Work Text:
Suguru is not a morning person.
Sure, he can get up rather effortlessly when the alarm clock is ringing, before the mission or the class, and he (unlike a certain someone) is not complaining about the early start of the day each time when they are being sent god knows where and are freezing their asses off at some train station in the middle of nowhere at 7 am. And still, on the weekends, he can easily sleep in, especially during winter, when you need a special Cursed Technique or iron will for getting out of bed.
Paradoxically, the same certain someone who is usually whining and nagging about early awakenings almost always gets up before him whenever they spend a night together. Has to do something with his Six Eyes, or his obnoxious character. Or both.
So it is a rare occasion for Suguru to wake up relatively early - and not alone under the thin, worn-down covers.
At first, he almost holds his breath, afraid to scare away the unusual warmth clinging to his skin, he cannot believe he is not dreaming, but there’s no way his mind can conjure up all the small imperfections of it. Their tangled legs under the blanket. Satoru’s elbow nested uncomfortably under his ribcage. A thin string of saliva from his half-open mouth, it looks so dumb, and so adorable, the strongest sorcerer drooling on his pillow (or, rather, on Suguru’s shoulder which he decided to use as his pillow). His messed up fluffy hair with a ridiculous cowlick on the side of his head. His face, so relaxed and unguarded, no taunting smirk, no squinted eyes behind the dark shades - an unmistakable indication that Satoru is up to no good.
His expression is almost serene now, and everything about him is ethereal in the soft morning light. Suguru snuggles closer, basking in the warmth of a rare moment. He cannot even remember the last time he managed to wake up before Satoru and he wants to cherish this before life spirits them away.
Or - he sighs and tries to untangle himself from the mess of long limbs under the huddled-up covers - before his arm goes numb permanently. He actually enjoys being able to use this arm, it’s his favourite arm, dammit.
Satoru mumbles something when he finally manages to extract the arm from under him and turn around - and clings to his back instead, like a very stubborn koala. A strong one. Probably the strongest. The strongest of all the koalas around. Suguru starts to drift off into a dreamy daze again, warmth of the other body lulls him into sleep, a steady, soft breathing into his nape sends pleasant waves of feeling safe and sound through his body, a hold of Satoru’s hand across his chest, firm but gentle, a stiffy poking Suguru into the ass… Wait, what?
“Sa. To. Ru,” he rumbles, blinking rapidly, trying to shake off the haziness clouding his mind. “I know you are awake.”
“Mhm,” says Satoru and nuzzles into the back of his head, tightening his embrace.
“Don’t ‘mhm’ me,” says Suguru.
“Mrrhrrmmmm,” says Satoru stubbornly.
“You’ll choke me,” Suguru points out, trying to ease the bear hug he is being put into.
Satoru perks up over his shoulder, and even if Suguru cannot see from this angle he still feels the stupid infuriating smirk that pulls his lips up.
“You’d like that?” he inquires, and Suguru hates himself a little for an accidental thought that yeah, he’d probably like that.
Why on Earth does he love this dipshit again?
And it’s not that all the heat, and the wriggling, and flirting are not affecting him - god, no, he’s half-hard already, trapped under the blankets in Satoru’s unrelenting embrace.
“Weren’t you complaining last night that you are completely spent and won’t recuperate until next week?” he asks, trying to hide a fond exasperation in his tone. The memory of the last night sends a wave of heat into his stomach, the way Satoru looked, ravaged, debauched, half-delirious while Suguru was taking him apart, meticulously and deliberately slow, making sure to collect each shudder, each hitched breath, to consume every small reaction from Satoru and store it within him as a curse and as a blessing. The images are still etched on the inner side of his eyelids, and he can never have enough of it - he’s greedy like that after all.
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” says the real Satoru, and snuggles even closer, shamelessly rubbing against the cleft of Suguru’s ass. “You’d better do some fact-checking first.”
“Wha?..”
“Like this,” Satoru tuts, and slides his palm down, stroking Suguru’s stomach, playing with the hem of his boxers, running his fingers through the trail of short stiff hair that starts under Suguru’s belly button - which makes him shiver and gasp loudly. “Fact number one. This turns you on.”
His hand finds its way into Suguru’s underwear, and he grips his length, hard, giving him a couple of tentative tugs, and, well, it does turn Suguru on, sure, what else is new?
“Fact number two,” parrots Suguru, too stubborn to just give up and let the pleasure wash over him, even if his hips are aching to start thrusting into the tightness he is being teased with. “You are a horny bastard with no shame”.
Satoru snorts, extracts his hand from under the covers shortly and spits into his palm, before returning to his ministrations.
“Pot, kettle, black,” he says and flicks his wrist, making Suguru’s breath even more ragged and raspy. “You like it.”
“It’s just a natural reaction,” he argues, for the sake of being petty. “Aren’t you getting hard when someone jerks you off?”
“First, what do you mean ’someone’?” Satoru’s fingers are changing pace, opting for stroking, caressing, he presses his thumb on the tip of Suguru’s cock, massaging the slit, making him shake with short, violent seizure each time his blunt nails graze the tender skin tissue - on purpose, he always does it on purpose.
”Second,” purrs Satoru into his ear, nipping on the earlobe, ”speaking of natural reactions. I kinda wanna put it in.”
He moves his hips again, as if Suguru cannot tell how hard he is, already. It’s starting to get really hot under the covers, and Suguru is sleepy, and aroused, and also lazy, but this…
”You’ll have to do all the work then,” he suggests, smashing his face into the pillow to avoid the humiliation of surrender. He really, really, definitely doesn’t want to see Satoru’s smug smirk. It is always hard for him to relinquish control, to allow for care and concern directed at him, but somehow with Satoru, he can let go.
”Easy-peasy,” chirps Satoru and throws away the covers, exposing them both to the chilly morning air. Suguru instinctively tries to curl into a ball, which is not very effective given another person’s fingers still wrapped around his dick. And Satoru just… starts kissing the back of his neck, his hands are now everywhere, touching, groping, getting rid of their sweaty t-shirts, as if he wants to memorise all the shapes and textures, map the terrain he is going to invade, he is so thorough Suguru starts panting really hard into his (safety) pillow even before he is fully naked, spread out for Satoru to feast upon.
And Satoru, for a change, takes his job seriously. He is so painfully attentive it makes Suguru’s skin crawl, he is not used to it, he thinks, Satoru can be bratty, and impatient, and rude, even, but today he pries into Suguru’s body with almost religious fervour, as if his only purpose is to make Suguru burst at the seams, melt under his touch, his hands, his lips, his greedy caress.
“What’s gotten into you?” Suguru asks, perplexed, and gasps at the bite on his inner thigh, followed by the featherlight cat-licks of the abused spot.
“Whaddaya mean?” mumbles Satoru who is already nuzzling into his lower back, his breath hot, almost searing against Suguru’s skin. And Suguru cannot really elaborate on his question, he feels warm, so warm his flushed face all but clued to the crumpled-up pillow he squeezes too tight, he is equal parts horny and embarrassed and whatever Satoru does is not enough, never enough, he almost starts dry humping the bed chasing so much needed friction when the heavy palm lands onto his waist, grounding him, making him lay still.
“Uh-huh,” says Satoru, and his voice is too cheerful for the dark, seductive tone he is using. “Didn’t you say that I have to do all the work, now?”
He bends down, scraping his teeth over the meaty flesh of Suguru’s ass, and Suguru shudders from the promise he recognizes instantly, instinctively. “Then you’ll have to take it, like a good boy you are, Su-gu-ru~”
It is unfair how easily he destroys all the barriers and reservations, it has something to do with his cursed technique. Or his obnoxious character. Or, again, both.
When his asscheeks are spread apart and a hot tongue starts lapping on his entrance, Suguru moans.
Satoru is good at it - of course he is, unwavering invariable in their ever-changing reality, and when he starts eating him out with gusto Suguru lets his voice loose at last, he is whimpering, and groaning, and bucking his hips up, towards the unyielding intrusion of the smooth, skilful muscle which takes him apart so perfectly it almost hurts. Satoru hums into his ass, obviously content with all the reactions he is getting, and fumbles around the pillows, and Suguru cannot help but chuckle through the moans and rasped breaths.
“It’s on the nightstand, dummy,” he manages to say and chokes on his words when a saliva-slicked finger penetrates him, going straight to his prostate.
“Aren’t we taught to think strategically in dire circumstances?” says Satoru, but his voice is also thick with need as if he’s at his limit as well. And Suguru is just weak for this, has always been, will always be, he turns around because he needs to see, to take it all in: Satoru’s blush, sweaty bangs plastered on the forehead, crooked smile with an occasional flash of sharp canines, eyes glimmering in the morning sunlight like two sapphires, a cute frown when Suguru’s movement makes him shift, and a flicker of understanding lightening up his features when Suguru pulls him down for a filthy, deep kiss.
“Come here,” whispers Suguru into his lips, red from exertion. “Don’t make me wait any longer.”
Their shared moan shutters the morning air like glass when Satoru bottoms out in one go, still the impatient bastard he is, burying himself in Suguru’s trembling heat.
Because when Suguru calls, Satoru listens, it’s easy like this, it’s complicated like this, going back and forth, dancing on the edge, panting each other’s names into the kiss-swollen lips, chasing the pleasure that builds up with each thrust, the tip of Satoru’s cock grazing Suguru’s prostate, stretching him so perfectly he doesn’t feel the strain or sting anymore, filling him just right until there’s no more light or sounds in the room but Satoru, Satoru, Satoru who wraps his fingers around Suguru’s length and says: “Come for me.”
And Suguru comes.
***
When they are snuggling again on the ruined bedsheets after, Suguru, who is absentmindedly running his fingers through Satoru’s fluffy hair, enjoying the feeling of the short bristle of undercut under his palm, asks again:
“What’s gotten into you?”
“Mhm,” says Satoru into the crook of his neck. “I dunno, the Valentines?”
“Too early,” Suguru chuckles, he is unable to endure this excruciating tenderness, but he needs to put up some token obstinacy, it’s how they work after all.
“Your birthday present?” suggests Satoru.
“Too late.”
“You are so hard to please, gosh!”
“What makes you think so?”
“Do I even need a reason?..”
He doesn’t finish, there’s no need for him to finish, thinks Suguru, still content and relaxed after a breathtaking orgasm he was given with no particular reason at all.
They are so long past the need for reasons or excuses it doesn’t matter, really.
Not when they can make love to each other on a lazy Sunday morning without labels or designations, just because it’s the way they are.
And this, he thinks, holding Satoru in his arms, is the most precious gift he could get on any festive occasion.