Chapter Text
For the second time in his life, Choso found himself standing outside of Gojo Satoru’s door; his fist hovering an inch off the wood. And unlike the last time this had happened, he didn’t have Yuuji at his side to bite the bullet and knock for them both.
So instead, Choso was stuck looking like a weirdo, standing in an empty school hall, outside of a door that had definitely seen better days and was almost oxymoronic when compared to the dazzling Omega it housed, trying to find the courage to face Satoru for the first time in almost ten days.
They hadn’t seen each other since the night of their date, which had quickly turned from one of the best nights in Choso’s life to one of the worst. How it was possible to experience something in a complete blur and yet be able to replay every moment in absolute crystal clear detail would always remain a mystery to Choso and yet, there was no other way to explain it.
To explain how he couldn’t remember things like how he’d gotten from the restaurant back to Satoru’s house, or what anyone had been saying when they got there, or where Megumi had been, or how Choso and Yuuji had gotten back home. And yet, how he was haunted by the finer details.
The warm feel of Satoru holding his hand between two of his own as they sat in a taxi; the feel of his heart beating into his throat, choking him; the muttered sound of fucks and one sec as keys scrapped against the door locks; the hallway light blinding him temporarily as the door finally swung open; seeing Yuuji sitting on the couch with his head drooped; the ache of his knees from collapsing onto the floor to wrap his arms around his brother; the feel of Satoru’s hand pressed against his shoulder; the feel of his brother’s cold nose burrowing into neck, right where his scent glands were; the limp feel of his brother’s body against his, even fully conscious; the weight of Yuuji as Choso lifted him into his arms; the tug of arms wrapping around his neck, squeezing; the two lines that formed between Satoru’s brows, and the downward tug of his mouth, as he watched Choso leave back out into the darkness.
To Choso, the memory of entering the Gojo home was as stark as entering an emergency room in the dead of night; lights too bright and crackling with tension as the world moved both too quickly and at a sluggish pace.
Of course, various snippets and things came back to Choso in the following hours after Yuuji had fallen asleep and Choso lay awake in bed, staring at his ceiling as if he could count the various flakes and bumps the popcorn texture created.
Through the staccato of his still tense heart, and the burning rush of acid his throat constantly fought off, Choso recalled Satoru stroking his thumb against Choso’s wrist, whispering that it’d all be fine . He remembered the quiet way Yuuji had looked at him when he’d burst through the front door, chest still heaving from the rush over – and that uncanny quiet was enough to break Choso’s heart for the umpteenth time, the way it always did when he worried about Yuuji.
Choso replayed his conversation with Shoko, how she’d watched Yuuji stagger and then collapse, how she’d checked him out, woken him up and discovered he hadn’t really eaten anything in the past few days. How she’d relayed that he wouldn’t need to go to the ER but that Choso should probably look into the root of the problem.
And in the quiet of his room, at 3 in the morning on the night of the best date of his life, Choso muffled his tears and sobs against his pillow as he realized that he’d been so distracted the past few days he hadn’t even realized his brother hadn’t been eating. That when he’d said he wasn’t hungry, or that he’d eaten a lot at lunch or at soccer try-outs, that he’d been lying. He cried so much his chest hurt in its attempt to keep up with the rapid rise and fall of his lungs, that his pillow grew completely wet under the assault of his tears, snot, and saliva, and even to his own ears, Choso sounded like a dying animal being put out for the slaughter.
Because he was awful: an awful brother, an awful date, an awful person. And sometimes, in moments like these, Choso really hated his life. Which was a hard thing to wrap his head around, because he loved his brother, and he loved his job, and he… well, didn’t love Satoru, but definitely was infatuated by him. And yet, the patterns and the responsibilities his daily life brought him, just weighed on his being. And alone in his room, eyes so swollen they could do nothing but shut, with his brother quietly sleeping in the other room, Choso couldn’t stop the squeeze of his heart that told him life shouldn’t be this difficult. That other people his age didn't have this stress burrowing holes into their resolve. And maybe it felt wrong, to feel jealous over the incredibly mundane things others take for granted, but here he was, and his mouth was rich with an acidy taste of jealousy and sadness.
So, it was really no surprise, or at least it shouldn’t have been, that Choso ignored every one of Satoru’s calls, texts, and messenger pigeons (and, okay, while he knew this last one definitely couldn’t have been Satoru, there had been a rather insistent pigeon tapping on his bedroom window just the other day).
Instead, Choso had spent the past 10 days trying to take care of Yuuji until the kid physically had to lock himself in his room to escape Choso’s efforts to get him to eat just one more peeled and cut apple. Because although Choso’s stomach ached each time he saw Satoru’s name pop up on his screen, he was a big brother first and foremost.
Which was why it had taken Choso 10 days to get here, outside of Satoru’s door, listening to the man muttering to himself as he picked up and shuffled various things in his office.
10 days since the incident.
8 days since Yuuji had gotten another appointment with Dr. Nanami.
2 days since Yuuji had started to act a little more like his usual self – even if it wasn’t 100% back to his normal.
10 hours since Yuuji had yelled at Choso that he was fine and to stop smothering him.
5 hours since Yuuji’d yelled at Choso again to stop smothering him.
30 minutes since Yuuji’d texted Choso to stop smothering him.
So here he was, not smothering, and instead trying to fix something that he hoped wasn’t broken yet. Because even through this nightmare and high-stress week – a week that would surely cause him some kind of future heart issues – Choso often found himself thinking back on that dazzling cocky smile, or the way those blue eyes would get caught on his own, or the feel of soft, greasy lips.
And despite the stress, and sorrow, and worry , Choso found himself feeling a new emotion that was entirely unique to the other Omega – yearning.
So here he was.
Here he was.
Trying to be a fucking adult, and own up to his desires. Trying to get what he wanted. Who he wanted.
His fist finally came down on the wood and the knock felt hollow, echoing in the cold, empty hallway.
“Yeah? Come in already, I’ve been watching your shadow hovering outside my door like some kind of psycho killer…” Satoru’s voice had trailed off when he looked up from where he’d been shuffling some papers, moving to pack them into a messenger bag, and seen Choso standing in the half-open doorway.
There were many things that Choso expected Satoru to say next.
Look at what the cat dragged in.
I thought you lost your phone.
Fuck you.
You’re a little tease, aren’t you?
Why are you here?
But what he didn’t expect was for the man in question to stand, circle the worn desk to lean against it, long body tense, arms crossed, and for him to simply say a soft, “Hey, how are you?”
Choso was frozen, half in half out of the doorway, suddenly overcome with a level of emotion that choked him. He couldn’t get any words out. The relief at the lack of rejection was indescribable. He’d been so sure this entire exchange would go differently, so much so that Choso had even been practicing a pretty lame apology speech the entire walk over in case he was met with an upset and cold Satoru.
But instead of poetry verses and sweet words, all that came out of Choso, as he stood with one hand still gripping the door knob, was wretched apologies spoken as a few tears trickled down his cheeks, “S–sorry, I’m sorry. Sorry.” The words tumbled out of him as if a broken record.
Through blurred eyes he saw Satoru’s own widen, a brief moment where the man seemed unsure what to do – eyes darting around the room, crossed arms slowly falling to his side – before he softly purred and reached out a hand toward Choso, “hey hey hey, um, come here. No need for all that.”
And what could Choso do but listen?
His sweaty palm slowly let go of the door handle, allowed it to shut with a click behind him, as he shuffled toward the desk in the center of the room. Once there, he mimicked the other man and leaned his hip against it, standing close enough to feel each other’s warmth.
Choso could feel his frown, or maybe it was a pout? Either way, all he knew was that his jaw was clenched tight enough to try and keep the hiccups at bay, all too aware of how warm and wet his cheeks felt.
“Enough of that,” Satoru soothed, running his slim and long fingers against Choso’s chin, cheeks, and eyelids. They quietly stayed like that, Choso watching Satoru from under his lashes, and Satoru trying to calm Choso.
After what felt like minutes, hours, seconds, Satoru offered a small smile “Well, clearly I don’t need to ask how you are,” and Choso let out a wet laugh, allowing a natural quiet to surround them. Satoru’s hand slipped into the other man’s hair, continuing his soft petting. “So, then I’ll ask, how is Yuuji? He hasn’t been in class this whole week, and not being able to see either of you really did my head in.”
“I know, I’m sorry.” Choso looked away.
“I didn’t say that to guilt you, stupid. I said it because I was worried.”
A hand caressed his temple and Choso leaned into it, almost like a cat seeking warmth in its rare moments of adoration.
“Yuuji is… good. Now, anyway.” He felt his throat bob, instead closing his eyes against the onslaught of emotion and pressing his nose into the wrist that rested nearby. “I had to – um – take him back to Dr Nanami, who said that Yuuji was having a bad reaction to his medication, and that we’d have to switch him over to a meth–metho?– methy lphenidate based medication like Concerta. He said it was normal to have mixed reactions but that I should keep an eye on him once we switch him over. And, fuck, I don’t know. I just…”
Guilt had been a small demon on his shoulder this past week. Oh, who was he kidding, guilt had been a constant and familiar companion – a weight on his body no different than a tumor he had grown comfortable with.
But this week, that guilt had eaten away at him, had worn him down and choked him.
And it was so exhausting that even now, even here, he felt it stealing his words away.
“You just…?”
Choso opened his eyes, and through thick lashes gazed into pretty blue, encircled by white as if encompassed by clouds.
And suddenly it was easier to breathe. To think. To be.
A different kind of weight took hold of him.
“I just feel so bad . All the signs were there. ” He threw out a hand in emphasis as if ‘there’ were some tangible thing, “And when Dr Nanami was listing all the symptoms like dizziness, fatigue, snappiness, aggravation, loss of appetite. All I could think was, yes, yes, yes, and yes. Like, how did I miss it? Am I fucking stupid? I c–call myself a guardian, a parent, Yuuji’s big brother, but I couldn’t even see when he was struggling.” The words tumbled out of his mouth in hushed whispers yet carried the same weight as shouts. “God, I’m awful. I’m awful. I’m awful–”
“Shut up.” The words were harsh but the tone wasn’t. Fingers gripped his chin to pull him closer, as Satoru lined up their gaze, holding their faces mere inches apart. “You’re not awful. Or maybe you are. But that’s okay. You can be both: awful and a great guardian. Thick in the head, and so incredibly smart. You can miss signs and still care. And you do. You're incredible and you're human. It’s easy to look back and think ‘why the fuck did I do that?’ because you already know what the outcome is but you’re not a fortune teller. Right?” And when Choso didn’t reply, Satoru used his grip on Choso’s jaw to move the other man’s head in a nod. “Exactly, so let me ask you this, how is Yuuji now ? He’s okay?”
“... yeah. Yeah. He’s still a little quiet, but he’s eating, and he’s smiling more.” Choso couldn’t help the soft, small smile that overtook him as he thought of eating dinner with his brother just yesterday, the two laughing over something stupid that had happened years ago.
“See? Everything worked out, and there’s nothing you could have done differently.”
“But–”
“No,” the intensity of those blue eyes was almost two much, and yet Choso was unable to look away, “Baby, there is no but. Don't be stupid." Satoru chided, "And even though you're way too anxious about the little things in life -"
"Tch."
"- you care so much about your brother. I thought about that the first moment you came into my office." A pause, the atmosphere of the room quieting."That it must be so nice to have someone care so fully about you that they even seem to become sick with worry - literally. So, since I don't have an antacid for you, let's just agree on this: Yuuji’s fine. He will be fine. And that's because of you, because you love and care about him so much. Yes?”
Stunned into stupidity, Choso was left with nothing but to dumbly nod his head “...yes. Yes.”
And then Satoru was leaning away, not quite distancing the two, but leaning back as if trying to understand a really complicated piece of modern art.
Even though Choso felt like a blank piece of canvas.
“So, now that we got that out of the way, on to the real question.” That cocky smile was back and Choso had to fight leaning right back into the other man’s space. And then, as if that cocky smile could grow any more wicked, Satoru dropped his voice to a whisper, “Why are you here? Miss me?”
And maybe it was the grip on his chin, or the sweet words Satoru had just told him (even if they were said in a kind of mean way) but Choso's eyes couldn't help but dart down to pink lips, slipping away from that blue gaze for just a moment. Falling back into whatever spell the two had been under that night 10 days ago.
Remembering what it had felt like to kiss soft, plump, greasy lips that tasted like the perfect hint of salt. Remembering what it had felt like to kiss that man’s intoxicating cocky smile. How sweet it would be to run his fingers through wild white locks.
And so the negation caught in his throat as his cheeks heated, because what could Choso say? Afterall, the reason he had come here was because he’d missed the other Omega, because he wanted – hoped, wished – to be on his good side.
On any side, really.
So instead of denying it, Choso steadied his gaze, “Yes, I missed you.”
“Oh yeah? So what was your plan? Seduce me? Bring a dozen roses? Stomp in here, swipe all my things off the desk and toss me onto it?”
And just like that, with only a few words, the atmosphere of the room changed entirely. Choso couldn’t help the way his eyes darted to the very desk they were leaning on, mind busy creating scenarios of Satoru laid out across it – panting, whining, naked .
His eyes returned to look at the other man, and despite how pathetic he probably looks – red-tinged eyes, tear-streaked cheeks, flushed skin – his mouth still formed an annoyed shape, “ Tch , as if I’d come up with such an immature plan. I’d just been planning to talk.”
“Talk?” Somehow the two of them had gravitated toward each other – unsure of who made the first move – but now only an inch apart so that their clothes grazed.
“Yeah, talk. You know, chit chat. Prattle. Yap–” Choso was forced to pause mid sarcastic rant by a pair of soft, almost-strawberry-scented lips pressing into the corner of his own.
“Yap?” Satoru teased, his breath brushing over Choso’s cheek.
Choso could only hum back, each additional word punctuated by a soft kiss to his lips, cheeks, chin, “Mmhmm, yap.” Kiss. “Gab.” Kiss. “Jaw.” Kiss. “Gossip.” Kiss. “Kiss.” Kiss. And as Choso's mind completely melted into putty, he forgot what he’d even been saying and turned his head to meet Satoru’s peppering kisses head on.
Their lips slotted together, and someone moaned at the touch. It could have been Choso, given by the way his chest vibrated, but considering he was pressed into Satoru, he couldn’t be sure.
The two clung to each other, exchanging soft, passionate, closed mouth kisses as if they’d been drowning.
And as he’d been wanting – dreaming – Choso lifted his hands to dip into that white hair, completely entangling his fingers. And in return, Satoru wrapped his arms around Choso’s waist, blindly directing them around the room, pushing them up against the desk until it squeaked and creaked as it forcefully moved from the space it had probably occupied for decades.
The kiss was hot. That’s all Choso could think. As he was lifted onto the desk. As a slim thigh was pressed between his. As a tongue teased his lips.
As that closed mouth kiss became something deeper.
The sound of their panting breaths was so loud and yet Choso couldn’t focus on anything else but this: his hands clutching Satoru’s hair, holding him close so that their faces were pressed together; the drag of lips and tongues and teeth clacking and tasting each other, all the more intense.
And god, this was so much better than their first date. Where that kiss had been heated with newness and nerves, this one was nothing but pure want and desire – evident by how wet already Choso was.
How needy he was.
How Satoru’s hand was gripping his thigh, near his hip, thumb hovering oh-so close.
Was he moaning? Maybe he was moaning. He couldn’t find it in himself to care when Satoru tasted so sweet and so warm.
The hand on his thigh tightened, and then mouths were being wetly wrenched apart, “Wait, wait, wait. Stop, we can’t do this here.”
“What?” Choso felt dazed, his brain not all together working. Instead, almost completely focused on the rapid rise and fall of his own chest.
“Well, that’s what you’re supposed to say,” Satoru whined, dropping his head into the crook of Choso’s shoulder. “I thought you were the responsible one.”
“What?” Maybe his brain was broken. Why had they stopped again? He was so wet it almost hurt.
If he got up now he was sure there’d be a trace of him on the wood beneath him.
“No, you’re right. We can’t do this here.” Satoru pulled away and pressed their foreheads together, eyes closed as Choso watched him.
“When did I say that?” Had Choso said that? No. He wouldn’t.
“I have a better idea,” And like that Satoru was standing up with a smile on his face, as if this idea were beyond brilliant. And, to be honest, Choso was starting to feel like he was suffering through whiplash. A feeling he was starting to realize was synonymous with being in Gojo Satoru’s presence. “I was heading back to my house before you burst in here and tried to deflower me–”
“When did I–”
“So, why don’t you come back home with me?”
A pause.
There was something left unsaid, but it was clear as day. What going back to Satoru’s meant. What would happen.
Satoru’s cheeks were still a little pink, and somehow it made him all the prettier.
“What about the kids?” Choso managed to choke out.
“They have tutoring and soccer until 6. We have 2 hours.”
“2 hours?”
“I know ,” Satoru stood up properly and pulled Choso up with him. He ignored his discarded messenger bag and pulled Choso toward the door. And just as Satoru laid his hand on the doorknob he turned back with that confident smile and purred, “It’s not nearly enough time.”
***
In probably the most cliche way possible, like something taken from a scene depicting lovers reunited after a war, Satoru and Choso began kissing in blind passion the moment they stepped through the front door.
Uncaring to even turn on the lights in the dark space. Uncaring to even open their eyes as they kissed and walked and fumbled through a home that Choso was just as unfamiliar with as Satoru was familiar.
Clothes were tossed, counters were bumped into, profanities slipped between wet lips, and doors were pushed open with the weight of two tangled bodies.
Choso hadn’t even realized they'd finally made it into Satoru’s bedroom until the back of his calves hit the bed frame and the two fell over in a tangle. They landed with a thump as the bed creaked under their weight, and only then did they take a breath from each other, as if awoken from a daze.
Their chests met with each deep panted inhale, before receding into their own person with each quivering exhale.
Satoru peppered kisses across the corner of Choso’s lips, who twisted to capture them firmly against his own. Their kiss opened and turned lazy, wet, profane, as they took a moment to memorize the landscape of the other’s teeth, tongue, mouth, lips.
And Choso was so wet. Had been so wet. He could feel his own pussy lips sliding against themselves – frictionless. And, god, he needed to touch, be touched. Anything . His hands dug into Satoru’s back, drawing the other man closer, slotting their bodies together so that when Choso finally rutted up in horny desperation, he was met with the other man’s slim thigh.
Choso broke the kiss with a moan. Moving to mouth at Satoru’s jaw and down his neck, all while Satoru – who was hovering above him – pressed his thigh further into Choso’s wet pussy.
“Fuck, fuck .” He groaned, sucking at the throat beneath his lips, “I want to smell you so bad, Satoru. Take these fucking things off.” And like a mad man, Choso was already there, already pulling that patch off as Satoru did the same to him. And fuck . Was it possible to come from scent alone?
Sugary marshmallows and sweet flowers perfumed the air, and Choso immediately lapped at the spot of their origin. Sucking on the skin as if he could suck Satoru’s pheromones like marrow off a bone. And he didn’t care that he could feel the jagged texture of Satoru’s mating bite, no. All that he cared about was the way Satoru collapsed against him and let out a breathy little moan when Choso ran his teeth over that very bite.
“You smell so fucking good, Satoru.” And maybe later he’d be embarrassed about how desperate and breathy his voice sounded, or how he was basically humping Satoru’s leg, but how could he be when Satoru moaned back? When Satoru rutted his own hips into the thick thigh between his?
Choso really couldn’t fucking care about anything but the scent of sweet florals causing him to feel absolutely drunk.
“Yeah? You like how I smell, Choso?” And somehow the other man’s voice still held its teasing edge, despite it all, and god if that didn’t make Choso cream his underwear just a little bit more. “Well, we don’t really have time to just smell,” and one cocky smile later, Satoru was rising up on his knees, leaving Choso to straighten up on his elbows.
Satoru unbuttoned his shirt and unbuckled his pants, tossing them to the side. Barely giving Choso a moment to look – to take in the full expanse of creamy white skin sprinkled with pinkish stretch marks, pert nipples, and white cotton panties – before he was moving to rid Choso of his own clothes. But unlike Satoru’s own quick and sultry movements, in which he teasingly shook his hips as he’d shuffled out of his pants, the man actually slowed down with Choso.
He unbuckled Choso’s black jeans, unzipped them, and pulled them off as if they had all the time in the world.
As if time weren’t a construct they abided by, Satoru sat back on his heels and tossed Choso’s jeans to the side. Slowly pulled each sock off his foot, delivering a soft kiss to each ankle, before placing the foot down flat on the bed so that by the time Satoru was crawling back up, Choso’s legs were entirely bent and open to him.
Choso watched, half risen on his elbows. Heart racing and pussy clenching around nothing as he watched a white head kiss his inner knee, another right at the inseam of his boyshorts underwear, skipping over his pussy entirely to lay gentle kisses to each hip bone.
Choso tried not to whine at how needy he felt. Because he was leaking in anticipation, forced to watch as Satoru maintained a certain level of distance, kissing hips and thighs, but never cotton clad warmth.
He pathetically rutted into the air, met only with the sound of Satoru’s breathless chuckle.
And then, as if a sadist of his own making, Satoru caressed Choso with one finger, over the cotton, “You’re not a virgin, right?”
Choso’s brain felt broken, trying to focus on the question even as Satoru teased the seam of his underwear with his thumb.
That thumb moved back and forth under cotton.
“Does it make a difference?” Choso choked out.
That thumb got closer and closer and Choso’s legs widened just a bit. Satoru simply shrugged, “Eh, no, not really.”
“No, I’m n–” The words stuttered into a muffled moan as that cursed thumb finally dipped into Choso’s wetness. It was nothing, and yet it was so much – like a man in a dessert being offered three droplets of water.
It hooked, pulled Choso open in a way that felt obscene and then, let go.
When the thumb pulled away, Choso tried not to whine at the loss – or worse, curse Satoru out for teasing him – but the other man simply nodded, almost to himself, before muttering, “good,” and then his mouth was on Choso.
Satoru sucked and tongued at the cotton of the underwear as if he were trying to taste every last drop of Choso’s slick, unwilling to share.
And it was…
Fuck .
The rough texture of the cotton, the teasing heat of Satoru’s mouth, not quite touching him and yet there .
“God, baby, you’re so wet . Were you this wet at my office too?” Satoru teased, sucking deeply on the cotton as his hands rubbed at Choso’s thighs.
“A–as if y–you’re not fucking soaked, Satoru.” The words were broken by moans and the rutting of his hips.
“I never said I wasn’t,” and with that, Satoru came off him with one last press of his tongue, dragging Choso’s underwear off, leaving him completely bare to the cool air of the room.
He felt hotter, wetter suddenly, with his legs spread open and his pussy exposed. Pink flesh hidden by dark groomed curls alone.
And Satoru only made it worse.
Running his hands up Choso’s muscular legs, hooking a thigh over his shoulder and pressing his hand into Choso’s abdomen. The other hand held his thighs so that he was an open and willing meal waiting to be devoured.
Choso watched as Satoru’s gaze stayed devoted to the wetness in front of him. Felt the puff of air hit his skin. And then, as if unable to wait any longer, Satoru murmured a profanity that was lost entirely in the folds he dove into.
Falling flat on his back, Choso moaned as Satoru ran the flat of his tongue up his center. He ate pussy as if it were a twenty course meal, slowly licking and sucking at Choso’s lips. Dipping his tongue into the wet hole as if it were a pond of fresh water. Working his nose into soaking wet curls, as if he didn't need to breathe. Moaning when he felt Choso clench around his tongue.
It was so good. So good. His thighs shook and hands gripped at the sheets and Satoru held him still, leaving him entirely at his mercy.
So good.
He swore his lips were bleeding under the pressure of trying not to moan like an absolute whore. But when Satoru used two fingers to spread his pussy open, exposing the clit, and diving in to suck on it, all care went out the window.
“Fu–uck, Satoru, good, it’s s–so good.” A hand came down to grab onto white hair, fisting the locks to hold him still as Choso rutted up against the tongue and fingers that teased him.
Against the finger that slowly teased before pushing into his entrance, dragging deliciously in and out. Practically gliding through slick.
Because, oh . It’d been so fucking long since someone had touched Choso other than himself. In fact it had only ever been one other person. When he was 17 and tired of being held responsible for things outside of his control. It had been quick, in the back of the other person’s car, and Choso had felt disgustingly underwhelmed afterwards. Wondering why anyone bothered going out of their way when their own hand and a vibrator did the job just as well.
Well.
Now he had an answer because when Satoru looked up at Choso with blown pupils, the slick on his lips, cheeks and chin paired with the dazed out look in his eyes as he licked them clean, Choso whimpered just as his heart swelled.
It felt so, so good.
It felt like too much.
His thighs trembled and he was fisting Satoru’s hair so much it must’ve hurt but the other man was simply pumping and dragging those deliciously slim fingers in and out.
Choso subconsciously lifted his hips to meet each movement as he got closer. His body moving of its own will, entirely focused on chasing his orgasm.
And he was so self conscious of how wet everything sounded, how he moaned unrestrained. The sound of Satoru’s breathless words, “You’re so fucking wet. Do you get like this for everyone, or just me?” And as his thumb started circling Choso’s clit, “I bet it’s just me. You should feel how you’re sucking on my fingers.”
And as if his body could no longer take it, Choso’s thighs clenched around the head between them and his back bowed off the bed as he let loose a cry and came, pussy milking Satoru’s fingers like it was desperate to be bred.
He felt blind for a moment, and then everything crashed right back down.
Dazed, legs falling open and jelly like, Choso watched through half mast eyes as Satoru crawled up his body, cupping his face with wet, pruney fingers and kissing him so deeply that Choso could taste his own musk on the other man’s tongue.
Sweet. Heady. Like rich cologne.
The kiss was lazy, and Choso’s face was wet and sticky with his own come but he couldn’t care, not when Satoru’s hands were slowly petting and trailing across his body as if he were something special.
“You’re not quitting on me are you? We still have an hour left.” Satoru raised a hand and cautiously wiped the wetness from their faces, before diving in again for a kiss.
Drunk on his own orgasm, all Choso could do was nod. He wasn’t even sure what to, but yes.
More.
Again.
Anything.
“You get a little stupid when you come, don’t you?” Satoru teased as he sat back and took off his pants, looking at Choso sprawled out on the bed, knees still bent and open.
But Choso wasn’t annoyed at the jab, because he was too busy finally taking in Satoru’s body. Everything had been so rushed before, but now, drunk and slow from their first orgasm of the day, Choso looked.
There was the obvious: the lithe frame, white hair, cocky smile, blue eyes.
And then there were the more intimate details, the details only a lover would know: the small pouch of his stomach; the freckles on his skin; the pertness of his nipples, permanently larger from months of breastfeeding; the small slices of stretch marks littering across the bottom of his stomach; the wet shine of his naked pussy.
Choso’s mouth watered. How sweet would Satoru taste? Would it be like the sweet sugar of his pheromones? How wet was he? Would fingers slide in effortlessly?
But Satoru was already crawling toward him and Choso’s skin lit with anticipation. He ached, was tired, and his pussy still pulsed occasionally with the aftermath of orgasm, and yet, he wanted more.
“You ever try scissoring?” Satoru’s leering face looked down at Choso as he threw one leg over the other man’s hip, while tucking his other leg under Choso’s thigh, slotting them together like a jigsaw puzzle – their pussies just barely hovering over each other.
Choso’s mind conjured up an image of two slobbering dogs as the position offered him a clear view of their two soaked pussies. One bare, and the other covered wild curls.
Choso shook his head.
“Oh, you’re gonna love this,” and with that, Satoru lowered himself down until they were completely lined up.
Choso threw his head back and let out a dirty moan that only grew as Satoru began rocking his hips.
It felt like the air had been punched out of him, the feeling was so wet and hot and good and fuck Choso was far too sensitive for this.
His clit felt like a red hot bundle of nerves and he couldn’t tell if the feeling of Satoru sliding them together was resulting in pleasure or pain.
It hurt.
It ached.
He felt like crying at the overstimulation.
And everything sounded so wet . It echoed through the space, mingling with the sound of whimpering moans, harsh breaths, and the light squeaking of the bed.
“Satoru, it’s too much – ah. Fuck. Please. Please, please, pleasepleaseplease,” he didn’t even know what he was begging for. To stop. To never stop. To breathe because it was getting hard to do so.
His hands came down on Satoru’s thighs and gripped them – hard . Feeling the muscles bunch under his grip.
And despite how much it hurt – enough that his eyes pricked with tears – when Satoru paused to lean over the bed, Choso hands flew to his waist and tried to pull him back down.
“Just wait a second, I have an idea,” Satoru laughed, reaching into his bedside drawer.
And Choso was confused, until he wasn’t.
Until Satoru pulled out a vibrator, one of those classic-looking ones with a circular head, and turned it on with a thrum just as he returned to his original spot on Choso.
He knew where this was going, and yet he still jolted with a shout when Satoru placed the vibrator between their two clits – sandwiched – as he started up moving again.
And this time Choso really did feel the tears escape his eyes, the vibration against his clit just that side of too much.
But how could he stop when Satoru had his head tossed back and was mewling and moaning words about how good it felt. “Yes, fuck yes, baby. A–ah. Open your legs up more. Y–yes. It’s s–so good.”
He hadn’t realized how vocal Satoru was – could be. And now that he knew, it only turned him on more.
“God, you’re so pretty, Satoru. You’re so – ah – pretty. You feel l–like a dre–eam.” Satoru moaned at that, picking up the pace of his hip, pressing down so the vibrator was grinding against Choso’s clit in a mind numbing way.
He didn’t want to come, not yet.
Not yet.
He wanted to see Satoru come first. He needed to know what his beautiful Omega looked like. Because now, above him, with eyes closed and hips chasing orgasm, legs trembling under the pressure, a flush overtaking his chest and cheeks, he was so fucking gorgeous it physically hurt Choso to look.
But he wasn’t so lucky, because his orgasm overtook him just a few seconds before Satoru, the two crying out and falling into each other in a sweaty jelly lump. Choso was only forced to move because Satoru had left the vibrator on and going between their legs and the sensation was much closer to pain now.
The two lay breathing against each other in the deafening silence of the now quiet room. The delicious feeling of their orgasm overtaking their bodies, heartbeat pulsing throughout.
Gone were the moaning, vibrating, creaking and wet sounds that had filled the space only moments ago. Now it was just their breathing, and the sensation of Satoru’s head resting on his chest as Choso’s arms wrapped around him.
The situation between their legs and thighs was messy, and sticky, and so wet Choso couldn’t be sure that one of them hadn’t squirted.
But it was nice, being content like that, together. Comfortable. Choso wasn’t really sure the last time he’d felt so at peace and relaxed – especially given the stress of the past few weeks. But here, with Satoru’s sticky and warm skin pressed against his own, coming down from two incredible orgasms, it was just so… nice. And the purr that both Omegas were letting out was only further proof of their satisfaction.
Satoru, sweet-scented pheromones perfuming the air, was dancing his fingers over Choso’s pec, causing the skin to goosebump. His head resting on the other pec, completely at ease. “You know I love your chest, and how… muscular you are. How do you even find time to go to the gym?” Satoru squeezed said chest, and Choso could feel the curve of the man’s smile against his skin.
He squeezed Satoru closer, until the man let out a little squeak.
“Not all of us can be built like a #2 pencil.” Satoru slapped his chest but they both laughed in their sex drunk daze. “So… I’m assuming that wasn’t your first time with an Omega?” Choso tried to sound nonchalant about it, toying with white hair, curling it around his finger.
Satoru let out a faux huff of offense, “Are you questioning my virtue after you so crudely took my virginity?” Choso just rolled his eyes and allowed the silence of the room to do all the talking for him. In the end, Satoru just laughed at his own joke before offering the real answer, “Nah, it wasn’t. I was always… interested, but it was until after Suguru died that I actually tried it. And even then, there haven't been many because, well, Megumi and all.” Satoru flipped to rest his chin in his hands on Choso’s chest, looking directly at him, “Pretty Omega like you, I bet you have a few Alpha horror story dates you could share. You said this wasn’t your first time, right? Or did you lie, you sneaky boy.” He punctuated his question with a poke to Choso’s ribs, causing the other man to twist his body.
“No, I didn’t lie. But I don’t have any ‘Alpha’ stories. Just one Omega story. But it’s not really worth telling. It was just a moment of bad decision making.” He kept caressing Satoru’s hair as he spoke, the other man leaning into it. “But, I’ve always known. I mean, I honestly don’t know how you did it. Alpha are just…” The face Choso made was obvious enough to portray his feeling toward the ‘stronger’ sex.
A thoughtful hum, “Yeah, but he was my best friend. It was different. It wasn’t good, but it was safe. You know?” Satoru traced invisible drawings on Choso’s skin with his finger, eyes glued to the movement as he spoke.
And maybe Choso felt bad. A little. Okay, a lot. Because he was an idiot for asking. Of course Satoru hadn’t had much of a choice, his family was beyond traditional and he’d told Choso about how he’d been stuck between a stranger, or a friend – a same sex relationship had never been on the table for him when he was young and dependent on his family.
So instead, Choso cupped Satoru’s cheek and dragged him up for a soft, sweet kiss. “I know what you mean.” Another kiss. And another. Satoru melted completely in his arms, straddling his hips and the feeling of wetness pressed against his navel, stirred something in him again.
“Satoru,” Choso whispered between kisses, hands dragging down to hold slim hips, “Do we have time?”
“Eh.” Spoken as a kiss pressed to Choso’s scent gland.
“Eh?”
“I’m sure we do.” A twirl of the tongue.
“Okay, then,” Choso firmed his hold on the hips in his hands and tugged, “Sit on my face.”
A pause, Satoru pulled away from where he’d been mauling Choso’s neck – something that was sure to leave marks – and looked down at the other man below him, a smile curling on his lips, “Yeah?”
“Yeah, I still owe you one.” Satoru didn’t need to be told twice, nor was he one to get into the logistics of arguing over the scoreboard of orgasms. He quickly crawled up, tucking his beautifully long legs under Choso’s shoulders. In return, Choso wrapped his hands around the other man’s hips holding him steady – fingers digging into the meat of his ass.
And here, looking straight up at the other man’s cunt, Choso’s mouth watered. The soft white curls, the glistening wet lips, the deep pink shade of arousal. “God, you’re so fucking wet, Satoru.” The breath punched out of him, and Choso couldn’t wait any longer, tugging Satoru down until mouth warmly settled in the other man’s pussy.
Fuck .
It was wet and rich like eating a ripe peach warmed under the summer sun, the skin giving away and the juices running down your chin and over your fingers. Leaving you in desperate need of a napkin.
And Choso ate . His tongue and teeth ravaged the petal soft flesh, hunting for warm crevices to taste. Fucking into him with his tongue, allowing slick to pour down his throat like warm honey.
Pressing his own legs together at the sound of Satoru moaning above him. “R–right there. Yes, yes, yesyes. Baby, that’s so good.”
Satoru ground down on his face and nose, and Choso’s own finger dug deeply into the soft flesh above him.
Muscles pulsed around his tongue, trying to keep it in place.
Why hadn’t he been doing this all his life? Satoru was just as sweet as he’d expected and if he died here, his only regret would be leaving Yuuji alone.
He was so out of it, they both were, that the alarm trilled for a full minute before either party noticed it.
Why the fuck was there a phone alarm right now?
Satoru slowed his grinding, lifting his hips only slightly to allow Choso room to speak. A string of slick kept Choso and Satoru’s pussy connected, and it was a heady feeling to see. He suddenly had the urge to throw the phone out the window and fuck Satoru into the mattress until he was a whimpering mess.
“T–that was the alarm to get the kids.”
“Now?” And he couldn’t help himself from darting up and sucking into the pussy above him one more time, resulting in a gasp from Satoru. If they had to end this now, then Choso needed to get as much as he possibly could.
“Fif– god –fifteen minutes.”
“So, we have 10?”
“Yeah?”
“I can work with that.” And with that, Choso yanked Satoru back onto his mouth. They had some time, afterall.
***
~3 Month Later~
The sun beat down on them so strongly that Choso could feel his skin tightening and warming under the rays. Even behind his sunglasses he was squinting out at the pitch in front of him, trying to track the boy with a 17 on his shirt.
Twenty-two kids ran across the grass field, half in a red uniform, the other half in orange, and while every now and then a kid would forget they were even in a game or a ‘fight’ would break out, Choso still tried to treat it as if it were the FIFA world cup, because if you’d asked Megumi and Yuuji, that’s what they’d say.
In the last month alone, the two boys had been going to school early every day to practice their various “cool soccer moves.” And maybe in the past Choso would have been annoyed to have been dragged out of bed a whole hour earlier than necessary, but honestly, he was just so happy to see Yuuji back to his normal golden retriever self.
With Dr. Nanami’s help, they’d switched over to a medication that worked for Yuuji, with minimal side effects, which meant he was back to constantly laughing and chattering Choso’s ear off.
Honestly, he wondered how the two of them were related sometimes.
So here he was, at 3pm on a Saturday, watching his brother dart across the field in the junior tournament final. Applauding when he made a goal, shouting when he was tripped, but otherwise just passively watching.
His boyfriend on the other hand was fully treating Megumi like he was Messi in a multi-million dollar stadium.
“Let’s go, Megumiiiiiiii! Kick their butts!” Satoru was bouncing on his feet, pumping his fist, and filming with a camcorder in his other hand.
And just like every other time Megumi had competed in a game, when they go back home afterwards, Satoru was sure to make them all sit down and watch the videos he took so that he could tell Megumi exactly which parts he’d cheered for the hardest – as if Megumi couldn’t hear him from the pitch.
Choso grasped the other man’s elbow and pulled him back down onto the bleacher, slinging an arm around his shoulder, “Babe, you’re embarrassing him.”
He pressed a kiss into Satoru’s cheek, feeling the smiling muscles flare under his lips. Satoru twisted and blinded Choso with that very smile, “Nah, he secretly loves it. Plus, what good is a mother if not to embarrass their child.” Satoru offered Choso a quick kiss before he was back on his feet, screaming his head off and chanting some cheer he made up – poorly rhyming Megumi and star-y.
Choso just smiled up at the man he’d been lucky enough to fall completely in love with the past few months. And despite the number of headaches it’s caused him, he’s never been happier.