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Suguru and Satoru are best friends; they always have been. The fact that they decided to move in together in college only added up to their closeness, attached to the hip ever since they’ve known each other.
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Satoru studies physics; Suguru is in the literature dept, always buried under piles of manuscripts and dusty volumes from the library. Sure, they have acquaintances from their respective faculties, but the only person they both hang out with is a medicine undergrad, Shōko.
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She’s Satoru’s best friend, and his worst nightmare when it comes to getting advice about his love life; she’s blunt and she sees everything, and Satoru hates it, but she’s always right. He wouldn’t survive a day without her by his side.
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Suguru is a simple guy; he never paid too much attention to feelings, nor to being attracted to someone in a more than platonic way. He sure has his share of fictional characters he finds endearing and worth looking at, but... his physical needs have always been neglected.
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Studying and training are more than enough to keep him satisfied. Besides, he has Satoru. He doesn’t feel like he needs something else in his life.. or does he?
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One night, he gets home late from the library, which is nothing unusual when he has finals in sight. He finds Satoru dead asleep on the couch, splayed on his stomach with the PS controller in his hand and a blue screen staring at him.
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He’s all too stubborn to go to sleep before Suguru gets home; he can’t seem to be able to sleep well when his friend is not around. Satoru’s used to acting all bold, but when it comes to Suguru, his confidence falters and without his presence or approval he feels lost.
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Suguru smiles fondly when he sees him, and quietly gets close to caress his forehead, threading white strands of hair beneath his fingers. He cups Satoru’s cheek with his palm and gently whispers “Satoru, let’s go to bed” as his friend stirs in his sleep and leans into the touch.
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“Mmmh, you’re late again,” Satoru murmurs, squeezing his eyes and stretching his arms like a cat. Suguru smiles, “And you never learn, you’re gonna catch a cold if you keep staying up late waiting for me.” He helps Satoru up and leads his sleepy figure to his own bedroom.
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Once Satoru’s tucked up and fast asleep under the covers, he moves to his room and strips from his clothes, tired eyes and aching shoulders from hunching over his desk. He plops on his bed, and despite his tiredness, his body is bothered by a restless feeling coursing through it.
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Time passes but he tosses and turns, unable to catch any sleep, his mind tormented by something he can’t quite put his finger on. His body is heating up, and probably for the first time in his life, he feels like training hasn’t gotten him rid of the need of something more.
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He knows that arousal is a common state, as well as he knows a guy his age should be used to masturbating once in a while. It’s a natural process, hormonal levels have already affected him in his teens, waking him up to sticky boxers and aching boners before. Yet…
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This time, it feels different. He has never thought about something in particular while getting off. Faceless intercourses, that glimpse of x-rated videos he caught Haibara and Nanami watching, silly giggling over their phones during the lunch break.
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Big boobs, maybe? Or, a perfectly chiseled ass. Yes, that’s way better. The perfect curve, the stretching muscles under flawless skin… a pink, tight pucker teasingly blinking, waiting for him to breach it. That’s one thing that definitely turned him on.
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Begrudgingly surrendering to his bodily needs, he decides that it’s probably time to rub one out, so that he’ll finally earn himself some deserved sleep. He lowers his hand, dipping past the waistband of his briefs, and grabs his growing erection with a hiss.
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After a few, tentative pumps, he’s come to a full arousal and his mind starts wandering again, trying to focus on what exactly caused this disturbance. The image of that wonderful ass comes back, clear as the night sky, in all of its glory.
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The skin tone is light, as well as the mop of hair that belongs to that body. A hazy silhouette of a lean, muscular figure starts shaping up as Suguru’s lucidity gets lost in that mist.
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Broad shoulders, long arms with spindly fingers draw close to him and caress his face, as he imagines keeping on pumping inside that tight heat with all of his might.
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He tightens his fist and slows down his strokes, wanting to savour this moment for a little longer, not ready to come just yet.
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As his imagination keeps running wild, losing debris of his consciousness along the way, the gentle features of that pretty face turn into focus; long, pale lashes and summer sky blue eyes, glassed out and half-lidded. Plump, soft lips adorn the prettiest face he’s ever seen.
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Suguru, being Suguru, a smart guy with a more than impaired intuition and his system momentarily gone berserk due to repressed lust, doesn’t immediately realize fantasizing about someone he’s overly familiar with.
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That is, until he imagines a voice coming from the aforementioned figure, calling his name in between moans.
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That’s it, that’s when realization hits him.
He’s getting off thinking about his best friend.
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Far too deep into the ride and finding himself to the point of being completely unable to stop, he comes the hardest he’s ever come, staining his bedsheets with the consequence of his fantasies. He faces a guilt-ridden post-orgasm clarity.
What the hell did he just do?
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Afterwards, the inevitable walk of shame to the bathroom to clean himself up. Looking at his reflection as he washes his stained boxers in the sink, he mouths the word “loser” to his disheveled figure before going back to bed.
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The morning after, he couldn’t look Satoru in the eye. He felt like he did something horrible last night. He grabs a half-burnt toast and runs to the library before Satoru can even process he’s awake, leaving his friend confused and disappointed at their breakfast table.
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“Shōko, he hates me,” Satoru whines, hitting the cafeteria table with his forehead. Shōko deeply sighs, munching on a licorice stray to calm down her nicotine craving.
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“He doesn’t hate you, Satoru. Why would he hate you now? You’re literally always together. You’re only missing an officiation of marriage and kids and then you’d be settled. Calm your tits down.” Shōko deadpans, dismissing Satoru’s dramatic ass with a wave of her hand.
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“That’s the problem! He left early this morning and skipped breakfast! It’s the beginning of the end, I can feel it. I’m gonna die!” Satoru keeps smashing his forehead on the table and Shōko places her hand between the surface and his reddening skin, preventing it from bruising.
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“Stop hurting yourself you idiot. Suguru’s just busy with exams. He’s not ignoring you, the world is not ending and you’re most definitely not dying. Get your ass up, we have class.” She stands up and tugs at Satoru’s collar, straightening him up and gently buffing his cheek.
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“Smile big boy, your boyfriend still loves you!”
Satoru glares at her through long lashes, his cheeks set aflame, and he’s so mad he can’t say anything. He’s wearing the most dramatic pout his features can sport.
“You’re mean, Shōko.”
“And you’re stupid. We’re even.”
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She kisses his forehead as he grabs his bag, then they both proceed towards the door, Shōko’s laughter resonating airily around them. He knows that Shōko is right, she always is.
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Suguru can’t focus on anything at all at the library; he’s bordering madness. He has finals in two weeks and nothing seems to stick inside of his brain. If he doesn’t get himself together by the end of the day, he’ll do 300 extra sit-ups at the dōjō for punishment.
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His last 2 hours went by this routine: random replay of that fantasy while on page 3 of the essay; timely shaking off of the aforementioned fantasy before getting a boner; sip from his coffee; deep sigh; back to page 3. He just knows he’ll get a headache really, really soon.
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Defeated and frustrated, he closes his book and storms out of the library, walking his way to the dōjō. He runs 10 minutes longer, takes 400 extra sit-ups and 200 extra push-ups before his body starts trembling with exertion and he decides to call it a day.
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He gets home to a silent apartment. He hears the running shower from the bathroom, and assumes Satoru’s in there, so he decides to patiently wait on the couch until his friend is done with his daily routine.
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Satoru has been taking overly long showers lately; he hopes he doesn’t end up getting a cold shower, even though it would help contain his primal instincts and monitor his arousal status. Not that he needs it, it’s just… a cautionary measure.
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Suguru indeed gets a cold shower. Hot water runs out right as he’s soaping his hair, spectacularly ruining his already bad day. He comes out of the cubicle covered in foam, cursing under his breath, wrapping a towel around his hips as he sits, waiting for water to warm up again.
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He doesn’t have it in him to argue about this with Satoru, so he silently swallows his anger as he accepts the fact that today is just a bad day, wishing for nothing but his bed and some well deserved rest to soothe his nerves.
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Not being able to sleep even when he’s dead tired is one of the most frustrating things Suguru has ever faced. He’s always been a peaceful sleeper, regularly waking up a few minutes before his set alarm. it’s 2:54 am now, and his eyes are still open. He can’t stand it.
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He rubs his tired eyes, tugging at his disheveled hair before pushing himself up. It’s no use to keep laying there doing nothing. His throat is dry, he might as well drag himself to the fridge to get some water.
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In the darkness of the apartment, he doesn’t notice a dark figure approaching the kitchen at the same time as he does; a cold hand placed on top of his on the handle of the fridge almost makes him jump out of his skin.
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“What the hell..!” he screams, and, illuminated by the dim light coming from the open door of the refrigerator, he sees a half-asleep Satoru staring blankly at him.
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“ ‘m sorry S’gru, I was thirsty,” Satoru mutters, activating the necessary brain cells to apologize to his friend. He proceeds to reach inside the fridge, if it wasn’t that he did it at the same time as Suguru. Their shoulders bump and Suguru unexpectedly, uncomfortably shrieks.
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Suguru feels like dying.
What was that?
When did he ever react like that to Satoru’s proximity?
This is bad. This is really bad.
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He swallows and scratches his head, laughing nervously as Satoru stares at him unblinkingly.
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Satoru feels like crying. He was right, Shōko was wrong. Suguru can’t even stand touching him anymore, ohmygod. He wishes he could un-hear what he just heard and go back to sleep and die in his sleep for good measure.
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Suguru isn’t sure what to do with himself, his eyes going from Satoru’s face to the water bottle in his hand, back to Satoru’s face. He takes a step forward, and takes the bottle from Satoru’s hand, setting it aside on the counter instead of taking a sip– or running to hide.
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Satoru barely breathes. He watches Suguru taking a step towards him, and he can’t seem to be able to do nothing but let him take the bottle and discard it. He’s frozen to the spot, too lost into his drowsy, negative thinking to realize what’s happening.
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Suguru places his hand on the back of his head and silently kisses him.
It all happens in the span of a second, Satoru’s hand still lingering in the air, as Suguru cups his face and deepens the kiss.
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Satoru’s fingers close around the fabric on the back of Suguru’s loose shirt, and the world stops for a long, meaningful minute. Or two. or, uh– ten.
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They stumble around until Satoru’s calves hit the couch, and Suguru gently pushes him down, laying on top of him; their lips can’t stop looking for each other, briefly exploring every inch of uncovered skin they can find.
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Suguru’s tongue traces the outline Satoru’s jawline, suckling on his pulse point before leaving a long stripe along the column of his neck. He latches onto Satoru’s bottom lip and sucks it in, leaving it swollen and glistening.
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Satoru’s breath is short and ragged; whatever’s happening in this very moment is far from what he had imagined being their first kiss. He couldn’t imagine Suguru would be so hungry for him, and the thought overwhelms him, rendering him pliant and docile to Suguru’s ministrations.
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Suguru’s been half-hard for most of the day and now that he got so dangerously close to the object of his dreams the confines of his pants seem painfully tight. He instinctively rubs himself on Satoru’s thigh, and the sound that he makes is the most beautiful sound he ever heard.
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Satoru, for his part, has turned to jelly underneath that strong, bulk body. His head is light and nothing gets close to anything sane when it comes to putting a string of thoughts together. He only knows that he’s so hard he’s leaking and that he could die if he doesn’t get more.
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Unfortunately for him, Suguru still has a grasp on some of his sanity, and somehow he manages to realize what’s been happening for the past 10 minutes; he suddenly detaches himself from the pliant body beneath him, muttering a quick apology before rushing back to his room.
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The water bottle still stands forgotten on the kitchen counter, faintly illuminated by the light coming from the open fridge; condensation dribbles and pools at its foot, silently glistening in the dark.
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After that late-night frenzy, things get really awkward between them. They don’t talk about it on the following day, nor on the days afterwards. They barely speak at all, exchanging sideways looks and quick apologies whenever they get too close to the respective personal spaces.
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Satoru ends up spending most of his days with Shōko, pestering her with tantrums, desperate crying sessions, followed up by cuddles and bags of candy provided for comfort. He ends up sleeping over too, adding up to Suguru’s confusional state. Satoru never acted like this before.
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Well, it’s not like they ever kissed before, so that might be the reason why he’s acting all weird.
Suguru isn’t entirely sure about it, and he doesn’t know how to feel about it either.
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Satoru would come home, lock himself in the bathroom, spend a long, long time in there, come out all dressed up and ready to rush out again to sleep at Shōko’s.
That’s how it’s been for the past 4 days and this attitude is driving Suguru slightly insane.
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Suguru, for his part, would spend his days at the library, ending up braindead at the dōjō, working out for the remainings of the day, doing extra running, extra push-ups, extra sit-ups, extra everything, just to keep punishing himself for being so stupid around Satoru.
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He needs to fix it, he just doesn’t know how to do it.
He trains and exerts himself and keeps ignoring Satoru because he thinks it’s the right way to go.
Suguru is a simple guy and he’s just so very, very confused sometimes.
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One thing that's pretty clear to Suguru is his hate for the atrociously long wait for his blessed daily shower.
Every day he comes home from the dōjō, and every day his shower is occupied by his friend, who doesn’t even bother sleeping in his bed anymore for god knows what reason.
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He feels confused, but in this very moment, he’s just exhausted.
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He's had enough, Satoru's been inside for 40 minutes now, and what the hell is he even doing in there? With such short hair, it shouldn't take him longer than 15; mask, conditioner and dry blowing, too. He decides he's gonna bust in and just claim his sacred right for hot water.
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He doesn't even know why he wants to do it, he's just annoyed out of his mind for god knows what's happening inside of his brain lately, so he doesn't think it through.
He opens the door unannounced.
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The sight that meets him is the furthest to whatever he expected to see. Satoru's standing there, flushed from head to toe, pink skin glistening under the steaming water, as he's reaching between his cheeks to shamelessly pleasure himself.
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Suguru can't help but stand there, mouth slightly agape, as words escape him and his brain threatens to leak from his ears. He opens and closes his mouth, once, twice. No sound escapes.
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Satoru opens his eyes to his flabbergasted friend just standing there, looking at him doing obscenities in the shower. His world collapses in a split second.
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Not only have they made out and never spoke about it, but now this? If things were awkward, now Satoru will have to move out and never see Suguru again ever in his entire life. He wants to disappear, turn into dust.
How fucking embarrassing.
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Suguru sees the terror in Satoru's eyes, mirroring his own, and for a moment he stands there, doing nothing, blood rushing wild in his body, reaching places it shouldn’t reach, avoiding his brain like the plague, leaving him light-headed and impossibly turned on.
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His body must have a mind of his own, as it sure led him to pulling a handful of stupid and possibly life-ruining shit these days. No less, now it seems to move on its own accord, placing a foot ahead of the other, getting close to the tiled cubicle Satoru’s currently in.
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Satoru is horrified at the sight of Suguru getting even closer and he turns his back to him, too ashamed to say anything, just trying to hide in the furthest corner, making himself as small as he can get, wishing he could disappear into thin air once and for all.
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He doesn’t cry like the big grown boy he is, but he’s so close to tears that the lump in his throat is threatening to choke him.
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He gasps when he feels warm hands wrapping around his waist, as hot breath ghosts over his shoulder, on his neck, against his earshell; "You should've told me," Suguru's voice is low and husky, and Satoru shivers despite the scalding water still spraying upon their bodies.
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"Suguru..." Satoru's voice comes out as a whisper, barely audible to his friend, who's hungrily latching his lips upon his pulse point, hands roaming the expanse of his chest, sliding low, low, lower, dangerously close to the place where he wants him the most.
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Suguru’s clothes are soaked, clinging tightly to his body. He’s pressed flush against Satoru’s back, and the air in the cubicle suddenly becomes hard to breathe; thin, wet fabric the only material separating their skins.
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"So this is why you're taking so long in here, huh?" Suguru's canines leave sharp, rich marks on the back of Satoru's neck, eliciting a low moan when he tightens his bite on the soft skin.
"What are you getting yourself off to?”
Satoru doesn’t speak.
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“What's got you so interested, so much that it's earning your best friend a cold shower every night? Tell me, Satoru."
The purring of his name in his ear can't help but make him shiver, long and cold tingles spreading across his body.
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Suguru fists his erection and starts stroking slowly, teasing his tip with his thumb, putting just the right amount of pressure to his slit.
"Suguru..."
"Yeah, that's my name, sugar. Tell me more."
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"It's Suguru... the reason," Satoru squeezes his eyes, tilting his forehead against the cold tiles, feeling like he's about to pass out from a sudden fever pitch.
"The reason... what?"
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Suguru's eyes widen, dark saucers looking into the void, the weight of realization hitting him like a truck.
Satoru squeezes his eyes again, and when he speaks, it comes out pitched and charged.
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"Suguru is the reason that keeps me here for so long. I think about it all the time, I just... can't seem to be able to stop doing this. I want you, Suguru. I want you so bad."
His jaw suddenly tightens and a single tear spills unnoticed from his eye.
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Suguru grabs him by the shoulders, turning him around to properly face him.
Satoru's cheeks are aflame from arousal and the proximity of the object of his most hidden desires, mixed up with shame, relief, and a hint of mischief sprinkled upon his soft features.
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He keeps his face turned sideways, eyes staring at the floor. He would hide his face in his hands if only Suguru wasn’t holding his wrists so tightly. He still can't look at Suguru’s face after what he's just said.
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He did it, finally.
He can almost hear Shōko’s voice shouting “About fucking time, Satoru!” at the back of his mind.
Fuck everything, he doesn’t want to keep on living with regret for not doing something. He might lose the most important person in his life, but there, he said it.
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Suguru gently pushes him flush against the cold tiles and hooks one of his fingers under Satoru’s chin, forcing him to look him in the eye.
For a moment there he gets lost into those deep blue oceans, eclipsed by blown up pupils and hazed over by the deepest lust.
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Soft, plump lips wait for his touch, slightly parted and trembling, glistening with lukewarm dew. He doesn’t need to say anything, because the look he gives to Satoru says everything, all at once.
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He closes the distance between them with a gentle, warm kiss, brushing his chapped lips against that infinite softness, savoring that most awaited moment with no rush, a painstakingly slow motion, a coronation of years of confusion, growing feelings and secret mutual longing.
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Satoru moans into the kiss, unexpected and beautiful and Suguru pushes himself closer, caging his pretty body into his broad embrace; his clothed, soaked knee presses hard between Satoru's parted legs.
Satoru breaks the kiss, emerging from Suguru’s coil for a brief moment.
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"You're hard," he whispers against Suguru's lips, and Suguru presses himself harder, purposefully grinding against his thigh just to make him feel that yes, he's incredibly hard, and he’s been hard for days, all because of him.
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Satoru tugs at the hem of Suguru's soaked shirt and pulls it slowly above his head, reveling in the breathtaking sight he's met with. He sighs contently, and grabs Suguru's hips, yanking and bringing him back to where he belongs. The renewed contact makes them both shiver.
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Suguru's hands roam and reach behind Satoru as his mouth explores his chest, fondling soft skin and firm muscle. He parts his cheeks and slides his finger over his pucker; he just lingers there teasingly, knowing all too well that Satoru is ready to welcome him anytime now.
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Satoru has just pleasured himself thinking about how it would feel to have him there, how it would feel to be filled up by Suguru.
Suguru has to quickly shake the thought off his mind to avoid a premature release. God, that would be so unflattering on their first time having sex.
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He chooses to continue his mouth’s southbound journey instead, kneeling down and licking a long stripe along Satoru’s length, swallowing and sucking on his head as Satoru gets a fistful of his hair, tugging lightly, holding on to it like a lifeline.
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Satoru moves his leg around Suguru's head, his calf resting on the expanse of his shoulder, head thrown back and mouth agape, gasping for air. Suguru can’t help but get back to Satoru’s pucker, breaching it with two fingers and hooking them gently as he starts sucking harder.
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Satoru’s orgasm hits him hard, whitening his vision for long seconds, the grip on Suguru’s hair and Suguru’s strong hands holding him up by the hips the only things preventing him from collapsing. He remembers how to breathe again, the buzz in his ears still deafening.
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Suguru rubs his lips with his thumb, traces of Satoru’s taste still lingering there, and straightens up to kiss him long and sweet, allowing Satoru to taste himself on his tongue. Their chemistry is dizzying and Satoru can’t help but crave for more and more of this.
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Feeling like he’s nearing his limit, Suguru lifts him, hooking one of his forearms under Satoru's knee to steady them against the damp wall.
Satoru reaches between them, dipping his hands past the waistband of Suguru's pants, lowering them just enough to free his raging erection.
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He holds it carefully, aligning it with himself, waiting for Suguru to push in and finally close the distance between their trembling bodies.
It's not rushed, it's not wild nor heated, it's measured and sweet, slow and savored.
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The moment Suguru bottoms out, he lets his head fall on Satoru's shoulder, overwhelmed by the feeling of completion they both experience.
They make love against that wall, sweet nothings whispered against heated skin, marking and molding their bodies onto each other’s shape.
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It doesn’t take long for Suguru to reach complexion, exhaustion from the long day and the long, sleepless nights getting the best of him.
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To top it all, his wildest fantasy is unraveling before his eyes; Satoru’s pretty face, scrunched up in pleasure, his tiny little gasps every time he pushes in deeper, his twitching heat swallowing him whole, sucking him in so perfectly, so eagerly.
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Suguru is just human, after all, and there’s just so much he can take before his orgasm hits him like a truck, leaving him breathless and quivering as he fills Satoru up after one final, erratic push.
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He deflates and hunches down on Satoru, kissing his chest as he comes down from his high. Satoru soothes him, his hand lost in his long, dark hair, smiling fondly against his skin, as they both regain their composure.
Suguru straightens up and kisses his lips once again.
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“I love you, you idiot,” he says, smirking.
“I love you too, you asshole,” he says back, unceremoniously punching his shoulder.
“Ow, what was that for?”
“You just came inside my ass without permission,” Satoru scolds, “It’s gonna take me another long shower to clean myself up.”
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Satoru waits for Suguru to finally snap at him.
In that moment, hot water stops running, and they barely manage to close the tap before they’re left there, cold and shivering.
“...who’s the asshole now?” Suguru raises a questioning eyebrow at Satoru.
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“Okay… I guess you’re not entirely wrong. I’m sorry Suguru, for not telling you earlier and for the cold showers altogether. You didn’t deserve them.” Satoru pecks his nose, and Suguru melts because he’s already down bad for him. So, so bad.
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“You’re forgiven, you little shit. Now let’s get out of here before we catch a cold. We’ll wait for the hot water together.” And with that, he grabs a towel and throws it over Satoru’s head, rubbing his hair gently before placing the towel over his shoulders.
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After stripping off his drenched clothes and just sitting there, holding Satoru to his chest, Suguru sighs contently. He finally thinks that sometimes, waiting for a hot shower can be the best thing that happened all day.