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Suguru likes how desperate Satoru gets for his attention.
There are stages, levels to this, and the hardest is always the stage before the last. Watching Satoru crumble is Suguru’s favorite thing in the world, getting there is just a bit of work. Because Satoru is tempting. He’s all legs and soft skin and when he’s drowning in one of Suguru’s shirts, his tits are just there, sitting beneath the fabric, small but perky, with his nipples forever hardened and pert beneath.
Suguru provides flimsy and bullshit excuses whenever he does this. Never has a solid reason as to why he can’t touch Satoru.
For why he won’t — nothing aside from his own perverted goals, what he wants to come from the denial after the hours pass, not that he’ll say that. It’s kind of his little secret. Funny that it is one, considering how obvious and repetitive Satoru’s little descent into madness is. Same thing every time. Asking, pleading, then begging, then bargaining.
Then displaying himself and trying to convince Suguru that he’s what he wants (not that he really has to, not truly; Satoru’s always been everything Suguru’s ever wanted).
He’s doing it now, with his legs over Suguru’s lap. Smells like strawberries and milk, sugar and all things sweet. A little like those parfaits Satoru likes to make him before their classes in the morning. The ones with honey drizzled on top and sweet puree caked with cream at the bottom. As sweet as Satoru’s lips when he kisses him after taking a bite.
Satoru’s so damn tempting.
And Suguru does twitch in his pants when Satoru draws a leg over his. When he shifts and fills Suguru’s senses. When he sighs and makes a small noise as he shifts, that gives Suguru way too many ideas, births way too many thoughts and sparks memories of nights and mornings before. Suguru wants to take a bite, always does.
But he’s a patient man, it’s something he takes pride in, since Satoru is anything but patient.
“Ugh,” Satoru groans, taking his legs all the way from Suguru’s space. “You won’t even look at me, what the hell! Your boyfriend wants sex, Suguru. Sex. What kind of man are you?”
He grabs a pillow from their shared couch and squeezes it between his arms. Presses his face into the cushion for a moment before he glances at Suguru out the corner of his eye.
“You … you really don’t want me?” Satoru asks in a whisper.
Suguru finally looks up from his laptop, where he isn’t really doing anything but fucking around, and presses his lips into a thin line.
“I’m sorry,” he says, voice as sincere as he can make it. “But I really am busy. Later, okay? Promise.”
“You shouldn’t even have any assignments or reports right now. It’s summer?”
“It’s just a bit of personal work. I’d really like to finish it up today, though.”
Satoru pouts.
He is neither patient nor cooperative when it comes to – really, anything.
Any plan that strays from his own version of the plan in his head is wrong. And that’s where the final stage begins to settle in. Satoru’s face is pushed into the cushion again in upset and anger before he seems to get over himself and make a decision in the next split second.
“Fine…” Suguru hears him say.
He keeps typing on his laptop, though the sentences he’s typing aren’t – actual coherent or correct sentences, really. Just being typed to make it seem like Suguru isn’t paying any amount of attention to Satoru. Not even as Satoru raises his legs.
His grey shorts are tiny but loose, so they leave a fair amount to the imagination, but when he raises his legs up onto the couch cushions, Suguru can see the hint of white and blue peeking out from the short hems just beneath Satoru’s ass. His panties are polka dotted, Satoru loves blue polka dots, and anything that reminds him of blueberries.
He begins trying to type faster when Satoru places the pillow between his legs. He squeezes his thighs around the pillow and that makes Suguru pause.
With his fingers still on his keypad, his eyes flick over to Satoru.
Satoru doesn’t look over until he realizes Suguru has stopped typing. Their gazes meet and Satoru pulls at the inside of his cheek, then raises a brow.
“Umm. What?”
Suguru raises both of his brows.
“What are you doing?”
Satoru frowns.
“Entertaining myself? What else?”
Satoru rests his shoulders back on the couch, tilts his head back a bit, and carefully pushes the pillow further between his legs. He shifts again, like he’s trying to get more comfortable. And when he’s resting completely against the soft cushion of the couch, he lets out a small breath and licks his bottom lip.
Then he rocks his hips.
Suguru’s fingers twitch. He remains still, watches.
Satoru’s fingers grab the cushion of the pillow hard. His thighs squeeze around it tighter as he grounds the pillow down further against his clothed pussy as he rocks his hips up. He breathes out something soft and gentle, eyes falling close as he does it again, jaw dropping just slightly for another soundless moan to fall from his chest.
He opens his eyes again, this time turning to Suguru to meet his gaze.
“What?” Satoru asks around his pants, finding a rhythm as he humps the pillow. Right there – right next to Suguru on their couch. His shoulders tense as he twitches, bringing the cushion down harder between his legs.
“This—hanh, this is fine, right? You don’t wanna touch me, Suguru, I–I have to do it myself, ah.”
Suguru blinks, blood rushing straight down to where his cock is resting against his thigh.
“Does it feel good, at least?” Suguru finds himself asking, evenly. “It looks like it.”
Satoru nods his head distractedly.
“Nngh,” he whines quietly. “The — edge of the pillow makes … Suguru, it makes my clit so sensitive.”
Suguru throbs in his underwear.
Satoru’s cheeks are already pink and blotchy, lips glossy with the chapstick he applies every hour religiously, and his eyes — fuck, his eyes. He gets that look in them every time — every fucking time. Doesn’t matter how deep he is, how soon he’s just started. The second Satoru starts feeling good, he gets that same blank, dazed look in his eyes. Fucked dumb even if he hasn’t been fucked yet. He’s barely started humping against a pillow and he already looks stupid with sex.
It makes Suguru weak, so damn weak.
Satoru’s fast in quickening his own pace, because he’s needy. Always so needy, so impatient, and wanting and desperate. He rests his head against the back of the couch as his brows draw with a desperation that makes him look small and sweet. He holds the pillow in place as he ruts against it, panting hard and heavy and loud from his open mouth, face slack even as his hips get faster. Satoru changes the angle of the pillow, shifts it so it’s vertical and pulls it against his entire upper body as he humps it.
His hair falls in front of his face and he pants shallowly, melting and sinking further back into the couch, hips moving more desperately. He looks entranced and Suguru feels the same. Satoru stares at exactly one spot ahead of him with a blank focused look as he curls up and presses the pillow down, rubbing against his clit again and again like he’s using the angle to reach orgasm, and — Suguru sees the exact moment he cums.
He’s not loud, because he almost never is unless Suguru’s the one touching or fucking him. But he is cute, he always is.
Satoru twitches and jerks against the pillow and his head falls back as he shuts his eyes with his orgasm. Hips thrust up, up as his toes in his socks curl, like the stimulation is immediately too much for him.
And when he releases the pillow, it falls away from his body and onto the floor, so Satoru’s body isn’t hidden anymore. It’s just his rising and falling chest, his nipples hard and poking through Suguru’s shirt as he catches his breath with shallow pants.
Suguru swallows, mouth entirely dry. He’s hard in his sweatpants, dick resting heavy and hot against his thigh and against the burning heat of his laptop that’s fallen asleep. He collects himself despite the embarrassment of needing to be collected.
“Satisfied?” Suguru asks simply. He knows the answer, though. Always does.
Satoru bites his bottom lip. Shakes his head.
“Mm,” he mumbles. “Not yet. Want more.”
Satoru keeps his gaze locked with Suguru’s when he brings a hand to his stomach, the sliver of skin showing between his slightly raised shirt, and the shorts he has on. His fingers curl beneath the hem of his shirt, trace up along the pale skin of his body under, and Suguru knows he’s headed for one of his tits before he even gets there.
Satoru cups his left tit, Suguru can see the bump of it beneath the fabric. And for a second, Suguru thinks it’s gonna stay like that. Thinks Satoru’s going to play with himself just like that, covered with his shirt as a way to punish Suguru for being mean to him or something. But his free hand raises his shirt from the hem and raises it enough to see the swells of his perky tits. Pale with pink, button nipples. Suguru’s lips part. He loves Satoru’s body. Fucking loves how cute and tiny his tits are, how they’re hardly big enough to be seen through a loose shirt, but enough to fill each of Suguru’s palms.
Satoru’s got these puppy eyes. He’s staring at Suguru with the biggest, bambi doe eyes Suguru has ever seen, blinking at him like the embodiment of innocence even as he flicks one pale, pink nipple.
And then Suguru can’t see his eyes at all, because they’re squeezed shut.
Satoru flicks his nipple again and his hips twitch, thrust forward, all small and cute and sensitive. His other hand is squeezing his shirt tightly, still holding it up by the hem, fingers and knuckles blooming a dusty, rosy pink with the flush from the hard pressure as he keeps playing with himself. Flicks and squeezes and pinches at his own nipple, and starts to rock his hips against the air, against nothing.
“Satoru,” Suguru whispers. He swallows. “Love.”
“Feels good,” Satoru says back, voice just as quiet.
“Yeah?”
“Sensitive,” Satoru whines. He’s panting just from the stimulation at his tit. His cheeks are quickly dark again, and his voice shakes after his swallow. “But – but yeah, Suguru. Feels – good.”
“You look good, Satoru. You look so good,” Suguru tells him.
He shuts his laptop, then. Places it to the side and instead, decides to give his full attention to the way Satoru finally lets go of his shirt to impatiently push down his shorts instead. They go with his polka dotted panties and he shimmies them easily to his ankles before he kicks them away, and brings his shaking hand back between his thighs.
Satoru cups himself, his bare pussy. It’s pale with a pretty, white bush sitting on top that Suguru wants to drag his face over. Satoru rests his head back again and he continues to flick his nipple, only a peek of the small bud being seen since he isn’t holding up his shirt, and rub small circles over his flushed, pink clit. He’s not saying anything, too busy playing with himself to tease or taunt Suguru about the work that suddenly isn’t more important than watching Satoru get off.
Satoru uses two of his fingers, his hips are rolling into his own touch, the same rhythm as two of his fingers are rolling and playing with his nipple. His mouth is hung open, eyes almost crossing as he stares blanky ahead at nothing. A thin layer of sweat coats his skin, making it so it’s pink and glistening, shiny with his arousal and efforts of making himself feel good. Little breathless whines around his pants, small moans and pathetic whimpers leave his mouth occasionally, but it’s all Suguru is gifted. He keeps rocking into his fingers, gets more aggressive with himself the closer he gets, his panting is getting heavier, louder, harder.
His pussy sounds wet now. Sloppy, even, from where his fingers are playing with himself. Suguru’s breathing is uneven and he’s shifting his hips, eyes stuck on the wet juices over Satoru’s pretty fingers. How they shine, glossy in the light and slick is beginning to coat the inside of Satoru’s thighs, how the air in the room smells like sex and arousal, and something distinctly Satoru.
“Gonna cum?” Suguru’s own voice is rough, scratchy and somehow worn despite nothing being done to him.
Satoru lazily nods his head, dazed, eyes still glazed over and heavy.
Suguru presses his own hand against his thick, hard cock resting at thigh. Applies pressure over the fabric – that’s all. Just pressure to the sensitive spongey tip and almost immediately bucks up into his own fingertips.
Satoru’s white strands are stuck to his pink cheeks, and he lets out a particularly loud whine as his pace suddenly shifts.
His hand is moving more jerky and inconsistent, his elbow hitting against the back cushion of the couch as he rubs himself off. His hips are rolling hard up into his own touches, breaths getting louder, cute pathetic and nearly soundless whines slipping from the back of his throat being heard. Satoru’s head is thrown all the way back, and Suguru can see the way his neck flexes with those soundless whines. He’s using only one finger to touch at his nipple now, like two suddenly became too much, and his face scrunches cutely when he’s there — fingers are moving impossibly fast against his pussy, hips bucking up and lifting off the couch, and he cums again.
Suguru can see the way his pussy is pulsing and fluttering and throbbing beneath the pads of his fingers as he breathes harshly. Legs still open, head thrown back, body shaking. The way he twitches almost feels in time with the way Suguru throbs in his pants. This is the last stage of this little game they play.
Once Satoru’s given up on Suguru touching him, he touches himself, and looks desperate doing it, in all the right ways. In all the ways that make Suguru want to take Satoru’s pleasure into his own hands and press into him, fill him up until tears finally bead at the corners of Satoru’s eyes, like they’re supposed to after an orgasm.
He loves this part, because he doesn’t even have to move. Satoru wants it enough to lead it himself, likes leading it himself, even.
Satoru sniffs and lifts his head a bit off the couch to look at Suguru. Bats his lashes and grins.
“Made you look.”
Suguru lets out a low, breathy laugh.
“You’re a brat,” he says, leaning back against the couch himself.
“Only when you make it so I have to be,” Satoru pouts. “I’m objectively good for you all the time but that’s never enough for you, is it? You love bringing out the worst in me.”
“Mmn.” Suguru plays with the strings of his dark sweatpants.
He doesn’t make a show of the way he undoes them, how he subtly shifts them down, still leaves his boxers to separate the air from his dick, fully hardened beneath, pulsing hot.
“Mmn,” Satoru repeats. He gives Suguru a scoff, sticking out his tongue and rolling his eyes. “Whatever. It’s obvious you like me like that. Difficult.”
“Oh. Do I?”
“Boo. You get bored otherwise, clearly. It’s like you don’t even like me for me. When I’m good and perfect.”
Suguru hums mildly, tilts his head when he asks, “Are you upset?”
“Ugh, so upset. Just devastated, Suguru, I’ll never recover, I think,” Satoru rolls his eyes.
He blinks up at the ceiling for a moment. Then after a long beat, finally drags his gaze back over to where Suguru is sitting. His eyes immediately catch on Suguru’s cock through his boxers. His eyes sparkle and dance, like he’s finally getting what he wants, before he goes back to playing.
“You were mean.”
Suguru tilts his head again. Changes his expression into something curious when he scratches at his temple and glances up.
“Oh? You think so?”
“Yes, Suguru, I just said I’d never recover, god, keep up.” Satoru says. “Anyways, fix it.”
“Ah,” Suguru sighs. Shakes his head with a soft shrug. “And how would you like me to do that, Satoru?”
“Grovel,” Satoru demands.
A laugh.
“I’m serious.”
Suguru smiles because he can’t help it. Satoru’s just – very cute. Pretty when he’s demanding things with open legs, a pink sticky pussy, and cum staining the couch beneath where he sits.
“I’m sorry, Satoru,” Suguru finally murmurs, voice gentle and soft. And just as softly, he asks, “Would … sitting on it make you feel better, maybe? I know how you get when you’re like this. That would help, wouldn’t it?”
“Mn … I mean. Can I bounce on it, too?” Satoru asks, cheeks all pink, lashes long when he bats them.
“You can,” says Suguru. “Whatever you want.”
Satoru crawls over to Suguru like a cat, tugging on his bottom lip. He drops down on Suguru’s lap, like Suguru is his throne, and he’s a king who has every right to declare said throne, and Suguru breathes in through his clenched teeth, at the pressure against his heavy, wanting dick.
“Whatever I want, wow. Okay,” Satoru presses his index finger to his bottom lip. “Then. You also have to hold me. Tight. Properly. I won’t accept it unless you squeeze me like you never want to let go,” Satoru demands.
“Ah,” Suguru exhales. “Okay, then. You’re very demanding, like a Princess.”
“Don’t look away,” Satoru ignores the jab. “Not for a second. Eyes on me and me only, the entire time. You don’t need to look at anything else when I’m right in front of you.”
“You’re being difficult again.”
“Exactly the way you love me, isn’t it?”
“I suppose.”
“And tell me I’m pretty. Look into my eyes when you tell me. Say you love me. And — kiss away all my tears—”
“Tears,” Suguru raises his brows.
“Yes?” Satoru points to his dewy eyes. He sighs dramatically. “The ones I’m drowning in? I sobbed a river, Suguru, I told you I’d never recover, keep up. This is the only way you could make it up to me. I’m not asking a lot.”
“Ah,” Suguru’s hands are already on Satoru’s waist, smile sincere. “That’s fair, you’re right. I’ll make it up to you, then, Satoru.”
“Good,” Satoru says, gets close enough so he’s talking against Suguru’s mouth.
He rocks his hips slightly and Suguru’s eyes almost roll as he bucks up into it. Feels the wetness of Satoru’s pussy, of the cum from his previous orgasm clinging to Suguru’s boxers.
Satoru whispers, “I’m almost satisfied.”
“Almost,” Suguru’s head falls forward, long hair hanging past his face, before he lifts his chin to peer at Satoru with tired eyes. “God. You’re a real piece of work.”
“I just know what I want,” Satoru waves him off. “I have your last task.”
“Goodie.”
“Pay attention, please.”
“I’m focused, swear.”
“Fuck me hard enough to make up for ignoring me the past few hours,” Satoru says.
He lifts himself a little off Suguru’s lap to drag down the man’s boxers and free his aching cock. Big, heavy, flushed red at the tip from how long he’s been holding back.
“I want to cum three times, back to back, nothing less. I want to cry. I don’t want to be able to walk after tomorrow, okay? Make it good, Suguru. Because you really were mean to me.”
That low laugh falls from Suguru again.
“Okay, okay … Princess,” he whispers, and kisses Satoru.
Satoru pulls back before the kiss can deepen and fixes Suguru with a defiant look. Like he isn’t letting the comment slide.
“And – Princess, Suguru?”
Suguru smiles. “It’s endearing, I promise.”
Satoru considers it for a moment. Shrugs.
“I guess I can allow it.”
“Oh, what a relief,” Suguru sighs, shaking his head.
He presses forward to kiss Satoru again, soft and sweet and chaste on his bottom lip. Kisses him again and again, until he’s dragging Satoru closer to him, licking deep into his mouth. His large hands grip Satoru’s thin waist and both of their mouths open when Satoru is being brought to stretch around Suguru’s cock.
Satoru’s face scrunches at the stretch, jaw dropped with a whimper at the back of his throat as he slides down inch by inch while Suguru rubs gentle circles into the skin at his waist.
“Good, that’s good, Satoru,” Suguru murmurs. “Nice stretch, isn’t it?”
Satoru nods his head jerkily. Clings to the fabric of Suguru’s shirt, panting hot and heavy and pushing his face into Suguru’s neck. He jolts, then impatiently starts rocking his hips already, despite not being adjusted. It’s expected, though – Satoru does get a certain way the second his pussy is in contact with Suguru’s dick.
Suguru smiles, pressing the pad of his fingers into Satoru’s soft back to keep him from trembling as he starts gentle, little rabbit bounces.
“You’re — Suguru, you’ll, hnn make — make it up to me?” Satoru asks around his pants. His face is wetting Suguru’s neck, and Suguru doesn’t know if that’s from tears or sweat or drool, or all three. But he presses further against his skin when he slurs, “Gonna, gonna muh–make me feel better for bein’ so - so mean, hahh … mean! earlier, right?”
Suguru smiles with his teeth, large hands squeezing Satoru as he lifts him up to start to control the pace, and bring him back down. Satoru shudders immediately, legs going weak as he lets Suguru move him now, melting bonelessly against the man.
“Hmm, yeah, Satoru,” Suguru says. “I think I can manage that.”