reflection and trying to figure out where it all went wrong. 

He laughs at himself then, shakes his head and tries to muffle his giggles that start to sound a little manic. He’s being ridiculous about this. So what if his annoyingly gorgeous roommate and best friend likes to wear some damn panties from time to time? And okay, maybe his body did respond to the image, maybe his mind did go haywire and run with the memory to places you wouldn’t even find in the most perverted of purgatories. Maybe he did freak out and lose a good shard of his sanity in the process. 

So what? He’s fine. He’s so totally fine. 

He’s just pent up, after all, between school and homework and hanging out with Satoru, Suguru hasn’t had the time to go out and get laid. His body is just too wound up, responding to things it normally wouldn’t. He’ll just jump in the shower and jack off like a normal human being, maybe even indulge in the blue lacy memory a little, just a tab bit to get it out of his system. Then he’ll dry himself off and never think about it again. 

Yeah, sounds like a solid plan. 

He washes his face in the sink, lets the cold water cool him down a little, snap him back to reality. And surprisingly, it instantly makes him feel better. As if a moment to collect himself was all he needed to get his life back on track. 

It’s strange, really, how he doesn’t even feel like a pervert anymore. Suguru feels like a guy who’s going to be okay. He even laughs a little, chuckles lightly at how ridiculous he was being about something so trivial, so stupid. Is he really that pent up? Maybe he should just ask Satoru whether he’d like to join him for a few drinks at the bar or something; it’d do Suguru good to find someone willing to go home with him. Maybe it’d help him sort these thoughts out, let the confusion get fucked out of him, per se. 

And that sounds good. He’ll shower, get ready, and go out to turn the weirdest day of his life around. Suguru turns the water off and dries his face with the towel, tugs his shirt over his head, bunches it up, and throws it into the hamper. And he might still be a little wobbly, a little too uncoordinated, cause the fabric completely misses its target, landing on the ground near the basket instead. 

He sighs as he bends over to pick it up, grabs the discarded shirt to shove it in between the laundry and - 

No. 

He jolts back, as if struck by a live wire pumping 250 volts straight into his veins. Every spark feels like it’s surging through his bloodstream, body receptive to the shock yet unable to process the intensity. He sucks in a sharp breath, forces himself to calm down, then looks again, just to be sure he isn’t losing his mind.

But no. There it is, making direct eye contact with him. 

Baby blue lace.

The same pair that’s been haunting him, gnawing at the edges of his sanity since morning, a shade of blue that’s been rotting his brain from the inside out ever since he got a glimpse of it. Suguru’s grip tightens on his shirt as he stares, trying to breathe slow, steady, measured breaths. The panties sit neatly nestled among Satoru’s discarded workout clothes, stripped off casually after they got home, as if they aren’t currently driving him insane.

Suguru feels his body heat up, skin prickling with anticipation, excitement, and something that makes him feel horrible , horrible , horrible . He doesn’t even want to acknowledge the way the remaining blood in his body rushes south, pooling in the one place that never lets him think straight. 

Maybe he won’t be okay after all. 

He just stands there for a second, back pressed against the cold tile wall, shirt bunched in his fists as he presses it tight against his chest like a life jacket, the only thing keeping him afloat in this drowning sea of blue lace. 

And really, this entire situation is simply ridiculous, Suguru knows that much. Of course, Satoru’s underwear would end up in a place where such things go  - the hamper that holds their laundry. And it’s not not like they don’t have separate ones located safely in their respective bedrooms, but it just also made sense to have one in the bathroom, for towels, rags, soiled house clothes, overall random items that somehow end up scattered all over the place.

Overall, the situation is normal, and so, Suguru should be normal too. But every sound feels amplified, successfully muffling the currently unrecognizable voice of reason. And maybe that’s why he does it; not because he’s a pervert, but because he’s just unable to hear the words that should guide him in the right direction. 

Instead, they guide him to inch closer, his body moving on its own accord, completely ignoring the flaring warning signs that his brain is trying to send out. He doesn’t even know what his plan is; maybe just to look at them up close, inspect the menacing fabric, make sure that it’s real, not just a figment of his horny imagination or something that his sexually neglected body manifested into existence just to taunt him.  

Yeah, he’ll just look. Inch a little closer and peek at the tiny embellishments with his own two eyes. It shouldn't be that hard. Suguru should do just fine. He can handle it. 

In the end, it turns out that Suguru can not, in fact, handle any of it. 

And he doesn’t know how it happens. Doesn’t even remember making the decision and acting on it at all. Maybe he blacked out, erased the moment from his memory and buried it somewhere on the outskirts of his mind, together with the remnants of his dignity, because the next thing he knows is he’s running his trembly fingers across the fabric, digits grasping at it like he’s not sure about what he’s doing, but has absolutely no intention of backing out. 

Just touching it makes him feel weird. And he was pretty normal about it at first too, at least he thinks he was, hyperventilating and twitching cock aside - Suguru was pretty chill.

He just holds the soft lace between two fingers – the way you’d probably handle used underwear that wasn’t yours. For a second the voice of reason breaks through, tells him to get a grip, to stop being such a creep before this goes out of hand. Suguru even thinks about letting the panties fall back into the basket, let them get buried beneath used towels, worn pajamas, loose socks, and the sanity that he’d be leaving behind. 

But then something stirs in the bottom of his stomach; something nasty and unlike anything he’s ever felt before. Something that makes him bite down on his tongue and knit his eyebrows together, something not entirely unpleasant but wildly unfamiliar. 

Something slippery and slimy, like a serpent whispering in his ear to succumb to his forbidden desires. But then again, it’s easy to ignore this feeling when you’re not a divine protagonist. And Suguru is no saint. 

He’s just a dog. A dog who hasn’t been trained to behave yet. 

So much so, that the feeling leaves him confused, unsure of his body’s reaction, unsure whether he should even take accountability for it. Not when he doesn’t seem to have control over his own actions anymore. He might be possessed, Suguru thinks, because how else could the fabric go from barely resting on his fingertips to being clenched tightly in his fist? The lace bites into his skin, folding beneath his grip. And it should be weird, wrong, even. He should be disgusted with himself, for holding it like this, for letting it drag across his palm and brand him like some kind of freshly made pervert.

He should drop the panties back in the basket and pretend that he never even came across them in the first-

He brings the fabric closer to his face. The noise in his head quickly fades, morphing into something tangible; a current, sharp and electric, surging through his veins, bleeding into skin and bone and the shell of his body. It’s like he’s no longer in control. Every movement, every twitch of muscle feels involuntary, as if his body has been hijacked by something his mind can’t reach. At least, that’s what Suguru keeps telling himself, again and again and again, until it almost sounds true. Until he almost believes it. 

Without thinking, he presses his nose against the baby blue panties, and suddenly, the noise in his head fades away. Drifts into the sea and gets lost beneath baby blue waves. It’s silent, serene, heavenly . 

He inhales the sweet scent of skin, strawberry body lotion, hints of sweat, and something so sweet - Suguru’s cock instantly fills out just from a single whiff. He presses the fabric closer, buries his nose in them completely, inhales and holds his breath. He almost feels it on his tongue. It makes Suguru whine a little, muffle his moan against the fabric of the panties as he feels his eyes roll back in ecstasy the harder he presses them to his face. 

He doesn’t know how to explain it. It’s the smell of sin, of Suguru’s own desperation, of something so sweet and desirable - it cannot be holy. 

Before he can even think about it, Suguru fumbles with the waistband of his pants and boxers, pushing them down to his ankles, hard and already leaking cock heavy in his hand as he squeezes at the base with numb fingers. He doesn’t even plan to jack off at first, just wants to relieve the pressure on his body before stepping away with some sense of dignity. And he can still do it, he can still walk away and forget any of this ever happened. 

Instead, he closes his eyes, inhales the intoxicating scent again, even opens his mouth to huff out a choked-off groan that gets soaked into the fabric. His one hand is still holding the panties up to his nose, the other gently fisting his cock now, gathering the already sticky precum to use for a better glide. Suguru rolls and flicks his wrist just the way he likes it, just the way that makes him whine and keen deep in his throat, his silent moans muffled against the object of his desire.

He’s just going to do this once. One time. One singular slip-up just to test the limits of his desire and he’ll walk away. Won’t even think about. He’ll erase it from his memory completely. 

And he does feel bad. Of course, he does - Suguru feels awful about sniffing and getting off on the scent of Satoru’s used underwear. Guilt coils in his gut like a parasite, sharp and hot as it stabs him from the inside out. He feels really bad. Just… not bad enough to stop. But enough to know, without a doubt, that it’s wrong.

And that was something, right? At least he wasn’t a complete scum.

He’ll think about his sins later. Right now, he has the panties pressed to his nose, fisting his cock harder, the pace relentless, the glide effortless with how much precum he’s leaking. Suguru almost wants to bite down on the fabric, just to muffle the sounds threatening to spill from his mouth, the desperate whines that might give him away. So he does. Parts his lips and sinks his teeth into the soft lace, humming low in his throat the moment the taste hits his tongue.

But the second he does, he has to stop, his hand tightening around the base of his cock in a desperate attempt to hold back. He’s too close. And he doesn’t want to cum. Not yet. Not when there’s still something else he wants to try.

He takes a second to catch his breath, to gather his wits about him. Not that he has any left, with panties pressed to his nose and sweats around his ankles - Suguru isn’t sure he has anything to defend his pride anymore. But still, after taking a second to calm down, he lowered the panties from his nose and slowly, as if handling a precious gem, wraps the fabric around his cock. The sight alone makes him whine low in his throat. 

Satoru’s baby blue panties, now soaked with Suguru’s spit and precum, wrapped loosely around his cock. He looks at it, short huffs of air leaving his lungs as he takes it all in. He thinks that the color resembles Satoru’s eyes, bright and blue and so so pretty. There’s also a little pink gem sewn into the fabric, a shade matching Satoru’s own lips perfectly. It gets Suguru excited, thinking about it like that. So pink and pretty and wrapped around his cock.

He swallows a whine and tugs the panties down his length, spreads his precum all over the pretty blue lace. As he does it, he imagines Satoru wearing them, goes back to the memory of seeing the panties snug against his skin. Suguru picks up the pace then, imagines what it would feel like to experience the real thing.

Would Satoru let him bend him over, would he allow Suguru to push the panties to the side as he eats him out, drags his tongue all over his entrance before pushing his cock in? Would the panties snap back into place, rubbing all over Suguru’s cock as he pounds into Satoru from behind? He could even pull out then, cum all over his perky ass, watch his cum drip down his hole and soak into the fabric of his panties. Maybe he’d make Satoru wear them around, fix them back into place and make him go about his day being covered in him. 

The thought alone is enough to make him cum so hard he blacks out for a few seconds. His mind filled with the images of blue lace stained white, snug against his roommate's reddened ass. 

Suguru takes a moment to catch his breath, the sinful fabric still wrapped around his spent cock, soaked and completely ruined in his grasp. He doesn’t think about anything at all at first, just basks in the afterglow of his desire, takes in deep breaths and calms his racing heart down. But after a while, when his cock finally goes down and mind manages to clear from the panty-induced fog - Suguru stands there in silence, knowing absolutely nothing of what just happened, but two things that had become irrevocably true. 

First, he’s a pervert. A disgusting, nasty, sinful pervert who has needs and desires one should never voice to anyone.

Second was that he’s a liar. A big liar who lies. Because with cum drying on his flushed skin and breathing so hard he looks like he just ran a goddamn marathon, he knows that he lied to himself. 

He was going to do it again. 

But he could deal with that later, right now, standing in the shadow of his shame, cum soaked panties in hand - Suguru has an entirely new problem to deal with.

How the fuck is he going to explain this to Satoru?

He panics for a second, internally freaks out trying to come up with valid justifications that could potentially dig him out of this hole that he willingly jumped in. Nothing comes up, not a single damn thing he could say to Satoru right now would make him nod and go yeah, that makes sense. Because it doesn't. Suguru fucked up. He fucked up big time. 

Fuck . 

He tries to think, to come up with something, anything . Maybe he can wash the panties in the sink?  But then again, freshly scrubbed, soaking fabric would probably raise just as many questions. Maybe even more.

Suguru just stands there, his roommates' underwear clutched tightly between numb fingers, shaking slightly as he realizes the reality of his situation. And it’s right there, the evidence of his perversion slowly drying and soaking into the baby blue fabric. His brain is working overtime now, partly trying to contain an incoming anxiety attack and trying to figure out the best way to go about this.

Suddenly, he remembers what he came here to do in the first place, maybe a cold shower could help him think and arrange his plan in order. He places the soiled panties neatly on the counter, gazes at the mess he’s made, and feels his cock twitch again. Not now. He has shit to figure out.

A cold shower turns out to be exactly what he needed. The water hits him in the face and promptly sobers up the parts that were still under a haze. And as much as Suguru would like to tell himself that he’s a good person, a decent man who knows boundaries and respects his roommate’s belongings, well, the evidence is neatly folded on the counter by the sink. So, instead of doing that, he thinks about other ways he could ease his burden. 

He already knows that he won’t be able to stop here. One little adventure with baby blue lace wrapped around his cock opened a whole new world to him; a world that reeks of desire and perversion and every sinful thing that’s always been tucked away in his head. And it has to be, because why else couldn’t he stop thinking about Satoru in nothing but lingerie, thighs open and spread, pretty panties tugged to the side as Suguru- 

Get a fucking grip, dude. Come up with a plan first, geez. 

First, he needs to hide the evidence, make sure Satoru doesn’t suspect a thing. Then, he has to figure out how to secure ongoing access. How does one minimize suspicion while launching on a full-blown, generational perversion spree?

The answer hits him like a revelation.

He’ll offer to do Satoru’s laundry.

And if he really thinks about it, it’s a pretty amazing offer, one Satoru would be insane to turn down. Their dorm isn’t one of those sleek, modern, completely renovated setups you’d find in the city center. No laundromats lining the block, no dedicated rooms with rows of washers and dryers for students to use at their convenience. Which means doing laundry is nothing short of a nightmare. 

There’s a shared laundry room in the basement, four washing machines, and a single dryer. And it’s not like you can use it whenever you want. There’s a communal sign-up sheet, tucked away in the RA’s office, where you have to check if anything’s free. Even if the machines look unoccupied, you still have to double-check the schedule to see if someone’s already claimed that time slot. All in all, it’s a hassle, the kind of nightmare Satoru would do just about anything to avoid.

Suguru doesn’t want that either. But he wants the panties. So, he’ll compromise.

Besides, he’s pretty sure that the current RA has a thing for him, and well, Suguru isn’t trying to be a dick about it, but he’s not an idiot either. It’s not like he’s gonna exploit the shy girl’s affections for his own benefits, he’s just gonna be…extra nice and chatty with her. He’ll just linger around more, chat her up, who knows, maybe even flirt a little. And if it does land him a permanent spot with the washers without having to wait in line? Well, then that’s just his luck. 

The more Suguru thinks about it, the more it makes perfect sense in his head. It’s not like he’s doing something terrible, anyway. And what else is he supposed to do? And even though Suguru is having a panty-induced existential crisis right now, he’s not a complete fucking weirdo. Not completely shameless, either. He’s not gonna break into Satoru’s room and dig through his drawers just to steal a pair of underwear like a complete fucking loser.

Besides, what good would a clean pair do him?

It’s the same as any other pair out there. Just something he can go out and buy. What he needs is not something fresh out of the dryer, smelling of detergent and with no traces of Satoru on them. No , that’s not what has him fucked up.

Suguru doesn’t care for the warm fabric pulled out of the dryer; the toasty feeling has to be skin-induced. Satoru induced. The smell, feel, taste of him. That’s what he needs.

So yeah, he’s not gonna steal from his roommate’s drawers just like that.

He’s gonna steal from his laundry basket.

So, after a mind-clearing shower, he gets out and prepares for the performance of a lifetime. Suguru mentally rehearses his pitch as he heads toward Satoru’s room, even dredging up that old essay cake diagram they taught in school, trying to map out his key points that he could base his exceptional offer on. 

He needs a strong introduction, something sharp that sets the tone. Then, he figures, he’ll follow up with at least three solid points in favor, and maybe one counterpoint in case Satoru doesn’t really buy it right away. The opposing statement shouldn’t deter the positives, but it needs to sound believable enough to stand on its own if necessary.

Maybe something simple, easy on the ears, like: “Yeah, I hate laundry too, but I’m doing mine anyways, might as well grab yours, right?” or “I don’t know, bro, I just can’t stand when it piles up. Let me take care of yours, too.”

Truthfully, Suguru’s not sure which one he’ll go with if it comes to that, but both seem reasonably convincing, especially if he keeps the tone casual. Nonchalant. Like it’s no big deal

And anyway, as he maps out, circles, and scratches through points in the outline of his so-called speech, Suguru starts to wonder if all this was even necessary for what’s essentially a pretty normal task, given their situation? How hard can it really be to walk up to your ridiculously hot roommate and offer to intimately handle their used panties?

Seems pretty standard to Suguru, from where he’s standing.

But then again, it’s not the action itself that’s sending him into a psychotic frenzy; it’s the thoughts . The ideas that worm their way into his overheated head, the ones that twist something simple into something filthy, wrap their nasty scenarios around his ribs and make flowers bloom as he rots away in shame. 

That’s what turns him into a total pervert. He wouldn’t act like this if he were in his right mind. He’s sure of that.

It’s the panties that loosened a few screws in his very well-adjusted mechanisms of morale.

It's not him. It’s the panties.

And even though Suguru has a very solid plan before he enters Satoru’s bedroom, he quickly finds out that once you’re faced with a shirtless, very pretty, very splayed out Satoru Gojo, every word, sentence, or even a coherent thought you’ve ever had becomes merely a concept, a shape of an idea that fades away the longer you stare. Which Suguru does, of course, embarrassingly so.

Satoru looks up from his spot on the bed, a thick textbook open in front of him, delicate fingers holding the page in place. He smiles, one brow arched in mild curiosity as Suguru stands there, frozen, gaping like a fish out of water.

“Hey,” Satoru greets, eyes warm and unassuming, which only makes Suguru feel more ashamed to be standing here under these conditions. “What’s up?”

And with the way Satoru looks, soft lighting, pretty face, long legs tangled in blankets, Suguru figures he can’t be blamed for the complete collapse of his carefully stacked argument cake. Every point he’d rehearsed melts into incoherent mush. Every justification nothing but slop in his head. He can’t even be faulted for the way his voice comes out - too thin, too tight. He can’t even take blame for the awkward stutter that breaks through when he finally manages to speak.

“Hey,” Suguru stammers, voice clipped, like he's forcing the words out through thorns lodged in his throat. “Uhh… your laundry. Please?”

Perfect. Just perfect.

Satoru frowns slightly, still hunched over his textbook as he lies on his stomach. Suguru can tell he’s deep into whatever scientific article he’s reading, his brain clearly too preoccupied to fully process the stream of nonsense that just came out of Suguru’s mouth.

And thank God for that, because even without formal training in public speaking, Suguru knows exactly how pathetic he just sounded. Not just the shaky tone or the awkward delivery, but the begging ? Seriously?

Satoru doesn’t seem to notice, though. He just lifts his head, thick-framed glasses slightly crooked and sliding down his nose as he focuses on Suguru’s tense, frozen form.

“What?”

Suguru bites the inside of his cheek. Tries again.

“I mean…” He rubs the bridge of his nose, hoping the gesture sells some kind of casual fatigue, something to excuse how terribly he’s articulating himself. “I was thinking of doing laundry. Since it’s a Saturday, I figured the machines might be free. I could, uh… grab yours too. No biggie.”

Silence.

The kind that makes Suguru spiral, makes him pick apart every clumsy syllable, every hesitation, every stray of his gaze. He was way too awkward. Way too obvious. Honestly, with the way that he stammered through that like a guilty liar, he might as well have begged Satoru to shove his used panties right in his face.

Of course, he messed it up. And of course, Satoru knows exactly what he’s up to.

But instead of calling him out on his bullshit or telling him to get his perverted ass out of the room, Satoru just hums, distracted, flipping a page of his textbook. Eventually, his gaze drifts back up, eyes meeting Suguru’s. His bottom lip is caught between his teeth, like he’s turning the offer over in his head.

“Oh. Um… are you sure?”

“Yeah,” Suguru rushes out and almost winces at how out of breath he sounds. “Yeah, of course, it's cool. No big deal.”

Satoru still looks a little unsure, the textbook now abandoned as he shifts upright on the bed. And it’s a mistake, a horrible, terrible mistake,  because now Suguru can’t focus on anything at all. His eyes are locked onto Satoru’s bare chest, tracing the lean lines of muscle, darting far too often to the low-slung waistband of his pajama pants for it to be unnoticeable.

He knows it’s obvious. Embarrassingly obvious. But he can’t stop. His body’s moving on its own, possessed by something shameless and stupid and deeply, deeply perverted.

“Well, do you want me to do the dishes then?” Satoru offers, completely unaware of the crisis unraveling in front of him or Suguru’s wandering eyes. “Or I can mop the floors? Oh, maybe I could-”

“No!” Suguru snaps, a little too sharply, face burning. “No, no. Really. No need. I’ve got it. I’ll just do it, okay? I was already planning to. I figured I might as well do both our loads ‘cause you know how it gets down there, and-”

“Suguru.”

Fuck. Fuck . He was too weird, and Satoru noticed. He noticed and figured out Suguru’s true intentions, and now he knows that he’s a dirty, nasty perv-

“Thank you.”

Oh .

Suguru nods. Eyes looking everywhere but Satoru’s genuine smile. He feels horrible, horrible, horrible -

Suguru wants to die. 

“Yeah,” he stammers out eventually, eyes darting to the laundry hamper in the corner of Satoru’s room. Something warm spreads through his bloodstream then, something that suppresses the guilt and eases his mind the longer he stares. “It’s no problem, dude. Seriously. No problem at all.” 

And somehow, that’s enough for Satoru. Sweet, trusting Satoru. So lovely as he lights up with a smile and immediately starts tossing his dirty laundry into a bag. So casual. So unaware. So utterly oblivious to the fact that the roommate he’s trusting with his most private belongings is a filthy, pathetic pervert who can’t even look at him without picturing him bent over the bed, those loose pajama pants tangled at his ankles, panties tugged to the side as Suguru-

“You’re a great roommate, dude.”

Suguru swallows. Nods slowly as he takes the bag of laundry.

He’s a horrible fucking roommate.

The dorm’s RA turns out to be more into Suguru than he’d initially realized. It catches him a little off guard at first, but the intense flirting and casual touches aren’t exactly unwelcome, especially if they come with perks, like a spare key to the laundry room “just in case,” as she put it. 

He pockets the key, flashes her a sweet, flirtatious smile in thanks, and heads off toward his destination, two laundry bags in hand. 

Once he’s finally in the laundry room, Suguru feels himself relax a bit, as if his body deems it fit to finally release the tension that’s been coiled up tight within his core. The room is humid and stuffy, the smell of old water and detergent penetrating the air and reminding him of what he came here to do in the first place. He lets out a deep sigh, listens to the silent buzz from the machines filling in the space around him. It’s no big deal.

With a clear plan in mind, Suguru sorts through the clothes. He doesn’t touch the blue soiled panties in his pocket for now, tries to ignore the way they seem to burn through the fabric of his pants and scorch his skin that’s still running a little hot. Instead, he separates the darks from the lights, piles the socks together so they won’t get lost, sets aside the towels and thick hoodies to wash separately so they won’t trap that faint, lingering water scent. It’s fine. It’s not a big deal. He’ll wash the panties, too, rinse away the shame that’s clinging to him like a shadow, watch them spin in the machine, drowning in foam and suds, and it’ll all disappear. It’ll be done. Clean, fresh, down the drain. And he’ll never think about it again. He’ll return them to Satoru, and that’ll be the end of it.  

But as he sorts through the clothes, his fingers brush against delicate lace, buried beneath layers of Satoru’s pajama sets. It’s a black pair, boyshorts, soft and sheer, that make Suguru swallow hard, his throat bobbing as he stares. The moment he wraps his fingers around them, he has to take a deep breath to steady himself.

And it’s like magic, pure witchcraft of the devious kind the way he seems to enter some other realm of reality. Everything sharpens. His thoughts go quiet. A strange, blissful stillness settles over him as he grips the thin fabric tighter, fingers sinking into the lace. His cock stirs in his sweats, twitching to attention, just from the feel of it. Just from this.

After a few seconds, he looks at the precious thing in his hand and wonders. 

When exactly did he go insane?

It’s not like he’s always known this about himself. Honestly, Suguru had no idea he was into panties. He wonders if it’s some kind of fetish, a kink, maybe? Something that was always lingering on the outskirts of his psyche. But he’s never felt like this before, never had such a strong reaction to a pair of underwear, or even to someone wearing them.

And it’s not like he’s inexperienced, either. He’s a hot uni student who sometimes gets a little too horny for his own good, of course, he’s had his fair share of hookups. It’s not like Suguru’s some desperate dog or anything, but sexy lingerie? He’s seen plenty. It just never did much for him. Never even gave it a second thought before tugging it off to get to the main event.

Maybe it’s not even about the panties. Maybe it’s the fact that they’re Satoru’s.

And honestly, Suguru’s not sure he’s ready to go there, not sure if he’s willing to explore that territory altogether. He doesn’t know what to make of the way his stomach twists whenever he thinks about it, hot and nasty and so goddamn intense, he’s not able to think about anything at all, actually. He’s not even sure he wants to figure it out.

All he knows is that now that he’s seen a glimpse of Satoru’s perky ass in pretty lace, he’d give just about anything for his hot roommate to come with a scratch-and-sniff pad.

But alas, he doesn’t. So for now, Suguru’s fantasies will have to do. 

Or, well, Suguru thinks as he fishes the blue lace panties out of his pocket, maybe he can figure out a way or two to satisfy his sudden cravings. 

It‘s just one pair, right? It’ll be fine. It’s for the greater good of his sanity, after all. 

And they’re ruined anyway. Suguru isn’t even sure a whole bottle of bleach could get the stains of sin and his desire out of the fabric. It’s justifiable. 

Yeah, Suguru nods to himself as he stuffs the baby blue fabric back in his pocket, it‘ll be enough.

Turns out Suguru’s not just a pervert, he’s also completely full of shit. 

One pair? Please .

Before the month is over, Suguru has a whole drawer dedicated to Satoru’s used panties that never made it to the washing machine. And it didn’t start off this bad, not at first, at least. He was doing good, really good. For about a whole day. A whole full day, morning to night, from dusk till dawn. 

Well, maybe that’s not completely true. He did crumble sometime after lunch, but that’s just a minor detail Suguru can’t be bothered with right now. 

And it’s not even his fault, either. It was fine until Satoru got up from his spot on the couch and stretched, his arm and back muscles flexing as his shirt rode up. His low-waisted sweats barely hanging off his hips, revealing a sliver of burgundy lace that caught Suguru’s eye as Satoru arched his back for a better stretch. Suguru almost choked on his soda, eyes wide and cheeks flushed, while Satoru gave him a curious, questioning look.

It all goes downhill from there. Before he knows it, he’s on permanent laundry duty, sorting through dirty clothes just to find the one treasure he can’t seem to stay away from. Every weekend, Suguru ends up in that stuffy laundry room, fingers numb and restless as he digs through the basket, shoving clothes aside with laser-focused eyes locked on the prize that he can’t wait to secure. 

It’s like a game to him, a gamble, like opening a mystery box. What will he pull today? A lacy, pastel colored pair? A skimpy dark colored thong that makes him moan just from looking at it? Comfortable boyshorts that have just enough fabric to completely wrap around his cock? It excites him, sending blood rushing to his ears and making his skin prickle with anticipation. The moment he spots the fated pair, he scoops it up, delicately, carefully - like retrieving amber chunks from the mysterious Baltic Sea; a treasure wrapped in myth and history. But instead of symbolizing a nation’s heritage, it marks Suguru’s own slow descent into madness and desire. 

Yet he can’t help it. Can’t control how his eyes roll back once he presses the fabric to his nose and fills his lungs with the sweet scent of Satoru. Can’t hold back the lewd moan that rips through his core once he puts his mouth on them, lets his tongue press against the most intimate parts of the fabric. Can’t even control his cock from hardening once all of those sensations mix together and shut the rational part of his brain off, resulting in completely inappropriate and unjustifiable actions that always involve the newly acquired pair of panties. 

And he is ashamed. Of course, he is. 

But when he really thinks about it, maybe it’s not even his fault that he feels and acts like that. Maybe he shouldn’t be the only one getting blamed for this delinquent behavior. After all, Satoru is the one driving him insane, one pair at a time. 

And maybe Satoru wasn’t doing anything wrong, either. Maybe Suguru just needed some professional help and a single dorm room to deal with his perverted desires. Or maybe he was normal, after all. Maybe he just needed a different roommate.

But then again, him getting a new roommate would mean that Satoru would get one too. And that… nah, that just wouldn’t do. Because what if they’re worse? What if they won’t be content with just sniffing and stealing Satoru’s panties, what if they try and touch him? Suguru feels his nails digging into his thigh the more he thinks about it, frustration and rage bubbling up inside the more he imagines some random person putting their hands on Satoru’s waist, fingers skimming over the lacy band of the undies, sneaking beneath, tugging them to the side –

He almost growls like a goddamn dog. He needs a sniff to calm down.

Some people take the edge off by smoking cigarettes or having a few drinks. Suguru, however, does that by pressing his nose into his roommate’s used panties.

And he’s been under a lot of stress lately, between midterms, upcoming exams, and Satoru’s habit of lounging around in low-waisted sweatpants, Suguru isn’t doing that well mentally. Really, he’s barely holding it together. 

He needs to unwind, to let his body relax and take the edge off. Good thing he knows just how to do that. 

Suguru’s kneeling on his bed, hunched over with a peachy-pink pair of panties pressed to his nose as he grinds slowly against his pillow. His hips move in shallow, leisurely thrusts, chasing a rhythm he’s been building and breaking for what feels like forever now. He’s edging himself, prolonging the pleasure, his mind not really looking for instant gratification right now. Instead, he wants to tease himself, let the pent-up tension slowly bleed out of his system and soak into the fabric between his legs. 

Satoru’s not home, out with classmates, working on some assignment that he mentioned earlier. And honestly, Suguru’s relieved. He needed the space, needed Satoru out of the apartment just so he could moan his name freely, whining and gasping it into the empty room as he picks up the pace.

After a while, he shifts, rising more to his knees as he bunches the pillow beneath himself, sliding his aching cock against the soft fabric. The panties slip from his face, but he doesn’t let them go. Instead, he wraps the delicate lace around himself, groaning as he begins to roll his hips again. A curse slips from his lips when he glances down. They really are pretty; peachy pink, cut like boyshorts, soft and snug in his grip and around his cock.

Suguru closes his eyes, thrusting harder against the pillow, mind spinning with the image of Satoru wearing them. He imagines the way they’d cling to him, hugging the curve of his ass, stretching just enough to let some of the flesh spill out around the edges, just enough to dig into his skin and leave a mark. But Suguru’s favorite part is the cut. Just high enough to leave the underside of Satoru’s ass exposed, curving inwards and making it easy for him to tug them aside and bury his cock in that tight, wet heat.

And in moments like these, Suguru lets himself imagine. Fantasize about all the different scenarios he'd like to explore with Satoru. He figures that as long as it's in his head, there's no real harm, no real threat to a friendship, were he given the chance, he'd love to ruin. 

He moans softly at the delicious friction, lets himself travel to a place where Satoru isn't just a roommate with boundaries. Rather he's on his knees, blue eyes wide and teary, glazed over from how overwhelmed he is. Given the chance, Suguru knows exactly what he'd do to him. Or maybe he doesn't, maybe he has so many different things he wants to experience, he can't possibly pick just one. 

Sometimes he wants Satoru on his lap, crying and whining into the skin of his neck, drooling and huffing as Suguru fingers him open, panties pushed to the side for better access. Suguru imagines himself being fully clothed, completely in control of the situation and Satoru's pleasure. He'd tease him, pull noise after noise, every whimper and whine that the white haired boy could offer him. Satoru would come just like that, just from his fingers; crying and moaning around little sobs that Suguru can’t help but coo at. He’d wipe his tears away, call him a good boy and then lay him down on his back, legs spread open as Suguru tugs the panties to the side again, because despite just cumming on his fingers, Satoru can give him another one, right?

But sometimes, when he’s feeling extra needy, Suguru wants to be the one on his knees instead, begging Satoru for mercy as he uses him up for everything Suguru has to offer. He wants Satoru to spit in his mouth, to call him a dirty dog, to pull his hair and deny his pleasure as he rides Suguru's face for his own enjoyment. His hard cock straining against his stomach, leaking and neglected as Satoru just huffs at how pathetic he is. 

Then he’d want Satoru to suck him off. Pull his cock out and wrap his shiny pink lips around his tip, let the spit dribble down, hollow his cheeks, look him straight in the eyes and do his best to pleasure him. Because Satoru wouldn’t be cruel, he wouldn't let Suguru suffer for long. And he’d be good at it, too, Suguru knows that much. 

But honestly, maybe it'd be even better if he weren’t. If he didn’t know what to do with his mouth and teeth and hands, instead, teary and whiny, squirming on his knees at Suguru's feet and pretty eyes, silently begging to be guided. Suguru would love that, being the one to teach Satoru all about pleasure, about how to behave, how to please him.

“ Fuck ,” he gasps, the word a low growl in his throat as he comes hard, spilling over the pillow, the panties, his own skin. The orgasm tears through him like a shockwave, blanking out every thought until there’s only Satoru, Satoru, Satoru.

He collapses onto the bed, chest heaving, soiled lace still clutched in his fist as he tries to catch his breath.

After his body finally comes down from its high, he looks at the panties up close. Pretty peach color now stained in white, sticky and damp - a perfect representation of his morality.

Soaked in sin, covered in lust. And it’s terrible. Horrible, actually. Absolutely disgusting in the way that he keeps doing it. 

In the way that he will, most definitely, do it again.

But his usual self-deprecating routine after coming all over Satoru’s panties suddenly gets interrupted by the front door opening and a very enthusiastic Suguruuuuu ringing through the house. 

Fuck . 

He almost falls off the bed in his rush, shoving the soaked panties beneath the covers and flipping the cum-stained pillow over. He wraps himself tightly in the blanket, curling into a mock-sleeping position. He can hear Satoru shuffling in the hallway and before he can calm his beating heart down, his bedroom door swings open, Satoru already halfway to his bed as he rambles on,

“Suguruuu, where the fuc-,” he pauses, takes a moment to take in Suguru’s very obviously disheveled state. If he notices how he’s avoiding his eyes or desperately clutching onto the blanket, he doesn’t mention it. 

“Were you sleeping?” 

“Mhm,” Suguru manages to croak out. Even his humming sounds guilty. He knows he looks a mess, yet he can only pray that Satoru doesn’t take it as anything but a very intense nap session. 

Satoru just stares at him for a second, concern flashing in his eyes as he takes in Suguru’s clearly unwell-looking state. And he almost feels bad about it, almost feels the guilt gnaw at the edges of his sanity. Satoru takes a step forward, hand instinctively reaching out to touch Suguru’s forehead to check his temperature. And Suguru has to fight every atom in his body to keep himself from flinching away. 

Because someone as pure and lovely as Satoru should never touch someone as filthy and terrible as him. Especially not right after Suguru had defiled him in every way imaginable in his mind. 

But still, he’s in no position to explain any of that to Satoru, so he just lies there, the panties clutched tight under the covers, breath caught somewhere in his throat.

“Are you okay?” Satoru sounds genuinely concerned and Suguru just wants to fucking perish. “You’re all flushed. Do you have a fever or something?” 

Suguru just nods, the movement jerky and a little too intense. What else is he supposed to say? The truth?

“Maybe. I don’t know,” he says instead, because he still wants to remain somewhat honest. “Why are you home so early, though? Thought you had a group project?” 

Thankfully, that’s enough to shift Satoru’s attention away from how weird Suguru is acting. He sighs, tossing his head back, long neck exposed, as he starts ranting about how annoying this group project is and how he doesn’t even want to deal with the people he’s been assigned to work with. 

And Suguru is sure that he’s making valid points. In fact, he’s certain that Satoru’s concerns and frustrations are genuine and reasonable, as reasonable as Satoru can get, at least. 

The problem is, Suguru can’t focus on a single word. Not when Satoru’s tugging his hoodie over his head and tossing it onto the chair by the desk. Not when he’s fishing his phone out of his jeans and walking toward the bed, already reaching for the covers, ready to crawl in beside him.

“-and Nanami’s being so mean to me for no reason. Seriously, that guy needs to-” 

“Wait!” Suguru cuts him off as soon as Satoru reaches for the cum stained pillow to fluff it up for himself. The panic in his voice is almost palpable, his face twisted in horror as he snatches the pillow away and presses it against his chest like a protective shield, “What are you doing?!”

Satoru pauses, clearly thrown by Suguru’s reaction. He tilts his head, giving him a confused, almost bored look.

“The fuck you mean, ‘what am I doing?’” he says, incredulous, like Suguru’s the one who’s lost his damn mind. “Trying to cuddle? Like we always do?”

And oh, right . They do always do that. 

But despite the fact that it’s basically their daily ritual that neither of them ever want to skip, Suguru absolutely cannot allow Satoru to get into bed with him. At least not while he’s still desperately clutching his stolen panties under the covers. No matter how morally corrupt he is, this would be a new level of scum for him. 

And the mortification must show, it must reflect in Suguru’s eyes since Satoru takes a tentative step back, arm no longer reaching for the defiled pillow, instead dropping to his side in defeat. He tuts his head to the side, bottom lip between his teeth. Satoru looks unsure, like he just did something that wasn’t welcome. Suguru wants to bash his head against the wall. 

But again, he can’t say any of it. 

Satoru’s voice, once it comes again, is guarded, a little unsure, unfamiliar . 

“You sure you’re okay, bro?”

And at that, Suguru is quick to nod his head. Maybe he does it too fast, the movement too jerky, since it earns another concerned look from Satoru. But he can still redeem the situation; he just needs to act cool and stay calm. 

“Yeah, yeah, just… Maybe I should take a shower first, and then we can cuddle on the couch?” he says and sits up a bit, rolling his shoulders back in an Oscar-worthy performance, “I’m all sweaty right now, maybe I did have a fever. I’ll just wash up and join you, ‘kay?”

Satoru stares at him for a second, eyes still a little unsure, clearly trying to decipher whether Suguru is telling the truth or if something has changed between them. 

Suguru’s not sure whether it’s his stellar acting or just the sheer desperation leaking from his every pore that sells it.

Either way, Satoru seems to buy it.

“Ew,” Suguru rolls his eyes at the way Satoru scrunches up his face in disgust. He acts annoyed, yet he could honestly cry with relief.

“But hurry up, okay? I wanna tell you how mean Nanami was to me.”

“Was he mean, or was he reasonable?”

Satoru shrugs, already turning back toward the living room, socked feet shuffling across the floor.

“Psh. Same thing.” 

Suguru lets out a quiet hum, a small smile tugging at his lips. The panic and guilt from earlier start to fade, slowly replaced by something warmer, fuzzy, something so sweet it makes his bones ache. Something that was only reserved for Satoru and his antics. 

And he doesn’t think about that feeling and what it means. Doesn’t analyze it while he quickly showers, scrubbing at his skin as quickly as possible just so he wouldn’t keep Satoru waiting. He doesn't let it burden his mind as he joins him on the couch, wrapping his arms around his middle and keeping him pressed against his chest. He doesn't wonder what that feeling is as he listens to Satoru ramble on about stupid assignments, annoying classmates, or just everyday things that he wants to complain about. He knows Suguru will listen. He always listens. 

And he doesn’t explore the saccharine sweet thoughts that fill him as he watches Satoru eventually doze off in his arms, some trashy reality TV show that he had put on buzzing away in the background. 

No, Suguru doesn't think about any of it. There’s no need to think about anything while he has Satoru in his arms like this. 

And when it really comes down to it, there isn’t a single moment in Suguru’s day when he isn’t thinking about Satoru.

In the mornings, he usually wakes up from a dream about his roommate, one of many scenarios already playing out in his mind before the day even begins. He makes them both breakfast, always remembering to add extra sugar to Satoru’s oatmeal and to make his coffee more cream than actual coffee.

During classes and seminars, his mind drifts, wondering what Satoru’s up to, whether he’s bored or actually paying attention, trying to recall his schedule and whether they’ll get to walk home together.

He thinks about him when he’s out with friends, when he’s trying to study in the library, when he’s brushing his teeth, when he’s in the shower.

Especially when he’s in the shower.

And he can’t help it. Not that he’s really tried to, anyways, he just knows he wouldn’t be able to. The thoughts are always there, lodged in his mind and buried beneath his skin, woven into the strands of his long hair like they were always meant to be part of him.

An extension of his very being.

He thinks of him while in bed late at night, fist tight around his cock, stolen panties pressed against his nose or shoved in his mouth, teeth sinking into the fabric as it muffles his moans. Sometimes they’re wrapped around his length or just clutched tightly in his hand - a comforting presence that he seems to be unable to function without. 

And there’s not a part of Satoru’s body that Suguru hasn’t imagined doing ungodly things to. He thinks about his peachy lips, full and plump and glossy; how they would stretch around his dick as he slides it down his throat. Fingers buried in his snowy white hair as he keeps his head tilted back, making him take it. 

He thinks about Satoru’s own long, elegant fingers; pale and veiny skin, a stark contrast to his own tan complexion. He imagines how they’d look like holding on to him, nails digging into his shoulders as he bounces Satoru on his lap, hand around his hips, cock buried deep inside of him. 

He often thinks about his eyes, too. So big and kind and trusting, looking up at Suguru with so much love he can barely handle it sometimes. They’re the same shade of blue as the very first pair of panties that made Suguru lose his integrity. He imagines them glazed over, hooded with pleasure, maybe even spilling tears down his rosy cheeks as he brings his body into overstimulation. 

Honestly, Suguru’s mind is a prison. A prison he willingly entered and threw away the key. 

Sometimes it gets so bad that Suguru considers going to church to do a confession. His actions such a burden on his mind that he actually thinks about getting in that suffocating booth and pouring his heart out, telling the man behind the veil all the nasty, disgusting things he’d done behind his roommate’s back. Let him know every thought, every perverted fantasy that he keeps replaying over and over and over again. 

But he can’t do that either, not because he doesn’t believe in the pure divinity of the church, but because he cannot physically stomach the idea of someone else getting to know how Satoru’s panties look as the fabric stretches across his ass and-

He’s done for.

Really, Suguru is not seeing the pearly gates of heaven. The only pearl he’ll ever see is the one attached to the front of that one pair he snagged a few weeks ago; the lacy ivory panties with a small fake gem-

What the fuck is wrong with him?

After careful consideration, Suguru decides that a priest is out of the question. A confessional would not save his soul, would not cleanse him of his perverted desires. 

But he could go to the next best person to ease his mind.

Which is how he ends up sitting cross-legged on the floor of Shoko’s dorm room, sharing a pack of Marlboro Reds while she paces around the too-small bedroom and complains about her apparently braindead group project team members.

And Suguru doesn’t even smoke anymore, not recreationally, at least, but these days he doesn’t really have much to fall back on, now that he’d reduced his stress management activities to something that makes him spiral more than calm down. And even though it’s a nasty habit that he really should stay away from, it helps him. Heals something in his soul, soothes his mind, makes the sun shine brighter, wind feel gentler on his skin. The world just seems better, prettier . Easier to live in. 

Oh, and the cigarette helps too. 

Shoko doesn’t ask him questions, just lights it up for him and lets it dangle between his lips as they catch up over some instant ramen and cheap beer. 

Suguru acts invested as Shoko continues with her explicit complaining, and he just shakes his head to show that he’s listening, takes a drag, holds the burning hot smoke in his lungs for a second too long and exhales slowly, letting the smoke curl up and dissipate along with his unholy thoughts.

“-and that’s not even the worst part,” Shoko continues, pacing back and forth, “none of those dumbasses even know how to cite their sources. You can’t just drop a whole ass paragraph on euthanasia and its ethical dilemmas without referencing your source. What? Do they think the prof will just take their word on medical ethics?I swear to God , those people can’t do anything.”

Suguru huffs out a laugh through his nose; it’s mostly smoke, but Shoko doesn’t seem to notice, too lost in her own annoyance.

“Seriously,” she continues, stubbing the bud of her cigarette out in an empty ramen cup and immediately fishing out another one to place between her lips. “I feel like I’m in a group of idiots. I’m not even joking, these guys must have a degradation kink or something. The way they keep fucking up, like it has to be on purpose, right?” she groans, takes another puff of her cigarette. “They’ll have to put me down before we submit that stupid paper.”

Suguru nods slowly, chuckling silently at Shoko’s exasperated tone. He takes another drag of the harsh smoke, lets it sit on his tongue before he speaks. His voice is steady, nonchalant, casual . 

“Yeah, yeah, I hear you,” he nods and clears his throat, sees his opening and dives right in. 

“So, listen, speaking of fetishes and kinks and stuff, let me ask you this-” he says, subtly shifting the conversation to something that’s been bothering him. Shoko falls silent, intrigued by where he’s about to take this. 

“Do you think panties as a fetish is weird or relatively normal in today’s society? Like, is it something super fucking strange or, I don’t know, a pretty standard fare these days? Y’know, considering the current moral climate or whatever.”

Shoko just stares, a still figure in the middle of the room. Her eyes unblinking as she stares at Suguru, cigarette dangling between her lips, giving her that dramatic effect that’s making Suguru a little uneasy. 

It’s silent for a second too long. 

And then-

“What?”

Suguru bites his lip and tugs on the ends of his hair, a nervous habit he’s never been able to shake. Still, he needs to get his answers.

“Okay, so from a personal standpoint, look at it this way,” he rambles on, voice a little high-pitched and strained as he tries to make a point. “if fetishes exist on a spectrum; let’s say ranging from relatively common and very normal to absolutely diabolical and should be shunned from society for even considering it, where would you place the panty fetish? I’d personally say it’s somewhere in the middle, maybe even on the lower end of the scale, but really, it depends on-”

“Suguru.” She cuts him off suddenly. 

He blinks. 

“Be so serious right now. What the fuck does that have to do with my group project?”

Suguru just shrugs. Honestly, he doesn’t know what lace underwear has to do with the ethics of euthanasia or why Shoko’s lab partners can’t figure out how to cite a damn source. He doesn’t even know why this is bothering him so much. Why, for the past month, all he can think about are those stupid lacy panties. So, instead of trying to make sense of the situation, he just takes a drag from his cigarette and lets the thought pass.

“Dunno,” he says. “Got me thinking, ‘is all.”

“…how the fuck does your brain even come up with that?” Shoko sighs, her expression still baffled as she looks at him. A whole moment passes between them before she suddenly stops, as if a lightbulb went off above her head. “Wait…” she gives him a small, knowing smile, and Suguru can’t help but feel a lump forming in the back of his throat.

“Is this about Gojo?”

Suguru chokes on the smoke. 

He knew better than to indulge.

“What?!” he almost shrieks, but manages to level his tone to keep up the nonchalant façade. It cracks a bit, of course, but he’s not willing to admit that just yet. “Why would this be about Satoru?”

“ Ah , I see.” Shoko nods as if Suguru’s reaction confirmed something that she already knew anyway, “Is this because he wears panties? That’s why you’re being all weird about it?”

Suguru’s brain short-circuits. His mouth drops open in shock, but no words seem to come out. He just gapes like a fish trying to get an air bubble, probably looks stupid as fuck, too. But he can’t even process the fact that he’s been figured out, and that’s not even his biggest concern right now. The thing that has him squirming uncomfortably and taking a few, a little too-eager drags of his cigarette is the fact that Shoko seems to be aware of Satoru’s underwear choices, which, well, he doesn’t seem to like very much. Not at all, actually.

“Wait,” he says and bites the inside of his cheek hard. “how do you even know that?”

Shoko makes a face and tuts her head to the side.

“Suguru,” she rolls her eyes as if she’s addressing a petulant child. “I’ve been friends with the guy since middle school, we had more sleepovers than I care to count, of course I know these things. But never mind that,” she waves her hand at him in a dismissive gesture. “How do you know that?”

And the conversation promptly shifts in a direction Suguru was hoping to avoid. Because answering to Shoko is not always an act of self-help. Sometimes, when she grasps the loose threads that you failed to conceal beforehand, she can unravel your sanity with just a few witty remarks rolling off her tongue. And Suguru fears that he might not have enough sanity left in him for her to disintegrate. Still, he can’t help but mutter, eyes down in shame,

“Gym.”

Shoko grins. Wide and excited and a little predatory as she looks at him with a glint in her eyes.

“Makes sense.” She nods as if Suguru’s current predicament and confession is something to be anticipated. And as if that’s not enough to fuck him over with, she continues excitedly, “So, what's up with you? You’re getting off to it or what?”

Suguru almost chokes on the smoke and his own shame, bends his back with how fast he shoots up from his slouched position. His face is definitely on fire now. Great . 

“What?!” he hisses as if that was the most ridiculous accusation ever uttered in regard to his name. Shoko doesn’t look very convinced, though, not with the way that she bursts into a set of giggles at his reaction. He opts to ignore it. 

“Shoko, that’s fucking disgusting. He’s my roommate . What the fuck?”

That makes her laugh even harder. She squats down where she’s standing, the cigarette forgotten between her lips as she tries to control her laughter. Suguru doesn’t find any of this funny, not even relatively amusing as he’s the one pacing back and forth now.

“Okay, okay, so let’s say it’s not Satoru.” she waves him off, perhaps giving him the benefit of the doubt. “What then, you suddenly unlocked a new fetish or something? They have vending machines for that here in Japan, y’know.”

Suguru makes a face again, tries to regain his composure even if just a little. He knows about the vending machines, knows about the entire subculture surrounding his newly acquired kink, knows when and how to obtain something like that in case he wants to test it out for himself. Yet after doing extensive research on the topic and coming across topics like Barusera and some more…practical experiments, he’d come to realize that it wasn’t the panties that got him going. It was the person wearing them. 

But he can’t just come out and say it like that. Even if there’s barely any dignity left in him, he still wants to hold on to whatever scraps remain. It doesn’t really work, but hey, no one can say he didn’t try.

“I know it’s just… it’s not that.” he begins, not entirely a lie, so that’s a good start. He pauses, his voice softening into something more casual, “And even if it were about Satoru, like, hypothetically, how bad would it be to, I don’t know… think about him while doing it?” 

It’s silent again for just a second before Shoko speaks again.

“It?” she echoes and barely holds in a new wave of laughter threatening to spill out. “You mean like… while beating your meat? Tickling the pickle? Milking the-” 

“Oh my God, shut the fuck up!” Suguru screeches and covers his face with both hands, cheeks now flushed in a shade of crimson that perfectly matches the pair he’d snagged from Satoru just yesterday. He’s going to die. He’s going to fucking disintegrate here in Shoko’s tiny single dorm room and no one will ever know the cause of it. “Just stop talking, please .”

Shoko’s still cackling like a maniac the more Suguru spirals. Her laugh sounds like it’s coming straight from the depths of hell, Suguru wonders if that’s the sound he’ll hear when the demons eventually come to get him. But Shoko’s not a demon, just an entertained friend who doesn’t have any interest in easing his self-inflicted burden, so she takes some pity on him. 

“Geez, dude, relax. It was just a question,” she says and shakes her head, the small smile that she offers him making the situation a little better. “It’s just masturbation. And, I mean, Satoru is objectively hot, so what’s the harm? It’s not like you’re stealing his used panties and sniffing them to get off, so how bad could it really be?”

Or maybe not. 

In an instant, he pales, face going from scarlet to borderline grey. His entire body freezes up and stills on the ground where he’s still hunched over. And Shoko isn’t stupid, isn’t oblivious, either. She notices the change in reaction immediately, eyes narrowing at the way Suguru’s pupils dilate and body refuses to move even a muscle. A knowing expression crosses her features, mouth dropping open in shock as she tries to process the reasons behind Suguru’s actions. 

And then it clicks. 

“Oh my fucking God ,” She gasps and Suguru wonders when will he finally pass away and leave this God forsaken earth, “Suguru, you absolute dog .”

“I didn’t even say anything!” He tries to defend himself but the color of his face tells her everything she needs to know. 

Maybe she can even smell the guilt on him. Maybe he reeks of perversion and sin and desperation. Maybe he really is a dog. 

“Oh no, Suguru,” she deadpans, that same shocked expression still lingering on her face. “You’ve said plenty .”

And with that, the panic bleeds out into shame. A disgusting, hot, smoldering feeling that he needs to rid his body of immediately. Shoko doesn’t seem all that upset or even terribly surprised, but Suguru still needs to clear his name to let her know that he, in fact, is not a panty stealer. 

Well, he is, but he doesn’t want her to know that, anyways.

“Shoko,” he says in such a calm, collected tone that it surprises the both of them. “I’m not stealing his panties.“

There’s a moment of silence between them. A moment for Suguru to pray that it takes and for Shoko to evaluate whether there’s any truth to it. And his prayers might be answered, Suguru thinks, as if he whispered them straight into God’s ear. With the way that the mocking smile slips off Shoko’s face, replaced by an easy, friendly expression, he starts to believe that everything might be okay, after all. 

“Okay, yeah. I hear you.” Shoko says and smiles just a little. She lights up a new cigarette, offers Suguru one. He takes it, a small victory smoke, nothing but a reward after the absolute psychological warfare he just endured. “It's not like I would judge you, y’know. Even if you were doing it.”

Suguru perks up at that. Oh ?

“You wouldn’t?’

Shoko looks back at him, that faux calm expression melting away and being replaced by a knowing smirk that hits Suguru right where it’s sore.

“Yeah,” she says and blows smoke in his face. “You’re totally fucking doing it.”

After his failed attempt to confide in Shoko and possibly find the remedy to his damned soul, Suguru feels like giving up. It doesn’t get better, in fact, it seems to have gotten worse. His brain doesn’t seem to be cooperating even on the most basic of tasks. Every thought, every idea, every dream is about Satoru - put in situations so ungodly, Suguru isn’t sure he can even be considered sane anymore. 

And he knows he’s wrong. Knows he shouldn’t act on these impulses, should find some way to control his desires. It’s going to catch up with him eventually; he knows that much. It’s only a matter of time before Satoru does something suggestive, and Suguru loses the last scraps of his dignity and blurts something out.

Even worse, what if the already flimsy filter between his brain and mouth gives out completely, and he accidentally ruins everything? 

He can’t have that. Can’t even begin to imagine the horrors that would follow this revelation.

But still, as the heavens deem fit, it catches up with him the following weekend. 

“Hey, Suguru,” Satoru says as he enters Suguru’s room with a worried expression on his face, “have you seen my white t-shirt? The one I wear around the house?”

Suguru bites his lip, looks up from his book as if trying to recall what article of clothing he’s being questioned about. After a relatively normal amount of pondering he nods, slowly, too nervous about saying the wrong thing.

“Yeah, I think so,” he says, “I saw it in the laundry last week.”

And maybe he isn’t such a bad person, after all. Not when he answers truthfully and refuses to be a liar who lies. Not like that, at least. 

Because he did see the shirt in the laundry basket, even sorted it with the other light colors. And, for just a second, buried his nose in the fabric so he wouldn’t miss the chance to inhale Satoru’s scent. It’s a nice shirt. Loose and flowy, made of thin cotton that drapes perfectly over Satoru’s frame. Too bad it’s now folded up in a box under his bed, hidden from the world, a scapegoat for his perversion, if anything.

But he’s not gonna tell Satoru that, of course. Because he does lie like that .

Satoru just throws his head back in frustration, obviously irritated by the situation and the constantly disappearing pieces of clothing. Suguru sits up then, getting into his role of a doting roommate who oh , feels so terrible about losing random clothing items all the time. But what can he do? The communal washing machines and easy access to these places just can’t guarantee safety, apparently. 

“Don’t tell me it didn’t make it back?” Suguru asks in a fake exasperated tone, “Seriously? Again?”

“Can you believe that?!” Satoru groans and flops down on the bed, face buried in Suguru’s sheets as his voice gets muffled by the fabric. And it’s not like he’s spent hours imagining how Satoru would sound like with his face pushed against Suguru’s sheets, but hey, right now he has to keep it cool. So instead of reacting, he files the sound away in his head, something to revisit later. 

“It’s like the third one this month. Not to mention that half my underwear and a shit ton of socks are gone, too. Seriously, I need to file a complaint.”

Suguru nods in understanding, fakes his concern and pats Satoru’s head gently in a comforting manner. He’s an asshole. A terrible, terrible man. 

He knows damn well he’s just a watered-down version of Patrick Bateman. But instead of getting off on murder and his own reflection, Suguru gets off on his roommate and the used underwear he stole from him.

So really, he might be even worse.

And Suguru would feel bad. And maybe he should. But the reality of the situation is that some things are simply inevitable, some actions have to take place in order to prevent other, more devastating events from unfolding.

The thing is, Suguru isn’t stupid. He knows there are only so many pairs of underwear he can take before Satoru starts asking questions. But then again, he does have the upper hand, given their living situation and all. It’s not unusual for laundry to go missing, or for other residents to accidentally mix up their loads and end up short a few pieces.

So, to deflect any suspicion that might come his way, Suguru came up with a plan. It’s probably not the most ethical or even remotely justifiable, but he can’t just sit around and wait to get caught. Right? 

What else is he supposed to do? Stop stealing Satoru’s used panties and go back to jacking off to regular old porn? 

That doesn’t sound reasonable. Not at all, actually. 

To keep his scheme going, Suguru started snagging other pieces of Satoru’s clothing. Nothing crazy, just a sock here, a t-shirt there. Random items, scattered enough that Satoru wouldn’t start wondering why only his underwear kept disappearing. This week, it was his favorite white t-shirt that fell victim. And yeah, it’s messed up when you look at it through a critical lens, but it’s a good thing Suguru isn’t doing that right now, right?

But still, it’s not like Suguru’s being a dick about it. For every item that he steals, he makes sure to shake his head really hard, emphasizing that he is, in fact, not cool with this behavior. And he folds them up nicely, stacks them right underneath his own sweatpants that reside in the very bottom drawer of his dresser. He keeps the panties separate, though. 

They’re not just clothing; they’re his priced possessions, his daily drug, something that keeps his mind clear, body satiated, and dick hard. 

“What about you?” Satoru says suddenly, blue eyes wide and peering straight into Suguru’s soul, “does your shit go missing too?”

Suguru shrugs, wondering whether he should lie or keep some sense of dignity when it comes to this topic. Maybe his soul could still be salvaged, maybe he can still redeem himself and gain some brownie points with the ones looking down on him.

And maybe he can be honest-

“Yeah, a few times,” apparently, he can’t be helped. “A few socks here and there, think I lost a hoodie, too.”

Satoru nods and exhales through his mouth, apparently pleased with the fact that he isn’t the only one missing copious amounts of clothing items.

“Maybe we could pop into Daiso tomorrow?” Suguru tries, because despite being the perpetrator, he still has to remain his usual, rational self. “Get some of those mesh wash bags, y’know? Just to keep socks and underwear in one place, maybe they won’t scatter around that much.”

Satoru hums, nods his head, likes the suggestion.

“That’s actually a good idea. Wash bags could work, or at least I hope they do. Because at this rate, I’m gonna have to start stealing your boxers and wearing them instead.”

Suguru chokes. Actually chokes on his own spit, coughing so hard he nearly doubles over. Satoru jolts, caught off guard by the suddenness of the action. “Whoa!” Suguru exclaims around a wheeze, “What the hell? why would you-?”

“Jesus Christ, bro,” Satoru laughs, patting his back while Suguru wheezes, “I’m kidding . Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

Suguru chokes again.

“Sorry, I just-” He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart. 

It’s fine. He’s fine. It’s not like Satoru knows, right? Of course, he doesn’t. Why would he know? It’s just an expression, obviously it wasn’t deliberate. But fuck , if the guilt isn’t eating him alive right now. 

Still, he has to remain cool. Calm. He’s got this.

“Yeah. Yeah, we’ll go get those bags.”

“Great,” Satoru nods and that’s that.

But then something else flashes in Satoru’s eyes, something that tells Suguru that his brain just offered up a suggestion that might or might not land Suguru in some deep shit. Something he’ll be forced to deal with if he wants to keep his act clean.

“We can go shopping, too,” Satoru suddenly decides and gives Suguru a sweet smile, “Make a trip out of it, y’know?”

Suguru nods. Feels himself flatline just a little.

“Shopping for what?”

Satoru quirks a brow, looks at Suguru as if he’s the weird one for even questioning such a thing. And maybe he is. Maybe he’s the weirdo that doesn’t even know how to navigate everyday life situations without spiralling. 

“Underwear, duh . I wasn’t kidding when I said half my shit is gone. So unless you really want me to start wearing yours, we’re going out to get me some.”

Suguru nods. Slowly. Almost like a lizard trying to imitate a regular human interaction.

Tries to not let the image of Satoru clad in his boxers enter his mind. Tries really hard. Fails even harder. 

“Okay,” he says eventually. “But why am I going, again? Can’t you just go by yourself?”

“Why do you think?” Satoru laughs and hops off the bed gracefully. He looks at him then, eyes narrow with amusement, hand on his hip, making Suguru spiral once again “Who else is gonna carry the bags?”

Suguru nods again. Because of course Satoru would do this to him. Of course his stupid, stupid , stupid hot roommate who wears lacy panties and stars in every perverted fantasy Suguru’s ever had would drag him out to help pick out new lingerie.

It’s basically the same as forcing your victim to help choose the torture devices you're dying to use on them. Like letting you pick the lining for your own casket, even helping then install it right before they lower you into the ground.

Except this is worse. It's worse because the torture devices get used on their victims. It’s worse because Satoru has absolutely no intention of using the newly acquired lingerie on Suguru. He’s just there to watch. To imagine. To conjure up fantasies that make him act in a way that not even God could forgive. 

Maybe Satoru is no angel at all.

Maybe he’s nothing but the Devil himself.

“Besides,” a sweet voice carries over to him again. Soft and sweet, reaching him straight from the depths of hell. “I need you to help me pick them out.”

Yeah .

This isn’t heaven.

It's purgatory. 

And there’s never any rest for the wicked.

And maybe he was the idiot all along, maybe he was delusional in thinking that his plan was a good idea in the first place, considering Suguru failed to account for all the possible outcomes that he might face in the long run. 

And now, standing in the middle of a crowded clothing store with Satoru tugging on his arm impatiently, Suguru feels like an utter fool who is getting ready to face God in his judgment trial. And, well, he might have a sin or two to answer for. 

He can’t believe he didn’t think about that. But now, standing in the middle of the underwear aisle as Satoru sorts through various styles in a leisurely manner, Suguru can’t believe how he failed to account for something like this. 

Suguru ducks his head, a deep blush creeping over his cheeks and down his neck. Not because he has no business being in this aisle, though, he really doesn’t, but because Satoru won’t stop picking up the most outrageous pairs and asking for his goddamn opinion.

He tried to play it cool at first, and honestly, it wasn’t that bad. When Satoru was holding up plain, comfy-looking cotton panties with basic designs, Suguru could manage a nod, maybe even throw in a comment when needed.

But, as with all things involving Satoru, it didn’t stay easy for long.

Now they’ve changed rows, wandered into a different section, a physical manifestation of Suguru’s darkest nightmares with lace, mesh, and borderline inappropriate lingerie sets all around them. And Satoru’s so casual, too, holding them up like it’s nothing, rambling on like this is just a normal shopping trip between a couple of best friends.

And maybe it is. Maybe Suguru’s just being a fucking weirdo about it. But still, he’s got exactly three pairs left in him before he pops an obnoxious boner in the middle of this goddamn department store.

“Hmm,” Satoru says as he tugs down a baby blue pair with glittery threads woven into the lace, “what about these?”

Suguru works hard to suppress a groan, yet Satoru ignores him and holds them up instead, right in front of Suguru’s face. He just looks at them, almost cursing out loud as his mind starts supplying very explicit images of Satoru’s tight body covered in nothing but the same offending pair of baby blue underwear. He averts his eyes immediately, shrugs trying to keep his cool.

“I dunno,” he says because fuck , what else is he supposed to say?

“Do you think they’d suit me?” Satoru asks, completely unaware that Suguru might just fucking die if he thinks about that. “What do you think?”

What does he think? Well…

He thinks that they’re beautiful. He thinks that they’re exactly the shade that complements his pale complexion best. He also thinks that they’re just the right amount of revealing; sheer and cut in a way to reveal the bottom half of his ass. He also thinks that Satoru should get them and wear them as he lets Suguru tug them to the side and fuck him open on his cock, maybe even come all over the baby blue fabric and then let Suguru chew on them. 

But he can’t say all that. So instead, he just shrugs.

“They’re cute, I guess.”

Satoru stares at him, something strange in his eyes as he raises a brow at the tightness in Suguru’s tone that he’s unable to shake. But he doesn’t push it, just shrugs and puts the panties back on the shelf. Suguru lets out a little sigh of relief; not because he didn’t like the pair, but because he might actually fucking ask Satoru to let him come on them if he knew he’d bought them.

And for a while, he actually thinks he might survive this. He really does, right up until Satoru picks up a white, lacy pair with a tiny fake diamond nestled in the satin bow at the front.

They’re cut to sit low on the hips, with just enough fabric to make your buttcheeks peek out. Completely see-through, nothing but delicate, intricate lace with absolutely no lining underneath.

Suguru feels his mouth go dry. His blood boiling and rushing south. 

Satoru looks at him again, a bright, excited smile on his face as he shows them off to Suguru.

“Okay, what about these?” he sounds excited as he looks them over. “I think they’d look good, no? What do you think? Yes or no?”

Suguru swallows, rough and painful, as if he’s trying to choke down rocks lodged deep in his throat. He steadies himself, rolls his shoulders and subtly covers his front with the few shipping bags that he’s been tasked with. Just in case. 

“I don’t know,” he blurts out just because he has to say something.

Satoru stares, lips curled into an annoyed frown.

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

Suguru just shrugs, because, well, what else is he supposed to do? He’s already getting hard just from looking at the damn thing and Satoru now wants him to converse about it? Not a chance, buddy. 

“Do you like them?” Satoru tries again.

“Am I supposed to?”

“Are you being purposely obtuse?” Satoru laughs.

Nothing about this is funny to Suguru.

“Do you think they’re cute or not?”

Suguru pinches the bridge of his nose, tries to take in a steadying breath. Fails somewhere along the way.

“Satoru,” he groans, trying to stay rational. “Yes, they’re cute. Really cute. But please, stop asking me about your underwear. I don’t want to think about that.”

“Hah.” Satoru lets out a short, surprised laugh, like Suguru just said the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. “Could’ve fooled me,” he mutters under his breath.

Suguru blanks.

“What?”

“Nothing,” Satoru chuckles and shakes his head in amusement, something in his eyes telling Suguru that there’s more where that came from, but he absolutely cannot go down that path right now.

Satoru just tugs on his arm again, promptly distracting him and leading them to the next aisle over. 

“Come on, I still want to check something else out.”  

And, well, what else is he supposed to do? So he just follows like a puppy and prays to God that that’s the end of it.

And life is funny, Suguru thinks. It’s really funny how some things get better before they get worse. For example, if there was ever a situation with no proper way out, it was definitely this one.

And if Suguru thought the cute little underwear Satoru had picked out earlier was bad, he had no idea what was coming. Nothing could’ve prepared him for the moment Satoru gasped, eyes lighting up with glee and wonder, arms reaching out with excitement to grab something off the rack.

Now, Suguru’s not a doctor, not at all, actually. But he’s pretty fucking sure his heart actually stopped for a few seconds after he saw what Satoru was holding in his hands.

A lingerie set.

A full-blown, actual lingerie set. Accessories and all. 

And it might be the fluorescent store lights reflecting off the silver garter belt buckles. Or it could be the light at the end of the tunnel as Suguru meets his demise. 

Who knows? He just hopes it's the latter. 

But God doesn’t have mercy, it seems. Because Satoru keeps gasping and letting out little delighted sounds as he turns over the white lace in his hands. It’s delicate, barely any fabric at all. See-through, beautifully delicate panties, thin lines swirling and meshing together, creating the most elegant pattern that serves as the only cover for what should have a lining. The matching bralette had the same intricate pattern: lacy, sheer, completely see-through. There were stockings, too. Long, delicate, and far too thin to be practical, with a thick band at the top that, despite having more fabric than any other piece combined, somehow managed to cover nothing at all.

But none of that, not the bralette, not the panties, not even the stockings, made his body tense and nearly give out like the final piece did.

A garter belt.

Its sides flared out like delicate butterfly wings, showcasing the same intricate pattern as the rest of the set, with small clips dangling from the bands on each side, meant to connect to the stockings and make the fantasy come to life. 

Satoru stares at it, runs his fingers over the delicate fabric, eyes wide and sparkly and so focused on the piece in his hands, they completely fail to notice how Suguru’s trying to count his breaths to make sure that he is, in fact, breathing and not passing out in the middle of an underwear store.

“It’s so pretty.” Satoru whispers, eyes still glued to the set.

You’re pretty, Suguru wants to say. You’re the most beautiful thing here.

But he can’t. Not like this, not in the middle of a department store, not when he doesn’t understand why he’s feeling the things that he is, and definitely not when Satoru is seriously considering buying a set so diabolical, so downright evil and life-threatening, Suguru isn’t even sure he’ll survive the thought of him wearing it, let alone actually seeing it with his own two eyes.

But still, it's a situation where he has to remain his usual self. So despite physically feeling his cock twitch in his pants, he pretends that he doesn’t even have one and nods casually.

“Yeah, it’s cute. Do you like it?”

“I do.” Satoru answers instantly, no hesitation in his voice. 

Suguru likes it too. 

Likes it a little too much, maybe . But still-

“Where would you even wear it, though?” Suguru asks,  because, well… because he has to. “I mean, isn’t it kind of a special set? Like a special occasion type of thing?”

Thankfully, Satoru doesn’t seem to catch the wobble in his voice. Or the slight edge of panic.

“I guess,” he just shrugs, running a finger along the garter belt again. “But who really cares, right? Maybe I’ll wear it for myself. Or…” he grins, “I could throw it on under my clothes for Sho’s birthday party next week.”

Suguru frowns at that.

“Why would you wear it to Shoko’s birthday?

Satoru looks at him, his smile shy, a little unsure. 

Suguru doesn’t like what it suggests.

“Maybe I’ll get laid, who knows?”

Suguru feels his eye twitch.

And it’s not even the words that Satoru just said, not their meaning or the possible implications.

It’s the way that he said them. Not teasing, not crude, not even joking. He said them like he was shy. Maybe even hopeful. Like the idea of getting laid and having someone strip him down to reveal this gorgeous set was more than just a fantasy or a hypothetical situation residing in his brain. He said it like it was something he actually believed could happen.

Suguru feels his nails dig into his palms, overheated blood turning ice-cold as he stands there, trying to process it.

He doesn’t like that. Doesn’t like that at all.

But still, it isn’t his place to get jealous or territorial; his best friend and roommate position doesn’t really grant him the rights to cockblock Satoru just because his heart bleeds over just from the thought of it. Ultimately, he swallows his words and nods.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, voice clipped at the edges like the sides of the garter belt. “Are you gonna get it, then?”

“Don’t know,” Satoru hums and looks over the set again. “Maybe you’re right, it is kind of a special occasion thing, anyways.”

And damn this beautiful man. Damn his pretty blue eyes, his soft hair, and his small, perky ass that would look borderline sinful in that white lace thong. Damn his long legs and toned thighs, just thick enough for some to spill slightly over the bands of the stockings.

Damn his defined chest, solid enough to fill out, maybe even stretch, the delicate bralette without a problem. And damn that small waist, those unfair curves that would look absolutely criminal wrapped in the tight garter belt, melting into his pale skin and hugging his abs just right.

Matter of fact, damn Satoru Gojo entirely. Damn the fact that everything about him makes Suguru drool like a goddamn dog and act like the biggest fool to ever walk this earth.

Because truly, no force on earth could ever make him utter his next words, nothing at all. Except for maybe the possibility of Satoru Gojo in lingerie, of course.

And realistically, that’s not a force. That’s a whole goddamn dogma that he finds himself worshiping.

“Right,” he chokes out after a moment, voice strained and half of it lost somewhere in his throat. “You should get it. Actually,” he corrects himself, “I’ll get it for you.”

Satoru’s eyes widen for just a second, a small, surprised smile stretching his pink, glossy lips as he turns to look at his roommate.

“What? Why?”

Suguru just shrugs, tries to force a friendly smile.

“It’s kind of my fault you lose so many clothing items, isn’t it?” he says and even fakes a small laugh.

And well, he isn’t lying. Yeah, it is his fault that Satoru’s underwear constantly disappears. Just…not because of the reasons that Satoru is aware of. And he hopes his simple yet plausible reasoning is enough to convince Satoru because, fuck , just the thought of Satoru’s tight body wrapped in this set is enough for Suguru to come several times in a row. And, well, he might have a small thing for lingerie.

He might have a small thing for Satoru, too.

Satoru just looks at him, head tilted to the side, chewing on his bottom lip like he’s seriously debating whether to let his roommate buy him a lingerie set.

But alas, Suguru is nothing if not a Satoru Gojo expert. It doesn’t take long before Satoru breaks into a wide, happy smile and starts thanking him over and over again, excited about his gift and already buzzing with the need to wear it. And of course it works. Of course, Satoru lets Suguru buy him a lingerie set. 

Because no matter how much money Satoru has, he’ll never say no to being spoiled by Suguru.

And maybe that should tell Suguru something, maybe it should paint him a better picture of where they stand, but honestly, he’s not sure his brain can process any more information for the next three to five business days.

Not while the images of Satoru in thigh-high stockings keep flashing through his mind.

And if he felt like a pervert before, right now, he feels like an absolute fucking delinquent.

Because not only is he imagining his roommate and best friend in sexy lingerie, not only is he fucking stealing and jacking off with the said lingerie - now he’s even paying for it, too.

And it feels dirty, in a way. Like he’s holding on to some piece of information that could potentially shift their dynamic and this innocent act of friendship in a completely different direction. And it would, it absolutely would if Satoru were to ever find out about what kind of fucked up scenarios Suguru imagines him in.

But he won’t. No matter how down bad or shamelessly perverted he is, Suguru would never put Satoru in a situation that might make him uncomfortable, or risk the beautiful friendship he’s grateful for every single day.

He pays for their items and grabs the bags, silently drifting through his thoughts as he follows Satoru to the food court. He doesn’t even hear what Satoru is saying to him, something about wanting to eat something sweet right now and that they should pick up more to bring back to their dorm for later. 

Suguru just nods along, his mind drifting away from him and lingering on the pretty white lace that he just can’t help but imagine wrapped around a tight little body, the band of the thong resting between his ass cheeks, the fabric barely visible as he kneads them, sinks his teeth into the flesh-

“Suguru,”

He wouldn’t even take the underwear off, just tug them to the side and spread his cheeks apart, watch spit, lube, and cum dribble-

“Suguru.”

He’d hold Satoru’s ankles tight, wrap his fingers around them and make him spread his legs impossibly wide, delicate lace of the stockings under his palms as he keeps him in place on the bed, open and dripping and crying on his-

“Suguru.”

“Yeah?”

Satoru tilts his head to the side like a puppy, concern all over his face.

“Do you want a pretzel?”

Wanna fold you like a damn pretzel-

“Yeah.” He says and lets out a dreamy sigh. Knows he won’t be going to heaven, anyways. “Yeah, I’d like one.”

“Cool,” Satoru hums but still looks concerned for his friend’s well-being as they stand in line. “You okay, though?”

No .

“Yeah,” he answers instead, “yeah, I’m fine. A little spaced out. Too much shopping gets me overstimulated.”

It doesn’t, but it sounds like a believable explanation so he sticks to it. Satoru seems to buy it, too.

“Okay,” he says and looks relieved. “It just seems like you’ve been in your head a lot these days. Must be having a good time there, huh?”

That makes Suguru burst out laughing. Loud and like something just broke apart in him, as if Satoru just said the funniest thing in the world. Tears gather in the corners of his eyes as he shakes his head.

“Yeah,” he hums and gives Satoru a sweet, loving gaze. “You have no idea.” 

On the morning of Shoko’s birthday, Suguru is having the worst day of his life. He wakes up late and nearly misses his classes, which, fine, is kind of his fault. He stayed up way too late the night before, unable to resist Satoru’s plea to play a few more rounds of video games. A few more rounds quickly stretched into an entirely too long gaming session. And usually, he’s the reasonable one, the responsible adult who makes them both go to bed somewhere around a relatively normal time. Yet all it takes these days is for Satoru to bat his lashes at him and, well, all reason evaporates within seconds. 

Suguru isn’t proud of it. But he’s aware. 

And now, he’s paying for being so weak. Suguru scrambles to get ready, toothbrush in one hand, tugging on pants with the other, while Satoru lounges on a kitchen stool still in his matching Cinnamoroll pajamas (Suguru only knows this because he got yelled and lectured by Satoru for an hour straight after calling the character a weird looking rabbit. It’s a dog, by the way, Satoru made sure he remembered). He’s just sitting there, watching Suguru with amused eyes and lazily eating some neon-colored cereal. 

“Don’t forget Shoko’s party tonight,” Satoru says around a mouthful.

“Agh, right,” Suguru mutters, jamming his shoes on. He pauses at the door, glancing back. “I have to catch a group meeting for a project after class, though. Meet you there?” 

Satoru gives him a lopsided smile, spooning more cereal into his mouth as he waves him off.

“Of course,” he says, and there’s something in his voice that doesn’t quite match his casual demeanor. Something that Suguru fails to catch on. “But don’t be late, okay? You wouldn’t want to miss it.” 

Suguru hums an absent agreement, not quite catching the tone, too focused on not being late.

It isn’t until he slumps into the back row of his lecture hall, still disheveled and half-asleep, that the words echo back to him. And suddenly, he’s not sure what Satoru meant.

Suguru is late. 

By the time Suguru finally makes it back to their apartment and jumps in for a quick shower, he’s already an hour late. And for once, it’s not even his fault, the stupid meeting dragged on forever. His group mates were unprepared, disorganized, and seemingly on a personal mission to test his patience.

After two painful hours of dealing with their incompetence, he even started to feel a little guilty for brushing off Shoko’s complaints about her group project the last time they talked. But there’s no time to dwell on that now. He still has to get ready and get to the party. 

And he’s pissed. Not just because he’s late, but because he didn’t get to get ready with Satoru. Not that he would’ve helped his roommate pick an outfit or fix his hair or anything like that. No, Suguru’s pissed because he missed the chance to see if Satoru really meant what he said back when they were out shopping. 

Surely, he’s not planning on getting laid tonight, right? Surely, he didn’t put on the lingerie set that Suguru purchased for him, right? Surely, he’s not bringing anyone home tonight either, right?

Surely . 

But what if-?

No. Suguru tries to calm himself, he was just joking around. Of course he was.

But there’s still that small, insistent voice in the back of his mind whispering that Satoru wasn’t joking at all. And honestly? They’ve been living together for months now, and Satoru hasn’t brought anyone home, not for a hookup, not even just to hang out. Suguru’s never even seen him flirt with anyone, let alone show real interest in a romantic sense.

So maybe that’s why this feels so weird to him. Maybe he’s just not used to Satoru being into anyone.

It’s not like he’s jealous or anything.

Psh. That’d be crazy. Insane, even.

Still… he should check. Just a quick look through the drawers, just to see if the set is still there. He knows Satoru hasn’t worn it yet. Knows because he’s practically been raiding the laundry like a man on a mission, hunting for lost treasure, hoping to catch even a glimpse of that white lace he sometimes dreams about. But every time, without fail, he’s come up empty-handed. Which can only mean one thing; Satoru hasn’t worn it. Not yet.

He kind of hopes that it remains like that. And it’s not like Suguru is trying to cockblock his roommate, not at all, actually. 

It’s not like the mere thought of someone else’s hands on Satoru’s body makes his skin crawl. It’s not like he feels rage simmering just beneath the surface of his being every time he imagines someone kissing those lips, tangling their fingers in his hair, pushing him up against the wall and-

Okay, so he’s angry. 

But it’s not because he’s jealous. He’s just…protective. Yeah. That must be it, he thinks, Satoru is so precious to him, a dear friend, so much so, that he can’t even think about anyone getting to see him all vulnerable. Not while Suguru’s around. 

And even though he is not jealous, he’s still late. And Shoko, bless her soul, is not someone you want to piss off with your lack of time management skills, so Suguru has to schedule his plan for raiding Satoru’s drawers for a later time. 

He finally makes it to the party, eyes scanning the crowd for Shoko. It’s at one of her friend’s condos, someone she has class with who offered to host. Suguru’s not familiar with the place, so it takes a minute to find her.

When he does, he gives her a hug, apologizes for being so late, and says all the standard birthday greetings. She waves him off in that familiar way, already a little tipsy, judging by the soft look in her eyes.

“Have you seen Satoru?” he asks once the conversation settles. “He should be here by now, but I haven’t seen him yet.”

Suguru doesn’t miss the way Shoko’s eyes flash or the way her lips twist into a small, very uncharacteristic smile. Kind of jarring, really, but he chooses to ignore it for now, more focused on finding his roommate in this sea of strangers.

“Yeah,” she says, “I saw him just before you came in. He was talking to some guy by the snack table.”

Oh. Right.

Suguru tenses at that, lips pressing into a tight line, eyes scanning the room with laser focus, searching for the snack table. And the guy.

Shoko notices the shift in him instantly. Her expression softens when she sees the way he’s clenching his jaw and narrowing his eyes in irritation.

And maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s just her being Shoko, but she takes pity on him. She bumps his shoulder gently and hums,

“Hey, come on,” she says, handing him an unopened bottle of beer. “He’s just having fun. It’s nothing serious.”

Suguru nods, guilt already blooming in his chest.

He knows he doesn’t really have the right to feel this way, but when it comes to Satoru, controlling his emotions has never exactly been his strong suit.

Especially not when other people are involved. 

But right now is not the time to analyze his complicated feelings or untangle the wires in his head. So, he just smiles, tight-lipped and a little fake, but hey, he’s trying. 

“Yeah, yeah, I just-” he sighs and tries his best to let it go. He’s being unreasonable. Even he knows that much. “You’re right, I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” Shoko laughs and offers him a cigarette to join her, “It’s kind of funny, actually.”

Suguru rolls his eyes, but still, he’s here to have fun.

And Suguru does well. Really, he does. For almost a full hour.

He even manages a few sips of beer, gets through a couple of conversations with familiar faces, honestly, he thinks he’s being a real trooper. But still, his eyes keep drifting back to Satoru.

They follow him as he moves through the room, tracking every smile, every gesture. Suguru watches the way Satoru’s eyes light up while he talks to some guy he’s never seen before. Watches him laugh at something the guy says, and feels his fingers tighten around the beer bottle; knuckles white, jaw clenched, the longer he stares.

And it’s fine. It is .

Right up until the guy slips a hand around Satoru’s waist.

Right up until those fingers, fingers that aren’t his, settle in the curve of his side, tugging him just a little closer.

And just like that, Suguru’s not so fine anymore.

Without thinking, he stands up, only to feel a tentative tug on his jacket from behind. He turns to see Shoko, looking a little worried but mostly amused, clinging to him.

“Listen, I get that you’re in some sort of… situation right now,” she says, making a face. “But please don’t beat that guy up. Not that I care or anything, but I’ve got a lab report with him due next month, and I really don’t want to deal with any awkwardness, okay?”

Suguru stares for a moment, barely processing her words before nodding.

“I’m not gonna beat him up, Sho.”

“Good,” she smiles, releasing her grip on his jacket. Her eyes shift from worried to fully amused.

Suguru nods again, a little confused, he never planned on any physical violence. He’s not that kind of guy. Not violent or aggressive. But he is a liar, and sometimes an asshole, too. Like right now, as he makes his way toward Satoru and his new friend, he knows that’s a personality trait he really needs to work on, in his spare time, of course.

But not right now. Right now, he’s got other matters to attend to.

“Hey,” he says the moment he reaches them, blue eyes instantly lighting up when they meet Suguru’s amber-brown ones. “Can I borrow you for a second?”

Satoru nods without hesitation, his hand already reaching out for Suguru. The other guy looks baffled, clearly confused by how quickly Suguru managed to pull Satoru away. And Suguru wouldn’t be honest if he said he didn’t feel a rush of glee at the look in that guy’s eyes.

In fact, he feels fucking amazing. Just knowing he’s the one Satoru chooses, no matter what, is enough to lift his spirits, wipe away all the negativity from his overheated brain, and send him soaring on cloud nine.

He squeezes Satoru’s hand as he guides him to the corner of the room, takes a second to appreciate how fucking amazing he looks. It even looks like he’s wearing some makeup; his eyes a little smokey and lips shiny with that signature gloss he keeps reapplying throughout the day. He looks gorgeous, like a physical manifestation of every wet dream Suguru’s ever had, so it takes him a few seconds before he gets his story straight. 

“When did you get here?” Satoru asks once they’re away from the crowd. “I didn’t see you come in.”

“A while ago,” Suguru lies. It’s only been about forty minutes, but he can’t say that, not if he wants his plan to work. “I’m not feeling great, though. Maybe we should call it a night?”

And yeah, Suguru knows he’s an asshole. The biggest fucking piece of shit for using that tone; that saccharine-sweet, almost sorrowful voice he knows works on Satoru every time.

No matter how much of a brat his roommate is, he still melts like water in Suguru’s hands whenever he hears that hint of softness in his voice.

And it seems to work right away. Satoru’s eyes immediately turn concerned, bottom lip caught between his teeth as his full attention is on Suguru now. 

“Are you okay? Do you feel sick?” Satoru asks, his hands already cradling Suguru’s cheeks and forehead, checking for a fever. And Suguru does feel bad, but fuck , does it feel nice, “Maybe you really did catch something, you’ve been a little off these past few days.” 

Suguru hums in response, then, just because he’s pretty sure that he’s never going to heaven anyway, leans in and nuzzles his face against Satoru’s neck. He can smell his body lotion and perfume, a scent so divine it washes all the guilt away from his soul like holy water. His arms wrap around Satoru’s waist, pulling them closer.

He feels Satoru tense for a brief moment, then melt into his hold immediately.

“Let’s just go home, ‘kay?” Suguru mumbles into Satoru’s neck, smiling when he senses him hold his breath. “We can put on a show or something… and just cuddle, hm?”

And, okay, yeah, it’s a dick move.

Because he knows exactly what a sucker Satoru is for cuddling on the couch and watching their trashy TV shows. Knows he’d much rather spend the night with him, shoving fast food and snacks down, than stuck at a party.

Suguru knows he’s won. Feels it in the way Satoru nods without much thought, in how his eyes don’t even flick back to the crowd; the guy he was talking to already forgotten, erased in an instant.

“Yeah, yeah, you’re right,” Satoru hums, and Suguru hides a smirk in his neck. “Let’s go.”

Shoko doesn’t seem surprised by their early exit. If anything, she looks amused, almost gleeful as she wishes them good night.

Satoru seems to miss the suggestive tone in her voice, but Suguru isn’t so oblivious. It makes him flush, his hand tightening around Satoru’s as he leads them toward the exit and out of the condo.

He might be an asshole. A terrible, terrible man.

But none of that seems to matter when he feels Satoru’s fingers intertwining with his on the walk home.

Once home, Suguru feels himself getting restless again. Despite his little victory in getting Satoru to come back home with him, he still doesn’t know whether Satoru’s actually wearing the thing under his clothes. And it’s not like he can just come up to him and ask , because, well, it’s none of his fucking business. But still, Suguru has way bigger problems than worrying about privacy lines. 

So, as soon as Satoru declares that he’s going to shower, it takes Suguru approximately three minutes before he’s up and walking towards his bedroom. Shame in his soul and determination in his eyes. 

He stands in front of Satoru’s bedroom door, a slight tremble in his hands as he does everything in his power to turn around and go back to his own room, lock the doors, and hide under the covers to preserve some goddamn dignity he’s still got left. Because despite everything, Suguru is still aware of his wrongdoings. He’s still aware of the shame and unethical acts he’s been indulging for far too long now. 

But apparently, he’s not a very strong man. At least not when it comes to his drug of choice, so he doesn’t even notice how he sneaks into Satoru’s room and heads straight for the dresser. 

He knows the contents by heart. Satoru keeps his socks on the left side of the top drawer and panties on the right, nothing is color coordinated, but they’re all stacked neatly together. He opens the drawer and immediately has to stop to take a deep breath, just something to calm his overexerted heart. After he comes back to himself, he runs his still trembling fingers over the neatly folded fabric. Soft lace and cotton sends electrical sparks right through his core as soon as his skin makes contact with all the different panties he’s grown so familiar with. Pink lace, white cotton, black mesh. Even a pair of pretty white panties with baby blue stripes, one of the new ones he’d just purchased. Suguru had planned to snag them as soon as they ended up in the hamper, but alas, there’s a time and place for everything. 

And truly, if he had shame, he’d stop right there. It's already bad enough that he’s digging through Satoru’s drawers, but he just can’t help it, can’t control it. He has to know . 

And he’s not doing anything wrong, per se. He just needs to make sure that the lingerie set is there; unworn and still with the tags on, wrapped in that grey ribbon and tucked away from the world to see. 

But as familiar as he is with Satoru’s underwear drawers, he still can’t find that damn set. He rummages through the lace, shoves panties to the side, completely wrecks the drawer in his increasingly desperate search for that damned thing and-

“Whatcha lookin’ for, Suguru?

Suguru freezes.

His body locks in place, fingers turned to stone, the lacy fabric still clutched tightly in his hand as he refuses to move a muscle.

Slowly, so fucking slowly, like any sudden motion might make this worse, he turns his head toward the bedroom door he foolishly left ajar.

Satoru stands in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, a small, teasing smile tugging at his lips as he takes in the scene of Suguru caught red-handed, elbow-deep in his panty drawer.

His hair is still damp from the shower, and he’s wrapped in a thick white robe, holding it closed with fingers just a little too tense for that smile to be entirely casual.

Suguru wants the ground to fucking swallow him whole.

He just stares at him for a second, as if looking death right in the eye because right now, Suguru is entirely convinced that he’s never getting out of this alive. Or with any sense of dignity left. 

Maybe he can still talk his way out of this, though? But that thought leaves him completely when he feels his fingers twitch around the lacy fabric again. What would he say, anyways? That he’s here to borrow a pair of panties? See if they’re the same size? 

Please . 

When he fails to defend himself, Satoru pushes even further. His previously nervous demeanor shifting into something Suguru doesn’t really know how to handle right now.

“So,” Satoru hums, taking a step closer. Suguru has to fight the urge to back away. “Got anything you wanna say for yourself?”

Suguru instinctively shakes his head, immediately cringing at how pathetic he must look. He’s still clutching Satoru’s underwear. And Satoru definitely notices, his eyes flick down, locking onto the lace in Suguru’s hand before one eyebrow lifts in amusement.

Suguru drops them immediately as if the fabric suddenly burst into flames, it’s almost comical how jumpy he is. As if he’s not the one who entered this situation willingly. But he has to say something. Has to apologize. 

Has to renew his damn passport because surely he’ll need to flee the country after this. 

But first-

“I’m sorry.” He mumbles, barely audible, voice unrecognizable. “Satoru, I’m so, so fucking-”

He cuts himself off with a quiet whimper that’s impossible to hold back. A sound soaked in raw shame and guilt. Something that perfectly captures just how awful he should feel.

But the truth is, Suguru doesn’t feel bad for doing it. He feels bad for getting caught.

And judging by the look on Satoru’s face, he knows it, too.

One brow arches, that ever-present amusement flickering in his eyes as he takes another step closer. 

“Are you, really?” Satoru asks, almost bored, like he knows the answer already.

Suguru doesn’t say anything to that.

Despite all his usual wit and ability to control a situation, he has absolutely no idea how to dig himself out of this mess without saying something stupid, or worse, something honest .

So instead of trying to salvage what’s left of his pride, he drops his gaze to the floor, staring at the soft carpet beneath him. He wishes it would split open, rot away beneath his feet, swallow him whole, anything to avoid facing the disaster he’s made.

Satoru doesn’t seem to like that very much, though. 

“Look at me when I’m talking to you,” he says in a calm yet commanding tone. And something about it makes Suguru obey without thinking. 

Satoru hums in appreciation, his fingers flexing over the fluffy material of the robe as he takes another stop closer, as if trying to approach a wild animal that could lunge at him any moment.

“You know,” he starts, voice a little mocking but still careful, “apologizing when you know there won’t be any effective change right after is kind of pointless, Suguru. So let me ask you this again.” He clears his throat as icy blues stare right at him,

“Are you sorry?”

Suguru bites his lip.

Thinks about it for a second. 

And, well-

“No.”

“Good.” 

Satoru laughs a bit at his shocked expression, bites his lip as he thinks about something.

Then his expression shifts, something in Suguru’s own eyes must have answered his questions with the way his entire demeanor shifts. 

“Besides, I think I know what you’re looking for.” 

Suguru swallows, fingers twitching around nothing. 

“You do?” 

Satory nods and Suguru can see his fingers tighten around the robe before he loosens his grip around the fluffy fabric, then carefully releases it. 

In an instant, Satoru’s robe drops to the ground, and so do the remnants of Suguru’s sanity. 

For a few moments the connection between Suguru’s eyes and brain seem to falter, as if his body cannot physically process the sight in front of him. 

All he knows, all he can see is lace. White lace.

Pretty, pretty, pretty white lace against smooth skin. 

A strained moan rings through the bedroom. Suguru doesn’t remember making it. 

As soon as he regains his consciousness, he takes it all in. And there it is. The pretty white lace set, in its full glory, wrapped around Satoru’s gorgeous gorgeous body. And he was right, he was so right. His pecks do fill out the bralette, pretty fabric stretches across his chest, nipples peeking through the lace just a little. The garter belt sits almost sinfully on his waist, tight and accentuating the curve of it. The bands on the sides stretch down, silver buckles clamped down to hold up a pair of almost indecent looking thigh-high stockings. Suguru’s mouth waters, blood runs cold. 

Yeah . This might be the final day of his life. 

And the one thing, the one goddamn thing that he refuses to even look at for longer than two seconds is the prettiest thing Suguru’s ever seen. The white lace thong wraps around Satoru’s hips like the mythical serpent whispering of sin and lust. And he can almost hear it, can almost pick up the sounds of damned whispers luring him in, telling him to look, to taste, to-

“So,” Satoru hums after a while, head cocked to the side, a little confused by Suguru's lack of reaction. “Is this it? Did I help you find it?”

Suguru just lets out an indecipherable sound, something between a yes and a whimper. Satoru seems to understand it, though, seems to get exactly what Suguru is trying to communicate. 

But despite everything, a physical reaction to a situation never holds a candle to verbal confirmation. And Satoru seems to know it too, because despite seeing how very obviously turned on Suguru is, he’s not willing to take this further before the other man gets his head straight and starts communicating in something more than horny sounds and whimpers. 

“Suguru,” he says and his voice is different now, the tone making Suguru lock in and look him in the eye, full attention to the situation.

“Just so we’re clear, you’re okay with this, right? I’m not reading the situation wrong or anything?” 

Suguru takes in a deep breath, throws his head back and just stares at the ceiling for a bit, wonders where exactly did the path of his life shift from something relatively normal and instead brought him here, to this paradise scenario with Satoru clad in lingerie and willing to give him things he fantasized about more times that would be considered appropriate. Even for a pervert like him. 

And still, he has to make it clear. Suguru finally moves his body, limbs almost liquid as he approaches Satoru in slow steps. 

Satoru just looks at him with a worried expression, a look that doesn’t really fit his face at all. As soon as Suguru’s standing right in front of him, he reaches out, takes Satoru’s hand in his and runs his fingers over his knuckles in a soothing manner, tries to not stare at his body in case he loses the ability to speak again. 

“‘Toru,” he starts and looks him in the eye to make sure that nothing is left unsaid between them, “I am very, very into this. More than you know. More than you could ever imagine.” 

The tension bleeds out of Satoru’s face almost immediately, body visibly relaxing at the reassurance that Suguru offers.

“In fact,” Suguru continues and tugs on Satoru’s hand, pulling him forward and placing his palm on his already hard cock, straining against his jeans. Satoru’s eyes widen for just a second and Suguru has to suppress a smirk. “See what you do to me?” 

Satoru just nods, a little dumbfounded for a second as he feels Suguru through his pants. He knows Satoru can feel how big he is, how desperate and needy his body got just from getting a glimpse of him in lingerie. 

“Oh.” Satoru says, voice full of wonder and something that resembles hunger. 

But that look of wonder quickly melts off of his face as his fingers tighten just slightly, making Suguru hiss in pleasure and surprise. 

“I suppose you’d like some help with that, wouldn’t you?” Satoru asks in a low voice, almost like addressing a needy puppy with no real interest to entertain. 

“Please,” Suguru manages to croak out and Satoru just smiles. Sweet and kind and so fucking devious he can feel his cock twitch in his pants. Satoru can feel it, too. 

“So polite,” he notes and pulls his hand away. Suguru resists the urge to whine. “How about you get on your knees for me, hm? Can you do that?” 

Suguru nods without thinking, doesn’t even process a single thing before he’s down on his knees, eyes wide and looking up at a slightly shocked looking Satoru. 

And Suguru knows that maybe he should take a moment and think about what he’s doing. But then again, when else is he going to get an opportunity like this? When will the planets align and stars bless him like this again? 

When will the Gods love him enough to grant him the opportunity to be on his knees in front of Satoru Gojo? 

So no, he thinks, he won’t waste any time thinking up excuses when he can do this instead.

He wasn’t going to waste his chance, even if it’ll get him kicked out of the dorms. He’s dead meat anyway.

And despite his initial surprise, Satoru likes that about him. 

“Good boy,” he hums and gives Suguru a smile. “Are you always this obedient?”

And here’s the thing, Suguru wouldn’t consider himself obedient at all. He’s a brat, maybe even a bigger one than Satoru is, and he’s not too keen on giving up control, at least not in situations like this. But something about Satoru, something about getting to be on his knees in front of the man makes him want to indulge just a little. Just for a moment or two.  

He’ll let Satoru play with him, he’ll give him the satisfaction of thinking that he’s in control. But then again, Suguru knows Satoru; knows him better than anyone. It won't take long before he loses interest in being the one to lead. He’ll get bored and needy and whiny, practically begging Suguru to take over and make him feel good, make him feel all the things that only Suguru can give him. 

But Satoru is also stubborn, so Suguru won’t tell him any of that. Instead, he buries his face against his thigh, lacy stocking brushing against his cheek. 

And maybe Satoru just needed some kind of confirmation. Maybe that unusual timid behavior was nothing more than his need to buy some time and make sure that Suguru, in fact, is just a puppy for him.

Fortunately, Suguru isn’t just a puppy.

He’s a whole damn dog ready to drop down and roll around for a treat. 

And maybe that’s it, maybe Satoru just needed to make sure, because suddenly Suguru feels his fingers tangle in his hair, unsure at first, but after they get a feel of the silky strands, a sharp pain shoots through his scalp. He hisses as Satoru tugs his head back, keeps him in place, tightens his fingers even more. 

He looks up at Satoru then, sees the sick and twisted satisfaction in his eyes, feels how his fingers flex in his hair and he immediately knows that Satoru just found his new favorite toy to play with. The feeling of pressure against his scalp, Satoru’s body being so close to him, the feeling of being rendered completely powerless and reduced to Satoru’s mercy, makes him almost moan. He bites his tongue, though.

Suddenly, Satoru tugs on his hair again, making him hiss out a pained sound, eyes screwing shut. He feels him shift then, move his stocking-clad leg and fit it right in between Suguru’s legs, pushing against his thighs to make him spread them wider. 

As soon as Satoru’s leg makes contact with Suguru’s already painfully hard cock, he finally moans, loud and completely void of shame, not that he had any to begin with. Satoru just scoffs at him, moves his leg against his cock harder, rubs him through his jeans just slightly, not hard enough to give him any real relief. He grips Suguru’s hair tighter again and moves his head to the side, making him turn his head and stare directly in the mirror across from them.

The sight alone almost makes him cum in his pants. 

“Look how good you look between my legs, Suguru,” Satoru whispers as they make eye contact through the reflective glass. 

And fuck, isn’t that a sight? Satoru’s pretty. So fucking pretty in his delicate lingerie, eyes mean and focused on a needy Suguru by his feet. His long, pale fingers tangled in Suguru’s dark hair, keeping him in place. And, well, Suguru wouldn't want to be anywhere else, that’s for sure. 

“Is this what you wanted? To be on your knees for me like a needy puppy? Is this what you imagined every time you touched yourself with my panties?”

And Satoru says it so casually, the words rolling off his tongue in such a way that only reaffirms what Suguru was too afraid to admit. 

He knows. 

Of course, he fucking knows. 

But Suguru doesn’t concern himself with shame or consequences or even the lack of dignity that he has at this moment, not when he has his face pressed against Satoru’s thighs. Not when he’s so close to the only thing he’s been dreaming of for months now. 

“Yeah,” he breathes out and tries to grind down against Satoru’s leg, halting immediately when his hand tightens in his hair in warning. “Wanted this for so long, fuck , please , Satoru, please-”

“Enough,” Satoru cuts him off, slender fingers digging into his black strands, tightening unkindly, almost purposely, like he wants it to hurt. He tugs his head back, throat exposed as he swallows and looks up at Satoru’s smirking expression. “You can shut up now, pretty boy.”

Suguru whines, high and needy, a sound so pathetic it gets lost in his throat before it makes it out evenly. He even tries to nod, show that he’s good and he can listen and, fuck , he’d do anything Satoru wants him to. And Satoru can see that, he can see how ready to please Suguru is, he can see how much he’s willing to give, how desperately he’s willing to take whatever he’s being offered. 

And Satoru isn’t so sure what he’s able to offer just yet, not until Suguru shows him that he deserves anything at all.

Besides, it seems like this little show of obedience from Suguru excites him, gives him something to work with as he tugs on Suguru’s hair again and brings his face closer to his pretty flushed cock, already straining against the white lace.

Suguru feels his mouth water, eyes blown wide as he stares up unashamedly.

“Or you can put that mouth to better use,” Satoru hums, almost bored as he pets Suguru’s scalp gently before sinking his fingers back into the locks to grip him tighter than before. 

“You wanna talk so bad, you can talk between my legs.”

And Suguru is not a man who has to be told twice. In fact, despite the lack of words he had just moments before, suddenly, he has a lot he wants to say. 

In an instant, he presses his face against Satoru’s thigh again, letting him guide his head exactly where he wants it. Once he has his nose buried against his skin, the soft lace grazing his cheek just a little, Suguru inhales, letting a pathetic little moan rip through him and land on Satoru’s ears. 

He should be embarrassed, and maybe he is a little, but not enough to care about it at all. Instead, he presses his face closer, darts his tongue out and traces the length of Satoru, his cock visibly twitching at the minimal stimulation Suguru offers him. He just mouths at the outline of his cock, lets his spit and whines soak into the fabric, eyes closed in ecstasy as he works him over with eagerness and so much want, it's clouding his already non-functioning brain.

Suguru dares to touch him then, hands settling on beautifully shaped hips, fingers digging into the meat of Satoru’s ass. He’s hot to the touch, soft, so fucking soft, Suguru wants nothing more but to mark him up, bite and lick and leave bruises all over his body. His fingers skim over the garter belt, sneak beneath it just to test out if it’ll give. He doesn’t snap it, though, just delicately traces the butterfly wing sides, feeling the patterns under his fingers. Once he reaches the hem of his panties, he pauses, letting his mouth completely close over the head of Satoru’s cock through the fabric. 

He hears a sharp intake of breath, something that makes pride swell in his core. He gets brave then, fingers sneaking under the band of the thong, gripping the lace and tugging it just slightly-

“Nuh-uh.” Satoru’s sharp command and a harsh tug on his hair snaps him back to reality before he can tug them down. “The panties stay on. I’m sure you can find a way around them just fine.”

Suguru takes in a deep breath through his nose, gathers all the remaining willpower he has left in his useless body, looks up, brown eyes wide and teary and so desperate, Satoru almost feels bad for him. 

Suguru leans back, opens his mouth, and then- 

“Sit on my face.”

Satoru’s own mouth drops open, eyes darkening as the words register slowly.

There’s a moment of silence between them.

“What?”

Oh, right .

That didn’t come out how it should’ve. Suguru ducks his head lower, a faint blush already spreading across his cheeks at the realization that he was too harsh with his choice of words. He takes a second to collect himself and tries again, less crude, this time,

“Sit on my face, please ,” he repeats and smiles, hoping that his pure intentions can reflect in his words.

Satoru doesn’t react at first, just continues to stare and gnaw at his already reddened lip as Suguru’s request processes in his mind. His eyes flicker with uncertainty the longer he thinks about it and Suguru almost starts doubting the nature of their situation. Thankfully, Satoru doesn’t stay silent for long,

“Uh, um- ” He glances around the room, like he's trying to decide whether Suguru even deserves to get what he’s asking for. And God , Suguru hopes he does.

So, against all sense of dignity, he lets out a soft, needy, utterly pathetic little whine,

“ Please .”

That does it.

The moment the sound slips from Suguru’s throat, the last remnants of uncertainty crash down all around them and scatter across the bedroom floor. Satoru blinks away all concern, his fingers loosening in Suguru’s hair before they release him completely. The motion is slow, as if he’s still trying to ground himself in the situation despite being the initiating force.

And he must be in some sort of a daze, the way his eyes glaze over and thighs clench together, it makes Suguru think that maybe he didn’t expect for them to go this far, or maybe he didn’t expect Suguru to be this desperate for him, whatever it is, it makes him look almost innocent and pure, as much as he can with lace lingerie and a body so tight Suguru could probably cum all over himself just from looking at him.

And the longer Suguru stares at him, the more things he realizes about himself. Satoru looks so soft, so sweet…Suguru wants to ruin him. 

To bite and bruise and press his fingers into his skin so hard the marks wouldn’t leave him for weeks. And maybe that’s something he should unpack later, because right now, no matter how badly he wants to wreck this man, Satoru was the one in charge of the situation. For now, at least. 

He’s the one who can give Suguru the chance to experience heaven or leave him high and dry. Whatever he decides, Suguru already has his cards out on the table, anyways.

And maybe it was his lucky day, or maybe Gods up above really did exist and smile down on him despite his perverted ways. And it must be it, Suguru thinks, because not even a second later Satoru nods his head.

“Yeah. Yeah, uhm-just,” he looks around nervously, as if trying to give himself more time to think. 

“Okay.” nods to himself, “get on the bed.”

As soon as those words leave Satoru’s mouth, Suguru’s scrambling off the floor so fast it’s almost pathetic. He gets on the bed and leans back, head settling near the headboard, breaths quick with anticipation and lust and everything he can no longer keep under control.

He props himself up on his elbows, watching as Satoru stays where he is for just a moment longer, eyes still glassy and a little shocked, almost statue-like. And when he finally moves towards the bed, Suguru has to bite back a noise once he finally sees the look on his face.

Satoru looks hungry.

Yet Suguru isn’t sure which one of them was getting devoured tonight.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Suguru murmurs and beckons him over with a finger, a newfound confidence dripping down his tongue, making Satoru falter and clench his thighs almost unnoticeably. “C’mere and let me finally taste you.”

Satoru approaches the bed slowly, almost carefully. Like he’s still a little unsure how to go about this but wants Suguru to follow his every move. For a second he seems hesitant, but then he’s crawling on top of Suguru, positioning his plush thighs on either side of his head, carefully putting his body in the desired position.

Suguru glances up, breath caught in his lungs as he digs his fingers into those gorgeous thighs, pushes them against the unblemished skin, watches in awe as the flesh spills over the band of the stockings.

He helps Satoru get in position, placing a hand on his lower back and making him lean forward. He’s so easy to control, like a doll beneath skilled fingers. And Suguru can’t control himself. He leans in, teeth sinking into the inner part of Satoru’s thigh. Suguru hears him hiss in pain and pleasure, a sound so sinful he almost moans himself. He bites and runs his tongue over the freshly made bruise, just above the band of the stocking. 

Satoru’s hard already, pretty cock straining against the front of his panties as precum soaks into the fabric. 

It’s cute. He’s cute. Suguru can’t wait to make him cry. 

And it’s perfect. Well, almost perfect. Except Satoru isn’t sitting. He’s hovering just above, holding up his weight and leaning forward on his arms, being considerate and trying to make this as comfortable for Suguru as possible. And it’s sweet, really. But it’s not what Suguru asked for.

Without thinking much, he wraps his arm around Satoru’s waist and pulls him down, making the other lose his balance a little and yelp in surprise as he gets completely seated, full weight now on Suguru’s face. And it should be uncomfortable, considering that Suguru’s source of oxygen has been almost reduced to nothing, but Suguru knows that this is what heaven feels like.

“Just-,” Satoru says in a high-pitched voice and tries to lift himself up again. Suguru holds him down. “Wait a second-”

Hmm, no . Suguru doesn’t wait. Just digs his fingers deeper into Satoru’s hips as he holds him down, tugs the panties to the side and licks a fat stripe across his hole. 

He smiles then, the loud moan that leaves Satoru’s lips at the contact making every carnal desire light up with the need to please. 

He wants to hear the sound again, wants to feel Satoru twitching against his tongue, wants him to lose control and ride Suguru’s face like he couldn’t be bothered to stop and think about whether Suguru can even breathe. He wants Satoru to use him up, right to the very core. Until there’s nothing left to give. 

He gathers saliva in his mouth, spits directly onto Satoru’s hole, licks it all up and plunges his tongue in deep, even brings out a hand to push a finger inside of him and oh , Satoru is loving it. 

“Fuck, Suguru,” he moans, loud, voice breathy and rough, “Fuck fuck fuck, yes -” 

It doesn’t take long for him to completely disregard Suguru’s comfort, and frankly, Suguru couldn’t be happier with that. He quickens his pace, soon adding another finger and stretching him out thoroughly, tongue lapping at his dripping hole. Satoru’s moans get louder, more incoherent, desperate for everything all at once. 

Suguru urges him at first, guides him with a strong grip around his waist, makes him ride his face up and down, grind his hips on his tongue. But soon, Satoru sets his own pace, thighs flexing as he starts to ride Suguru’s fingers, chasing that wet tongue that keeps lapping and fucking him open. Suguru uses his thumb to keep the panties tugged to the side, their fabric now soaked with saliva and sweat as they cling to Satoru’s skin.

And it feels so fucking good. The best Suguru’s ever felt. Fuck, he thinks he could even cum like this. Satoru doesn’t even need to touch him and he could shoot his load from having his hot roommate ride his face. But Satoru isn’t as selfish in bed as he is in real life. Suguru doesn’t even notice how his rhythm falters a bit as he leans down, his torso pressing against Suguru’s chest.

Once he’s down there, it takes a while for Satoru to fiddle with Suguru’s jean button and belt, numb fingers tugging at the metal fastenings and barely even trying to tug the waistband down. Suguru lifts his hips up, does his best to assist while his tongue still works Satoru open, but the said man doesn’t seem to concern himself with urgency, as if he can’t concentrate on the massive bulge right in front of his face, begging for attention. 

Suguru can’t say he hates it, in fact, it’s making him squirm just to think that Satoru is using him for his own pleasure, like his own personal seat, nothing but a tool to make him feel good. And Suguru should be grateful, so fucking grateful that Satoru even thought about pleasuring him in return, the realization alone makes Suguru’s neglected cock twitch in it’s confines.

But eventually, after Suguru’s needy whines manage to reach Satoru through the sounds of his own moans and whimpers, he manages to free his already leaking cock that’s an angry shade of red as it slaps against Suguru’s stomach, smearing his tense abs in precum, skin slick and shiny under the moonlight.

And even then, Satoru doesn’t seem to be in a rush, just whining and whimpering against Suguru’s thighs, nails digging into his skin the harder he eats him out, tongue plunging in and out alongside his fingers that he curls just right, making Satoru’s hips work up and down, thighs straining as he fucks himself on Suguru’s fingers and tongue.

“Oh my God,” he mewls, “Right there. Fuck , Suguru, please, please don’t stop,”

And Suguru wouldn’t even think about it. Would never even consider stopping before Satoru cums all over his pretty lingerie, seated on his face the way he was always supposed to. 

After a while, when Satoru finally finds some mercy within his core, his eyes focus on his target and he notices the pathetically twitching cock in front of him. 

Suguru moans against Satoru’s hole as he feels the other’s shy tongue dart out and give a small kitten lick to the head of his cock. Suguru has to tense up his abdomen, flex every muscle in his body and grip Satoru’s hips tighter just to keep his sanity as that tongue glides over his cock again and again and again, each stroke driving him more and more insane.

Satoru hums in satisfaction, as if licking off cream from a dessert he’s been craving for too long now, teasing his tongue against the crown of Suguru’s cock is slow circular motions, wrapping it around his length just slightly. Honestly, Suguru has to dig his fingers in Satoru’s already reddened ass just to keep himself from cumming at this little contact like a pathetic teenager who just got his dick wet for the very first time. And Satoru seems to be in a bratty mood, since he doesn’t really give Suguru more than that.

He just leans on him harder, chest pressing against Suguru’s abdomen as he arches his hips more, offering Suguru easier access to grant him his own pleasure. His hips still grinding against his fingers and tongue, lazy strokes of his own tongue slicking Suguru’s cock in an agonizing rhythm as he does so. But Satoru doesn’t put his mouth on him, doesn’t swallow Suguru’s length, doesn’t give him the opportunity to fuck his mouth or even feel the heat of it against his shaft. No, he just licks at it like a lollipop, like it’s an afterthought rather than the main event. Like Suguru doesn’t deserve more than that.

And fuck, maybe he doesn’t. Not like it’s a bad thing, Suguru feels fucking incredible just being there, Satoru in lingerie, sat on his face, dripping and fucked open on his tongue, his moans sounding wrecked and barely coherent. 

Yeah , he feels pretty fucking good about that.

But he’s not made of steel. He’s just a man. And he’s also not completely oblivious, either. Even though Suguru is thoroughly enjoying being used like a toy right now, he wasn’t so gone to miss the slight waver in Satoru’s confidence when he ordered him around, didn’t miss the trembling hands or the unsure tone of his voice. It was cute, really, how dominant Satoru appeared to be at first. And it’s not like he’s completely faking it, either; Satoru is demanding, that much is clear, but he’s not in charge here. Suguru will make sure that he knows that.

He smiles against his hole then, feels his cock twitch when yet another kitten lick is delivered to the head and makes up his mind. If his brat wants to tease him, play games, and be demanding, Suguru will give him what he wants.  

In fact, he’ll fuck him so good, ruin this pretty little thing on top of him so thoroughly, that he’ll feel him for days, won’t ever even think about anyone else besides Suguru and how well he fills him up.

Not if Suguru can help it.

So, with one final swipe of his tongue over his slick hole, he fixes Satoru’s panties back into place, snaps the band of the thong against sensitive flesh, eliciting a moan from the man on top of him, seemingly not expecting a sudden change in their rhythm. Instead of explaining, Suguru lifts him up by the hips, making Satoru falter and whine in confusion.

“Huh?” Satoru whimpers and turns back to look. “Why’d you stop?”

Suguru doesn’t answer, just lifts Satoru up with ease and switches their position, now holding the other man down as Suguru hovers over him. This display of strength seems to flip a switch in Satoru, something shifting the defiance in his eyes, replacing it with awe and need and such carnal hunger, Suguru isn’t sure he could ever be satisfied. 

He looks down at Satoru then, eyes dragging down his body, lingering on the pretty bralette that he wants to rip open and tear to pieces, the pretty panties that he needs to push to the side. He drags his palms down Satoru’s body, flicks his nipples through the fabric, making a high-pitched moan leave his lips, runs his nails over his abs, tugging on the garter belt just slightly. His hands settle on his waist then, squeezing at the flesh and keeping Satoru firmly in place as he continues to admire him, just enough to keep him from squirming away. 

“Fucking look at you,” Suguru drawls, the words softer than he means them to be, softer than he feels, “So pretty for me, ‘Toru. All dressed up, just for me, right?”

Without thinking too much, one of his hands releases his waist and he puts his thumb against Satoru’s lips, pushing against the pink flesh just slightly. He has to bite his lip to keep down a moan once Satoru’s lips part almost instinctively, welcoming Suguru’s finger and wrapping them around the digit. Glazed and unfocused eyes being a testament that he might not even realize he’s doing it. Suguru can feel the warm and wet tongue against his skin, can feel how tightly those lips wrap around his finger, the image enough to make his stomach drop and loop in on itself. He pushes his finger in deeper, presses against Satoru’s tongue and encourages him to suck on it, to swirl his tongue around the digit and show him how good he can be.

“Just like that, baby,” Suguru whispers as he presses down on his tongue, pushing the finger back and forth, as if he’s fucking Satoru’s mouth with it. “Where’s that smart mouth of yours now, huh? Maybe that’s all it's good for, don’t you think, ‘Toru?” 

And it seems to do things to the man beneath him. His pretty blue eyes almost cross the faster Suguru does it, breath picking up the more he sucks on his fingers. A lewd moan rips from his throat, the noise more a feeling of vibration than anything tangible, but it drives Suguru just a bit more crazy with every passing second.

He pulls out his fingers then, looks at the pink, spit-slick lips and takes a moment to compose himself. He wants to kiss him. He wants to lean in and press his own lips against Satoru, to push his tongue in his mouth and swallow down his moans as they make out on his bed. 

So, considering they really don’t seem to have any more boundaries to cross, that’s exactly what Suguru does. 

He leans down, tilts his head to the side and presses their lips together in a messy kiss. Satoru immediately moans into his mouth and it rips a whimper out of Suguru. Their tongues meet immediately, spit and teeth and desperation mixing into something that feels like fireworks set off in the middle of the night. It’s messy and uncoordinated and a little rushed, but fuck, if it’s not the most perfect thing Suguru’s ever experienced. 

They stay like that for a while, kissing messily and moaning into each other's mouths. And maybe they could have done it for a while longer, but it doesn’t take much to get Satoru riled up. Suguru feels him arching off the bed, trying to chase friction, to grind against Suguru for some relief. He smirks into the kiss, hand wrapping around Satoru’s waist to hold him down against the mattress. The action earns him a displeased whine, but Suguru just smiles at that. 

Satoru really is the cutest brat.

Suguru pulls away then, pecks his lips one last time for good measure and hums against them, his other hand tracing down the lace adoring his body, stopping at the hem of the panties and giving them a tug, letting the band snap against Satoru’s skin. 

“Have you ever been fucked in something like this?”

Satoru shakes his head. Eyes wide and glassy, a little unfocused as he’s holding on to Suguru for comfort, clearly a little overwhelmed. The gesture makes something warm bloom in Suguru’s chest, and it’s not just affection. 

As much as he wants to cradle and treat Satoru like the doll that he is, he also kind of wants to split him open on his cock and pull on his hair till he’s screaming and crying from pleasure.

“Pretty baby,” Suguru coos and runs his tongue over the seam of his lips, eyes open and locked directly onto Satoru’s teary ones, “You’re just so precious.” 

Something primal awakens in him then, seeing the previously dominant Satoru reduced to a whimpering mess just from a few touches - it does things to Suguru. Makes him want to take what he needs and give what he can. 

“Tell me, is that something you want?,” he questions in a low voice and looks down at Satoru, hands back on his waist, circling around the dip, fingers rubbing comforting circles into his skin. “Do you want me to fuck you in your pretty outfit? Mess it all up?”

Satoru makes an incoherent noise, something between a moan and a whimper, something that sounds like he’s begging without being able to articulate himself with how badly he needs it. 

And that’s enough for Suguru. 

He smiles, leans down again, catches Satoru’s bottom lip between his teeth before he releases it with a soft hum. 

“Let me make it a habit then.”

Without wasting any more time, Suguru flips Satoru over with little to no effort, just wraps an arm around his waist completely and positions him in place; strong hands land on his hips again, palms squeeze and knead the supple flesh of his ass before landing a swift slap, making Satoru moan and arch his back. Suguru coos at him, rubs the spot he just struck and props him up a little, tapping his thighs to make him spread his legs a bit. Satoru doesn’t complain, just huffs out a breath and obliges, spreads his thighs and presses his chest into the mattress as he arches his back. He turns his head slightly to peek at Suguru without disobeying his silent commands, but still interested in seeing what he has planned.

And Suguru doesn’t give him any explanation at first, just stares, hands on Satoru’s ass as he continues to land gentle slaps against the now reddened flesh and knead the lace-clad cheeks for comfort. It’s everything he’s ever wanted. 

This is definitely the best day of his life.

After a while, when Satoru finally starts to get impatient with the lack of stimulation and starts to whine a little, Suguru finally relents and tugs the panties to the side, spreads the cheeks apart, almost moans at the sight of Satoru’s puffy and slick hole.

Satoru tries to push his hips back, the motion a little desperate but clearly demanding, it makes Suguru bite back a smile and land another smack to his ass. 

“So impatient,” he notes and almost laughs at the whimper he gets for an answer, “Don’t worry, sweetheart, you’ll get what you want soon.”

Suguru gets rid of his remaining clothes in record time and gets back in position, painfully hard against his stomach, yet he ignores it for now, more interested in exploring Satoru’s body the way he used to do in his wildest dreams. He spreads his cheeks again, tugs the band to the side to reveal his hole again, leans down and spits directly on in, eyes wide in wonder and swimming with lust as he watches the glob of spit dribble down. 

He keeps his cheeks open with one hand and slaps his cock against his hole, making Satoru jolt and let out a surprised moan at the contact. Suguru hums, does it again, a little harder now, rubs over the slick flesh, slaps it again and rubs the tip over the puckered rim as if ready to push in. And it’s mesmerizing, the way the flesh seems to be inviting him in, twitching with oversensitivity and the desire for more,the desire to be filled, to be stretched out. The tight rim of muscle giving under his teasing ministrations, as if Satoru’s body has a mind of its own and has decided that it wants Suguru in it immediately .

It's like Satoru was meant for this. Meant to present himself and take Suguru’s cock to the hilt, whine and moan and writhe in pleasure as Suguru pounds him into the mattress and fills him up over and over and over again. 

And by the way Satoru’s moans are increasing in volume, he seems to know it, too. But he doesn’t say anything, lips locked around a silent moan as he looks back, eyes locking with Suguru in silent communication. They both want it. That much is clear.

And it just proves his point when Satoru reaches out and pulls a small bottle of lube from under his pillow, tucked away safely for convenience. Suguru raises an eyebrow, an amused smirk on his lips, but he doesn’t comment right away as takes the bottle, inspecting it with curiosity. 

The liquid is milky white, thick the way it sits in the bottle, as if manufactured to resemble cum. It’s hot, really fucking hot, Suguru didn’t even know they made stuff like that. And why would he, anyway? It’s not like he’s a pervert or anything.

But Satoru does. Not only does he own things like that, the bottle was seemingly tucked away with purpose, as if Satoru already knew that he’d need easy access later in the night. And that just makes Suguru’s head spin. 

Is this deliberate preparation for something that he had anticipated? Strategic planning to make the night go as smoothly as possible? Did Satoru hope, maybe even expect for the night to go this way? Was he anticipating it to be Suguru and not someone else? Did he want someone else?

The thought alone makes Suguru’s core clench and jaw set in place in irritation, a nasty feeling spreading through his bloodstream and settling on his brain the more he thinks about it. What if he’s here by accident? What if Satoru really did get and wear this set for someone else? What if it wasn’t supposed to be him?

Suguru feels like growling at that, feels like a damn dog who can’t sit still the more he thinks about it. He doesn’t want anyone else to see Satoru like this, can’t even stomach the thought of the pretty man beneath him wanting anyone else but him. He’s going to make sure it never happens. 

He uncaps the lube bottle and squeezes an obscene amount of it out, letting the opaque milky liquid dribble down Satoru’s ass, soak into the white lace and drip down his cheeks and thighs. Suguru groans at the sighs, drops the bottle and uses both hands to squeeze Satoru’s cheeks together, palms slipping from the amount of lube he’s used. 

He has an idea then, something that makes his cock twitch in interest. He spreads the cheeks again, tugs the panties to the side just a little and slides his cock beneath the fabric, nesting it between his ass cheeks as he gives an experimental thrust. The motion makes them both moan; Suguru in pleasure and Satoru in impatience. Because as good as this is, it’s not giving him enough stimulation, not at all, actually. And he makes sure to let Suguru know that, makes sure he huffs and whines, but still pushes his hips back against the friction, as if trying to chase something that isn’t coming.

“Come on, Suguru,” he muses, eyes teary and glazed despite the needy tone, “Stop teasing and just put it in already.” 

“I don’t know, baby,” Suguru says and continues to slide his cock between his cheeks faster, the lube making the slide easy, obscene sounds ringing through the room, “I think you can handle a little more, don’t you think?”

He lands a slap to his ass again and it rips out a needy moan out of Satoru, the defiance in his eyes melting away and being replaced by desperation. And even though Suguru could spend the entire night teasing Satoru and pulling those filthy noises out of him, he’s not entirely all there to hold back himself. 

So, after a few more thrusts, Suguru holds his breath as he taps the tip of his painfully hard cock against Satoru’s slick and thoroughly stretched hole, knuckles almost white with how hard his fingers are digging into Satoru’s flesh. He doesn’t enter him yet, just holds the panties tugged to the side and rubs his length over his entrance, letting the head catch on his rim. The sight makes him whimper, a needy gasp leaving Satoru’s parted lips at the sensation. 

It’s a mesmerizing sight, if anything; the way the remnants of lube and Suguru’s spit mix together and cling to his cock as he teases Satoru by pushing just the tip in slightly. The high-pitched whine is arguably even better when he pulls it out and taps his cock against Satoru’s hole again.

He swallows down an evil chuckle, knows he’s setting an agonizing, almost brutal pace, but it’s not because he’s cruel like that or that he enjoys feeling Satoru squirm and writhe under him, but because he already feels like he’s about to cum all over Satoru’s hole just from a little rubbing. And if Suguru gives in too quickly, he’s sure he won’t be able to hold himself back and fill Satoru up as soon as he bottoms out, which, well, would be the most embarrassing thing he could ever experience. 

And for what it’s worth, he doesn’t want to bring the best moment of his existence to an abrupt end, so he goes slow, drags it out as much as possible. Slides the tip in and takes his time filling Satoru up.

“ Fuuuuuck ,” Satoru mewls and pushes his face into the pillow to muffle his whines. Suguru stops immediately, reaches out and tangles his fingers in Satoru’s soft white hair, pulls his head back and keeps him in place. 

“None of that now,” he tuts and slides an inch deeper, feeding Satoru his cock at an agonizing pace, “Don’t hide your noises from me, doll, I wanna hear how good I make you feel.” 

Satoru just whimpers but obliges, keeping his head turned to the side as his fingers grip the sheets beneath him. Suguru’s almost halfway in when he stops again. Just looking at how his cock slides in makes him halt and hold the base of his dick in a tight grip, the heat in the pit of his stomach flaring up and threatening to consume him whole. Satoru doesn’t seem to like that very much, not when he huffs and tries to push back on his own again, the desperation giving way to his default brattiness.

“ Come oooon , what’s taking you so long?” Satoru whines and looks up at him, eyes bleary and flooded with tears as he squirms and tries to push against the cock that he’s being denied, “Just put it in bro, it’s not that hard.”

Suguru shakes his head and groans, the sound ripped directly from his lungs, his midnight black strands clinging to his sweaty skin.

“ Satoru ,” he hisses in a low voice. “Don’t call me bro when I’m balls deep in you.”

“Psh, maybe I won’t when that actually happens,” Satoru snorts and tries to push back again, demanding hips moving and grinding despite being held down by Suguru keeping him in place, “Now come on Suguru, be a man and fuck me properly.”

Satoru smirks and clenches around his already throbbing length as if to reiterate his point, making Suguru whine low in his throat and throw his head back just to keep some sense of sanity intact. He digs his fingers hard into the flesh where he’s holding Satoru down and that just reminds him, once again, that this beautiful, insatiable brat is the most demanding being that Suguru has ever had the blessing of knowing. 

He can already tell that it’ll leave marks on Satoru’s delicate skin, but honestly, that’s the last thing on Suguru’s mind as he’s trying to hold his impending orgasm at bay. And even though Satoru is a demanding brat who will probably send Suguru to an early grave, he has never been able to deny him anything.

So, he takes a deep breath, sends a little prayer for his dignity to the forces above, and slides right in.

And that seems to do it. As soon as he has his cock buried completely inside of him, all restraint and logical thinking seem to evade him completely. The visual of Satoru’s lube and spit-soaked panties clinging onto Suguru’s cock is enough to make his heart stop, and yet, he wants to make Satoru remember him for days, weeks, the rest of his damn life. 

And it’s so perfect. He’s so perfect. Suguru would tell him if he could. But right now, with his cock pulsing inside of his tight heat, he can’t seem to find any words to articulate his infatuation. 

So, instead of using his words, he fucks Satoru so hard he can feel it in his lungs. 

Right off the bat Suguru sets a punishing pace, snapping his hips so hard the headboard smacks against the wall. And they might be hearing from their neighbors tomorrow, but right now, nothing else exists outside of these walls. Just Satoru, just his tight hole wrapped around Suguru’s cock as he pounds into him from behind.

And he must be doing a good job, considering Satoru is unable to contain the little gasps and barely coherent ah ah ahs as he grips the sheets so hard Suguru wouldn't be surprised if they ripped beneath his hold. 

He drags his nails down Satoru’s back, leaves dark red marks on his skin, tugs on the garter belt again and lets it snap against his skin. 

“So pretty, so fucking pretty, Satoru,” he says and picks up the pace, isn’t even sure Satoru can hear him from how loudly he’s whining, “Taking me so well. I knew you would. Always knew you were made for this.”

Suguru slides all the way in, wraps his hands around his lithe waist and keeps him in place as he grinds into Satoru’s heat, his chest pressed against Satoru’s arched back. And it must be too much, too overwhelming with the way Satoru gasps and tries to scramble away on the bed, body instinctively jerking forward, not sure whether it wants to run away or push back against the stimulation. 

Suguru just chuckles darkly, puts a hand in between his shoulder blades and pushes him down, keeping Satoru from moving away. 

“Stay down,” he says, and delivers a rough thrust against his prostate, just enough to make Satoru scream, “Stay still and take it, ‘Toru. I thought you wanted to get fucked, hm?” 

He leans down as he says it, nuzzles his nose against the back of Satoru’s neck, drags his lips across his skin and hums at the way he feels him shiver but obey instantly, “I’m not done with you yet.” 

In an instant, Suguru pulls out, Satoru’s confused whine getting lost into a huff as he flips him over on his back. He doesn't give Satoru any time to adjust before he’s spreading his thighs, grabbing onto them and pulling them apart and back to press against his chest.

He wastes no time before he’s lining himself up again and sliding back in, both of them moaning in unison as Suguru fills him up to the hilt. Suguru sets a brutal pace, leans down and pushes his tongue between Satoru’s lips, swallows down his moans and whines as he’s pounding into him while keeping his thighs pressed against his chest.

“Look how well you’re taking me,” he hums in his mouth, tongue sliding against Satoru’s before he’s leaning back again, “So good, Satoru. So tight around me.” 

Satoru whimpers and closes his eyes, already looking like he can’t handle any more, like he’s ready to burst any second. Suguru releases his thighs then, leans back, cock still nestled deep inside of him as he grinds down. He watches Satoru’s abs flex, a single tear run down his cheek as he continues abusing his prostate with slow, agonizing thrusts. 

Suguru grips his ankles then, wraps his hand around the delicate limbs and makes Satoru pull his thighs even wider apart. The action makes the other keen low in his throat, embarrassed and teary eyes wide open now, pleading as he looks up at Suguru. 

No words come out of his mouth, though, just drool and incoherent noises as Suguru continues to thrust into him, rough and hard and as deep as possible. He holds Satoru open and exposed, grip tight around his ankles, his hand circling them entirely. He feels the lacy stockings beneath his palms. 

Suguru turns his head, moving without thinking. He lifts one sock-covered foot to his face, moaning softly as his lips press against the fabric. His tongue drags slowly along Satoru’s sole, drawing a shudder from him. Satoru’s leg trembles, and Suguru tightens his grip around his ankle to keep it in place.

A low groan rumbles from Suguru as he mouths at the foot again, lips parting to take the toes in his mouth. The lace of the stocking grows damp under his tongue, soaking up the heat of his breath. Satoru’s whines grow sharper, more pleading, more desperate the harder he sucks. Suguru doesn’t need to look to know he’s watching; he can feel it in the way Satoru clenches tighter around his cock, as if trying to milk him dry just from having his toes sucked on.

After the fabric is thoroughly soaked and Satoru’s legs are trembling so hard it’s hard to keep him still, Suguru pulls away, takes both of Satoru’s ankles in one hand, and pushes them back, in turn folding Satoru over himself as he picks up the speed and rams into him with renewed vigor. 

Satoru screams at the new angle, his moans and whines melting into each other the harder he’s being fucked open. 

“ Fuck ,” Suguru groans, the sound so deep it sounds like its coming from the very depths of his lungs. “You’re taking me so well, such a good boy for me.” 

He leans back, watches his cock slide in and out of Satoru’s hole, the thong rubbing against his cock as he does so. It's wet and sticky with their fluids, sticking to Satoru’s skin and getting caught on Suguru’s cock, connecting them even when Suguru slips out before pushing back in again. 

Yet it stays in place. And it should be uncomfortable, should get in the way, but Suguru can’t even imagine taking it off. Instead, he slows his thrusts, admires the way his cock stretches Satoru and drags against the lacy fabric. 

He pulls almost all the way out, still using one hand to keep Satoru’s ankles in place as he uses the other to grip the base of his cock; taps it against his puffy hole, watches in fascination as it flutters against the head of his cock, pink and puffy, as if it has no other use but to get stretched by Suguru again.

It doesn’t take long before Satoru starts to whine again, needy and desperate and a little mean as he tries to move his hips against Suguru by himself, exasperated but not upset with the teasing.

“Such a fucking brat,” Suguru says and pushes all the way in, releases Satoru’s ankles and grabs on to his hips instead, his hold tight to keep him in place, “So fucking needy, Satoru. Should've known you were gonna be like this.” 

At this point, despite his smart mouth and witty remarks, Satoru has been rendered useless and completely incoherent. Mouth open around a mute scream, spit dribbling down his chin, eyes crossing as Suguru snaps his hips at a punishing pace. And he’s so perfect; so warm and slick and tight around his cock. Suguru won’t be able to walk away after this, won’t be satisfied with having Satoru like this just once. 

And he’s a man of his word. He’ll make sure to make it a habit. 

It only takes a couple of more well-angled thrusts before Satoru’s cumming all over himself, whining high in his throat, Suguru’s name on his lips as he clings to him, nails digging painfully into Suguru’s forearms as white hot pleasure washes over him. 

Suguru watches in fascination as his release soaks into the fabric of the panties, smearing some of it on his abs and abdomen. And that seems to do it, just a glimpse of something so filthy makes Suguru pick up the pace again, ignoring the high-pitched whines spilling from Satoru’s mouth from the overstimulation quickly washing over him. 

He’s trembling underneath him, completely spent, sore, oversensitivity, making him whine and keen, nails digging almost painfully into Suguru’s skin as he continues to snap his hips against his ass. The flesh must be sore by now, but Suguru can’t seem to care enough to slow down, chasing that delicious heat that has never felt as intense as it does while inside Satoru. 

He looks up then, sees pretty blue eyes swimming with tears and pleasure, sees how fondly they’re looking at him, as if urging Suguru to fuck him, wreck him, do whatever he wants with him. 

And so he does. In an instant, Suguru pulls out of his hole, fists his cock a few times before he’s cumming all over the panties, his cum mixing in with Satoru’s, pooling on his stomach and soaking into the pretty lace fabric, dripping down his thighs and soaking into the mattress below. Suguru leans down then, slots his lips against Satoru’s as he comes down from his orgasm, the other kissing him back as enthusiastically as his exhausted body can muster. 

It takes a while before they come back to themselves. Breathing heavy against each other's lips, sharing sloppy kisses as they try to regulate their breathing and calm their pounding hearts. After he feels like he’s back on earth again, Suguru lifts himself up, runs his trembling fingers across Satoru’s jaw, brushes his sweaty bangs out of his face. Satoru still looks gone, eyes glazed over but following the movement with interest. 

And Suguru wants to stay here a little longer. Still not ready to get up and wash away something that might as well be one of his wet dreams. And maybe it is. Maybe it’s just a one-night stand that Satoru indulged him in, it’s not like they talked about it, after all. 

And Suguru isn’t sure if he’d be able to survive the hit. Knowing that this could potentially be a one-time thing makes something in his chest dislodge and stab him right through the ribs. But then again, if that’s something Satoru wants, he’d have no choice but to obey. He’d be devastated, sure, but beggars can’t be choosers, right?

And Suguru is exactly 10 seconds away from begging Satoru to ride his face till he’s crying on his tongue again. 

Who knows, he might even beg to take him out on a date or something crazy like that. 

But he doesn’t have to worry for long, not when the focus suddenly returns to Satoru’s eyes, his lips pulling into a teasing little smile, fingers back to working properly and tangling in Suguru’s hair like they did before, tugging on the strands and pulling him down, just for a small taste, just to brush their lips together. 

“So,” Satoru hums against his mouth, “How long before you can go again?”

Suguru can’t help but snort, his cock twitching back to life immediately. 

“You’ll be the death of me,” he whispers and helps Satoru get up, stretching his sore limbs a bit. 

The set seems to be completely ruined now, stockings soaked in spit and sweat, garter belt lopsided, barely hanging on to his waist. The bralette had slipped down, and Satoru takes it off without a second thought. 

The panties, though, paint a different story entirely. If any of the other pieces were still salvageable, the panties were ruined so thoroughly, no gentle washing machine spins or high-quality detergent could ever bring them back to life. The white fabric is soaked, clinging to Satoru’s skin with spit, cum, sweat, and every single piece of evidence of what they’ve been doing for the past hour. 

Satoru scrunches his nose, groans as he tugs on the band, peeling them away from his skin. 

“I can’t believe you ruined them, Suguru,” Satoru whines and tugs them off without a single thought, throwing the fabric on the floor and stepping out of the pair with a petulant look on his face, “They were so pretty, too. You damn brute.” 

Suguru just chuckles, pulls him in and places a small, not really apologetic kiss on his lips. 

“I’ll get you some new ones.” 

“You better,” Satoru rolls his eyes, “considering how many pairs you’ve stolen by now, you’re gonna have to get me an entirely new wardrobe the next time we go out.” 

Suguru cringes at being reminded that Satoru knows what he’s been doing for the past few months. It’s a conversation he was willing to avoid entirely. 

“I can’t believe you knew about it all this time,” he groans into his hands and Satoru just chuckles at his miserable tone. “And you just let me do it? Why?” 

Satoru hums, a menacing glint in his eyes as he does so. 

“I don't know,” he laughs, “Wanted to see how long you could keep it up, y’know? Besides, watching you squirm every time you looked at me was kind of funny. I guess I just wanted to see how much you can take before you snap.” 

Suguru can’t believe what he’s hearing. This angel, this beautiful, gorgeous man who embodies everything divine in his eyes, is actually evil reincarnated. 

“So the lingerie, the shopping…all of that was on purpose just to tease me?” 

Satoru laughs again, the sound no longer a choir of angels but an enticing hymn of the devils below. 

“Mhm,” he nods and leans in to peck Suguru on the cheek, “exactly as planned.” 

Suguru gapes, brain failing to process how Satoru even managed to play him like an instrument all this time. 

“You’re a menace,” he says in disbelief, “No, you’re evil, actually. That’s like…immoral.”

Satoru raises a brow at him, obviously amused by the irony. 

“Are you really calling me immoral, Suguru?” he asks and crosses his arms over his chest. Suguru at least has the decency to flush. “Really? After everything?”

He ducks his head, lets out a deep sigh, finally accepts the darker parts of himself that Satoru was so clearly aware of for the longest of time. 

“You’re right,” he admits, “I’m sorry.”

And it should make him ashamed, should leave him groveling on the floor, begging and apologizing for being such a fucking pervert and crossing every boundary known to man. 

Yet he does none of that, not when Satoru looks at him with lust filled eyes, his smile amused and a little teasing, telling Suguru that he might not be against the idea as much as Suguru had initially thought. But still, he feels bad about succumbing to lust like that.

“It’s okay,” Satoru says as he leans in, their lips brushing just barely, “I’m into that.” 

“Yeah?” Suguru hums, heart expanding with all the emotion he can’t wait to explore.

“Yeah,” Satoru confirms and kisses him again. 

They make out for a few seconds, but not too long, since Satoru is still covered in copious amounts of cum, lube, spit, and sweat, so he just pushes Suguru with a hand against his chest. 

“I’m gonna hop in the shower real quick,” he announces and disappears behind the door, leaving Suguru to his own devices. 

Suguru takes a second to reflect as he throws his pants on and gathers the scattered items around the room, throwing the ruined clothes in the damned hamper that started all of this mess in the first place. And it's funny, really, how a seemingly innocent act of perversion led him here, down on his knees and on top of Satoru. A place he’s only ever dared to imagine, but his imagination won’t do anymore. 

Now he has memories, experiences . A list he cannot wait to expand. 

After a few moments, Satoru returns to the room, his body covered in that same fluffy white robe that Suguru cannot wait to rip off of him. And based on the look Satoru gives him, he doesn’t want it on his body, either. 

He watches in awe as Satoru settles on the bed, legs open just a little as he leans back and spreads his thighs a bit, the robe obscuring what he’s hiding between them. And Suguru feels like a dog all over again, drool pooling underneath his tongue the longer he stares. 

“Tell you what,” Satoru smiles, eyes flashing with something mean as he looks at how desperate Suguru already looks, “how about you go back to your room and bring me the very first pair of baby blue panties you stole, hm? I think it’s only fair that you get to see them on me, don’t you think?” 

Yeah . Suguru does think it’s fair, in fact, it sounds like such a good idea he can’t even contain the whimper that leaves his mouth at the mere idea of it. 

He nods frantically, eyes wide and excited, body already moving towards the door, almost running to his room to pull out the fated pair and bring them back to Satoru. 

But before he can leave, a voice stops him in his tracks. 

“Wait,” Satoru says in a low, amused tone. Suguru turns, searches his face for something that’d tell him that he’d changed his mind. But there’s nothing there. Nothing but silent amusement, eyes dark and knowing, looking at Suguru like he’s been caught in the act again. 

“Suguru,” Satoru hums and bites back a smile as he rolls his eyes, “be a good boy and take my panties out of your pocket, please.” 

Suguru lets out a gasp, fingers already fishing out the stained white fabric he doesn’t even remember stuffing in his jeans pocket. Must be muscle memory by now. 

He smiles then, heart twice its size, stomach turning in on itself with all the affection his body can muster. 

And maybe he was wrong. Maybe Suguru is a pervert. 

But that might not be such a bad thing, after all.