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Sukuna slammed the front door shut behind the woman as she stumbled onto the porch, her bag half open and clothes spilling out. Her eyes were wide, face flushed with a mix of fear and lingering anger.
“Get the fuck out,” he snarled, voice low and dangerous. “You think you can stand in my house and spit that shit at me?”
She had started it earlier that evening, after another night where his intensity left her shaking.
“You’re too much, Sukuna. Too dominant, too controlling. It’s like you don’t even enjoy being with a woman. Sometimes I wonder if you’d rather be with a man.”
That last part had snapped something in him. He had not raised a hand to her, but the pure rage in his expression had been enough. He had gathered her things in minutes and shoved them into her arms before marching her to the door.
“Don’t ever come back,” he said now, watching her scramble toward her car. “And keep your mouth shut about me.”
The car peeled away. Sukuna stood there for a long moment, fists clenched, before turning back inside and kicking a chair hard enough to send it skidding across the floor.
An hour later his phone buzzed. Suguru’s name lit the screen.
“Heard about the latest disaster,” Suguru said without preamble. “Toji and I are taking you out. No arguments. We’re going to a club, drinks on us, something to take your mind off it.”
Sukuna almost refused. The idea of sitting in some loud place full of people sounded exhausting. But the alternative was sitting alone in the house with the echo of those words still ringing in his ears. He agreed, mostly out of spite at the empty rooms.
Toji drove. Suguru sat in the passenger seat making light conversation that Sukuna mostly ignored. They pulled up in front of a dark building with neon lights and a discreet entrance. Music thumped faintly through the walls. Sukuna followed them inside, already planning how many drinks it would take to blunt the edge of his mood.
The place was dim, tables arranged around a raised stage. Men in various states of undress moved between the seats, some dancing, some talking to patrons. Sukuna’s eyes narrowed as he took it in. The dancers were all male. Every last one of them.
He turned on Suguru and Toji with a flat stare. “You two thought this was funny?”
Suguru only shrugged, unbothered. “You needed a distraction. Consider yourself distracted.”
Toji smirked and ordered a round of whiskey. Sukuna sat heavily at a table near the edge of the stage, jaw tight, and downed the first glass in one go. He signaled for another. The liquor burned, but it did little to improve his expression. He watched the current dancer finish a routine with bored contempt, arms crossed, glass in hand.
Then a new figure stepped onto the stage.
The man was younger, lean, with dark messy hair and sharp green eyes that caught the colored lights. He moved with a controlled grace that somehow looked both effortless and deliberate. The crowd responded immediately. Whistles and low murmurs rose as he danced, hips rolling, body shifting under the sparse clothing that left little to the imagination.
Sukuna looked away after a few seconds, unimpressed on principle. He was still muttering under his breath about his so-called friends when the dancer left the stage and started circulating among the tables.
The next thing he knew, the young man was standing right in front of him.
“Complimentary,” the dancer said, voice quiet but clear over the music. Without waiting for permission he slid into Sukuna’s lap, straddling his thighs with easy confidence.
Sukuna’s hands shot up instinctively, ready to shove. “I’m not gay. Fuck off.”
The words came out sharp. His palms pressed against the dancer’s waist, prepared to push him away. Then the young man leaned in just enough for the stage lights to catch his face fully.
Sukuna froze.
The features were delicate yet defined, high cheekbones, a soft mouth, those striking green eyes framed by dark lashes. Up close the beauty of him was almost unreal. The protests died in Sukuna’s throat. His hands stayed where they were, no longer pushing, simply resting against warm skin.
The dancer, Megumi, seemed to notice the shift. A small, almost knowing curve touched his lips as he began to move, slow rolls of his hips that pressed him more firmly against Sukuna. The music pulsed around them. Megumi’s hands settled lightly on Sukuna’s shoulders for balance, body arching in a way that made the sparse clothing shift and catch the light.
Sukuna’s grip tightened without conscious thought. The hard liquor sat warm in his stomach, but it was the sight of the man in his lap that held him still. Every sharp dismissal he had planned evaporated. He could only watch, pulse quickening, as Megumi continued the free dance with quiet intensity, never looking away from Sukuna’s face.
Across the table Suguru and Toji exchanged glances but said nothing. Sukuna did not notice them anymore. His entire focus had narrowed to the pretty young man moving against him, and the unexpected, undeniable pull that had silenced every protest the moment their eyes truly met.