Chapter Text
Jaws
After that night in the post office, there’s really nothing stopping them from f*cking like rabbits every chance they get.
Suguru becomes very familiar with the inside of storage closets, the food pantry, and the bed of Satoru’s truck. It’s quick and dirty most of the time because they have so much sh*t to do with the crop yield as high as it is and more survivors streaming into the community every day, but Satoru has this way of saying very little about what they’re doing with each other while also somehow being the most romantic and territorial man he’s ever met.
There’s always a hand on his thigh beneath the council table, Satoru feeling him up while Nanami’s lone eye twitches, or a finger hooked through his belt loop, keeping them close together as they walk the perimeter of the compound. He just has no sense of personal space; he kisses him in every hall that’s empty, and hugs him around the neck and nuzzles into his hair even when it isn’t.
But they don’t talk about it, they just take time when they’re able.
They can only spend a few nights a month away from the school because Suguru doesn’t like to leave the girls alone for too long and Satoru still has a job to do, despite his eagerness to skive off his more menial duties in favor of bending Suguru over the nearest surface. Yet, with all the time they’ve spent together, all the time Satoru has spent inside of him, they’ve never actually spent a night together within the community’s walls.
They’ve f*cked in Satoru’s bed until the sheets pulled up from the corners of the mattress, f*cked against the shower wall until the tile imprinted on Suguru’s cheek, f*cked on the floor when they couldn’t make it to the bed or the desk or the lumpy sofa, Satoru having done something so hot and reckless Suguru can’t wait a second longer, jumping him and pulling at his clothes the moment the door closes. But each time night falls Suguru feels compelled to return to his own dorm, leaving behind a naked and pouty Satoru, his eyes following him as he goes, making up some lame excuse when the girls quiz him about where he’s been before showing him what they’d bought with their work credits or telling him about a trick they’d taught Megumi’s dog.
He’s not at all ashamed—far from it, actually. It’s not like he wants to keep Satoru a secret, either. It’s just that… telling the girls, telling Satoru’s kids, that makes it real, and there were very few real things left in the new world. Someone always dies, that’s the way of it, and Satoru is always, always in danger.
Despite his co*cky attitude, fearless demeanor, and how he seems to dodge death like it’s a superpower, he’s not invincible. Everyone wants to kill him, wants to take what he’s created for themselves. The community is loyal to him and to each other, which is what makes them so much stronger than the other neighboring factions. Survivors come to Satoru in groups, begging to be let in, like he’s their savior. He welcomes them all with open arms, so there are many new mouths to feed, but doublet he hands to do the work. Those other communities are steadily losing soldiers, hunters, farmers, and though Satoru and the council posit trade agreements and offer protection patrols, most leaders turn up their noses, preferring to go it alone, or preferring a world thrown into chaos. Unrest spreads as people begin to realize it’s only a matter of time before their home is put to the test because someone comes looking for the people they’ve lost, or the bandits that keep growing in numbers the more resources dwindle finally discover where the survivors they rob on the road are heading off to.
Satoru, who never backs down from a fight, who is always daring someone to try him, will face his enemies head on if they come and go down in flames before he lets any of them destroy what he’s built. Suguru is often anxious; the girls and Satoru’s kids, Satoru, they’re all he has in the world. Losing them will probably gut him, but he doesn’t express his worries to anyone, least of all Satoru, just becoming more and more on edge each time Satoru leaves the compound on his own. All he can do is wait for him to come home because Suguru isn’t the only one who needs him, and even if he wants to throw his arms around him in front of everyone when he returns, he saves it for when they’re in private.
It’s better that way, keeping it between the two of them.
Though, it’s getting harder and harder for Suguru to pretend he isn’t hopelessly in love with him, especially when he enters the loading bay that morning and finds Satoru straddling his motorbike, tinkering away.
Nanami abruptly stops what he’s going and gets up to leave the second Suguru walks in, taking the others along with him, and maybe they haven’t been as covert as they thought because they all exchange loaded glances and giggle like schoolchildren before ducking out and leaving them alone.
“Jack of all trades, I see,” Suguru comments, coming up beside him.
Satoru really was good at everything, and when he wasn’t he learned at the speed of light until he became an expert. His head snaps up, his face immediately lighting up with a smile. There’s a smear of oil across his cheek, and his white hair is a mess because he has the bad of pulling his hand through it when he’s concentrating. A black skin-tight athletic quarter zip replaces his usual t-shirt, his biceps flexing lightly through the thin material as he drops a small wrench back into the toolbox, and Suguru’s trains of thought are never safe when Satoru’s arms are within sight.
“Hey, baby,” Satoru greets, wiping his hands on his pants before swinging his legs over the side of the bike to face him. He leans in to kiss him, big palms framing his face, long fingers wrapping around the back of his head, nails scratching soothing along his scalp, only pulling away when Suguru regretfully needs to breathe. Satoru always kisses thoroughly, like it’s a job and he’s the only one that can do it right.
“What’s wrong with it?” Suguru asks, gesturing at the bike as Satoru reclines against it, kicking his legs out.
“Nothing, it just needed a tune up and an oil change before I headed over to Kyoto.”
Suguru’s brows pinch. “Kyoto?”
It’s a small community, led by a woman who rivaled Nanami in her inherent hatred of Satoru, who also snuck onto the grounds occasionally to drink up all the good sh*t and hook up with Shoko. Utahime was one of the few leaders who could set aside differences and embrace Satoru’s offers of peace, but it was usually Nanami or Yuta who were in charge of supply routes and trade deals. Satoru rarely went that way, only when he was feeling feisty and wanted to pick at Utahime, which meant something bad must have happened.
“Yup. Got word this morning that there was an attack. I’m going up to check out the damage, see if there’s anything I can do to help figure out what happened. Utahime was very tightlipped over the radio because she doesn’t want anyone to panic.”
“So you’re going alone?” Suguru is frowning now. When Satoru brings out the bike, he intends to go fast, and f*ck anyone who got in his way.
Satoru tilts his head, smirking. “You’re cute when you worry,” he says, reaching out to pull Suguru against him by his belt buckle, situating him between his spread knees, running his hands up and down the backs of his thighs and leaning his chin against Suguru’s abdomen to gaze up at him. His eyes grow hooded and dreamy as he undoubtedly starts thinking of clever ways to get Suguru beneath him.
Suguru refuses to be charmed. “I’m coming with you,” he says.
Satoru just shakes his head. “Not a chance. I need you here. When word spreads about Kyoto, the people are going to be scared, and you know what happens when people get scared nowadays. They’ll feel better with you around. Just use your motherly energy to make sure nobody kills anybody or goes off half-co*cked.” He squeezes his thighs then, never missing a chance to cop a feel.
Motherly energy. He was such a dick.
Satoru just smiles cheekily as Suguru glares down at him. “It’ll be easy. Nanami and his team will help you through the brunt of the day-to-day work, and I’ll be back before you know it.”
Suguru sighs unhappily, running his palms over Satoru’s broad shoulders. “I don’t like it.”
“Well, it’s happening. So why don’t you show me how much you’ll miss me instead of being a nag?”
He leans back, undoing his belt buckle and unzipping his pants, pulling them down a little to comfortably take his co*ck out. He really was shameless, doing this in the middle of the loading bay. Thankfully Nanami had left, otherwise he would have gouged out his remaining eye. He strokes himself, once, twice, stares at Suguru expectantly, like he’s supposed to just drop to his knees whenever Satoru wants, giving him head as he sits on a motorcycle throne like a king.
Ah, well. What else is there to do when he’s looking at Suguru like that?
“Men are usually nicer about it when they’re asking me to suck them off,” Suguru muses, smiling despite himself. Satoru was such a dude about some things.
Satoru’s eyes narrow at that. “You don’t know any other men,” he says with a scoff. “None like me, at least.”
Suguru laughs, and then Satoru pushes him to his knees, stroking a finger up the center of his throat and under his jaw, coaxing his mouth open. He’s already hard, just the thought of Suguru’s lips around him enough to get him going. He really is so easy, gets turned on when Suguru does nothing more than glance at him.
Not for the first time, as he spits into his palm and reaches out to wrap his hand around Satoru to feel his girth, feel how he throbs and pulses when Suguru touches him, he wishes they could just do this all the time. He wonders what it would have been like if they’d met in the old world. He thinks, somehow, they still would have ended up like this.
Satoru pulls the tie from his hair, winding it around and around his palm as Suguru leans up to nuzzle and lick along his length and take him into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks and tasting hot clean skin. He’s too big to swallow all the way down, even sans gag reflex, so he keeps pumping him at the base as he sucks, slow and lazy so that it lasts longer.
Satoru lets it be like that for a good while, tilting his head back, exposing his long pale neck and his scar, using his grip on Suguru’s hair to propel him up and down his co*ck. He moves him faster and faster as he grows restless, his shaky breaths and sexy little moans deepening, his hips rolling and then stuttering when Suguru lightly scrapes his teeth across his shaft, his tongue trailing a thick vein. His jaw aches, his co*ck is so hard it hurts, and there’s drool gathering at the corners of his mouth, but he doesn’t pull away, just lets Satoru hammer his throat until he’s holding onto his legs for dear life.
Satoru’s hand tightens in his hair as he finishes down his throat with a broken sigh, stays thrusting into his mouth until there’s nothing left. Then he leaves him with a pop and Suguru tips his head back, showing him what’s on his tongue before he swallows.
Satoru, wearing a dopey smile, just yanks him up to kiss him, his tongue sliding into his mouth without a care as he tastes the remnants of himself.
Suguru is straining painfully against his pants, and Satoru reaches down to slowly rub his palm up and down his length through the fabric, making his co*ck twitch.
“You better not touch yourself while I’m gone,” he says, fixing his pants and ignoring Suguru’s look of alarm. He can’t possibly be considering leaving him like this? “I’ll take care of you when I get back,” he reassures him, pushing Suguru’s bangs behind his ear, his fingers trailing lightly over his cheek before he kisses him once more, slow and deep.
Then he’s back up, taking the bike off its kickstand as Suguru’s shoulders drop unhappily and he adjusts himself slightly before standing.
“You’ll look after Miki and Megumi, right?” Satoru asks as they leave the bay, wheeling the bike over to the closest exit point. His rifle and pack are waiting at the supply check, and his swings them over his shoulder. He’s very handsome in the morning light, his eyes glittering like they always do when he’s about to go off on a dangerous mission.
“Of course,” Suguru says. He’ll watch out for them like they’re his own. He always does. “Do you want me to tell them anything?”
Satoru straddles the bike, slicking his hair back and pulling the helmet on over his head as Yuji rolls the gate open. His features are hidden, leaving only his eyes on display. “Nah, don’t bother. They know how it is.”
They know I love them. They know I’ll come back for them.
There was no use in sobs and hugs when someone left. There were some times when love could only be shown through action. Like Satoru taking in the children of his enemy, providing for them and making them laugh and doing his best to keep them safe.
The bike roars to life between Satoru’s thighs, and a couple of young boys that had been not so discreetly admiring the machine laugh and shove at each other when he revs it up for them, smoke billowing from the exhaust pipe. Satoru doesn’t wait for him to say anything else. He just winks at him before flicking the dark visor down, and then he’s speeding away, kicking up a cloud as he goes.
Suguru slumps slightly, regret filling him. There may not have been any use for parting words, but it was still human to want them.
“Here, lover boy,” Shoko says from behind him. She’s leaning against the supply check in, offering him one of her rolled cigarettes. “If you pine any harder, you’ll break something.”
He accepts gratefully, slouching beside her and digging into his pocket for a book of matches. The gate closes, the roar of Satoru’s bike dying off as he gets further and further away.
“Your knees are dusty as hell,” Shoko remarks drily.
Suguru strikes a match, the cigarette burning cherry red at the end. “Satoru was just teaching me a little bike maintenance,” he says on an exhale, smirking.
“Classy,” she snorts, the back of Yuji’s neck flushing bright red as he ducks back into the stall to avoid overhearing anything more.
Satoru is gone for three days.
The first is easy; Suguru checks in on the Megumi and Tsumiki and lets them know what’s going on, Nanami leads him through what needs to get done, and then he eats dinner with the girls in the cafeteria. The second is harder; people begin wondering where Satoru went, and why he’d been so secretive. Some have tried radioing a few of the other communities they’re friendly with, but no one is talking. Either they fear someone is listening, or everyone is dead.
A little antsy, he radios Kyoto himself when it gets dark, but receives no answer. There’s a pit in his stomach as he goes about his work the next day, drifting through it all as he waits for answers. Satoru should have been there by now, and he was usually pretty good about checking in, just letting everyone know he was alive.
By the third day, Nanami’s men are stationed in duos every twenty feet along the scaffolding, armed to the teeth. It feels like something is coming, but nobody knows what. Even the walkers have receded, drifting off into the trees or continuing on down the road past the school.
Later that night, Suguru is pulled from his dorm by a huge commotion, shouts ringing out and the gates opening wide, survivors from Kyoto streaming from the darkness with Satoru and Utahime in the lead, banged up and bruised. Shoko rushes forward to have a look at the injured rolled in on makeshift stretchers, and Utahime immediately branches off with Nanami and his team, taking her best fighters with her. Tsumiki and the girls, still dressed in their pajamas, gather all the Kyoto kids and usher them to the cafeteria, soothing teary eyes and whimpers as they go.
Megumi stands beside Suguru, his hand wrapped around Kuro’s collar, holding her steady as she twists and growls. Satoru ignores the rush of questions and whispers, coming right to them. He puts a hand on Megumi’s head, tells the dog to calm down. There’s blood in his hair, splashed across his t-shirt.
“What happened?” Suguru asks as Satoru pulls them to the side and away from the crowd.
“Kyoto is gone,” he says. “Raided. Burned to the ground. Those f*cks have been holed up in a radio tower listening to our transmissions. We were on our way back when we ran into a scouting party on the road. We lost a lot of people.”
“Did any of them get away?”
“A few,” Satoru confirms. “They’ll be coming for us once they regroup and arm up.”
Megumi gives no reaction. His eyes only harden. “What do you want me to do?”
“You and Yuji are in the north tower. Take a couple of crossbows with you. If either of you see any movement, anything at all, you sound the alarm. The dog’s with me.”
Kuro yips, standing at attention like a good little soldier at Satoru’s feet as Megumi runs off. He turns to him then, and very seriously, his crystal eyes cutting through him, says, “Suguru, I want you to know—if you have to take your family and run, I understand. I won’t judge you for it.”
Then he’s striding away, taking the dog with him, and Suguru is at a loss for words. How could he ever think him would leave him behind after everything?
“Satoru, I—” He starts, shoving through the stream of guards heading to the gate to go after him, catching his wrist as he turns into the armory.
“You are my family,” Suguru tells him earnestly when he looks back, “and if you’re not running, then neither am I.”
In the chaos of people rushing to arm themselves before heading off to their posts, the children and the elderly being taken to the dormitories to hunker down, the dog pacing as she listens for signs of action outside the walls, Satoru smiles at him.
“I was really hoping you’d say that.”
It’s silent after the long night.
Stationed outside the walls with Nanami’s men, standing between the gate and the raiders with their swords and cleavers, pushing them back as Satoru picked off stragglers with his rifle and shouted orders from his perch in the south tower, Suguru had slashed his way through lines and lines of men. Kuro had stayed with him, biting into anyone that got too close, tearing at their clothes and dragging them off into the darkness to finish them off.
To take the school, the bandits had brought a small hoard of walkers and a truck with battering ram strapped to the bumper, a big f*cking gun in the bed. Suguru had slipped away, coming at them from the side and leaping into the truck bed, slicing his sword across the throat of the gunner and through the back of the driver’s head before swiveling the souped up machine gun around to fire on the raiders pouring from the trees, razing everything that came at him.
They’d only managed to break through an exit checkpoint on the other side of the community, and it’s already half rebuilt as the sun rises, sheets of rusted metal fused together with blowtorches. Suguru helps drag the bodies away to be burned, Kuro prancing around stray walkers and leading them off so they can work in peace.
In another life, Suguru would have taken Satoru up on his offer, taken the girls and fled and let the compound fall into smoke and rubble behind him. In this one, after they check on the kids, Satoru takes him into his shower and washes the blood from his skin and hair, lathering it up and gently pulling his fingers through the tangles. There’s nothing inherently sexual about it, and Suguru leans his cheek against his shoulder as the shower steams up, blood pooling at their feet and spinning down the drain.
After, still naked, his hair wet, he presses Satoru down on the bed, straddling him. Hands gripping the headboard tight, he rides him until it hurts, his thighs shaking, his stomach clenching as Satoru arches and writhes beneath him, digging his nails into his hips and leaving marks behind as he bounces Suguru up and down on his co*ck, hard enough to bruise. They f*ck like the world is ending, like it’s their last chance to touch each other, and maybe Satoru wasn’t the only adrenaline junkie because Suguru was feeling so high, like he’d cheated death or something.
“You were so hot out there,” Satoru groans, his thrusts turning messy as he praises him, his white lashes fluttering as he fights to keep his hazy eyes open. “I love you. I really love you.” It comes out between pants and rough kisses and Suguru can’t say anything back because Satoru’s hand is wrapped around his throat, his mouth locked open in a choked gasp as Satoru pounds into him from below.
Suguru’s grip on the headboard falters as his org*sm rapidly approaches, and then he’s latching onto Satoru’s wrist, keeping his hand right where it is—tight around his neck, squeezing with each pump of his co*ck. His shaking hips move in long and deep grinding strokes, meeting Satoru thrust for thrust.
The only sounds are the slap of the bed against the wall, their cries of pleasure-pain, and the wet squelch of Satoru pistoning in and out of him. Their combined fluids drip from Suguru’s hole and down either side of Satoru’s co*ck, gathering in the lines of his abdomen. So sexy Suguru whimpers at the sight, Satoru wrapping his free hand around him, stroking him and pressing his fingers into his shaft and slit, massaging him, knowing he’s just one pressure spike away.
Suguru’s head falls back, his body going slack as he finishes across Satoru’s chest in white streaks, only held up by Satoru’s hand around his neck. He’s grows more gentle then, pushing Suguru to his back to bear down on him, brushing the hair from his face and hiking his legs over his shoulder, bending him nearly in half as he spreads his thighs wide, spend sticking their bodies together.
Suguru closes his eyes as Satoru’s forehead drops onto his, his hole clenching at Satoru’s co*ck unconsciously, latching around him and sucking him deeper, new angles to be filled as he pushes his thighs open as wide as they’ll go, ankles hooked around the back of his neck. The jagged bump of his scar brushes his skin, and he feels nothing but bliss—bliss and Satoru’s steady strokes turning frenzied and mindless, his back muscles jumping when Suguru wraps his arms around him, holding on as each thrust punches the air out of his lungs. He finishes inside of him with a full body shudder, his wet and parted lips glistening, his white lashes fluttering. Warmth spreads through him as Satoru falls limp on top of him, mouthing down his neck, still moving his hips in slow swivels, little tingles of electricity rolling up Suguru’s spine.
He could have fled, saved his own skin, but this is so much better. This is just like coming home.
Satoru rolls off of him after a minute, throwing an arm over his eyes, his chest rapidly rising and falling as he blows out an exasperated breath. “f*ck,” he starts, voice raw, “that was—you’re so—” He waves a hand at him, sweaty and naked and covered in come, as if that’s explanation enough. Suguru rolls over, pressing his lips against his shoulder sweetly. “Love you, baby. That’s all,” he eventually settles on with a slightly shy mumble, and Suguru hides his smile.
Satoru, so strong, glistening with sweat, his back torn to shreds from Suguru’s nails, his torso painted white and smeared sticky, lays there like he’ll never get back up, like he’ll die here in this bed with him and that would be just fine by him.
He loves me, Suguru thinks.
The handsome, charismatic leader of the free world loves him. It’s enough for him to forget he’s supposed to have some kind of refractory period. He feels himself harden, his need pressing into Satoru’s side, where he’d once been cut with a jagged shard of glass and Suguru had decided that he never wanted to be without him.
“Already?” Satoru pants, a smile flickering over his f*cked out face. “I thought near-death experiences only made me horny.”
Suguru strokes himself, watching how Satoru’s abdomen flexes with each breath, inches and inches of pale skin for only him to see. “If you’re too tired, you can just lay there and watch,” he offers amicably.
Satoru just laughs at that. “You’re out of your f*cking mind,” he says, already getting to his knees and spreading Suguru’s legs, lifting him to his mouth to lick him clean.
Suguru wakes some time in the late afternoon, spreading his hand across the bed as he stretches and yawns. He’s expecting Satoru be there, but when his hand doesn’t meet gloriously bare skin, he frowns and sits up. The dorm is empty. Slightly disappointed, Suguru pulls his hair back into a knot, splashing his face with water and brushing his teeth before getting dressed.
Outside, the compound mills about, talking and laughing as they roll the barricades and wall guns back to storage and crowd at the stalls for snacks. Megumi throws Kuro’s ball across the green, the dog darting back and forth with happy yips. Satoru and Tsumiki sit under the shade of a tree as they watch, Tsumiki peeling a fruit and handing him little pieces every so often. He’s dressed in sweats and a white t-shirt, one of his loose comfortable ones.
He’s not the leader today; he’s just Satoru, sunglasses perched lazily on his nose, his head tilting back as a light breeze twists through his hair.
Suguru starts towards them, but then two sets of tiny arms wrap around his waist, the girls talking over each other as he spins around to hold them close.
“Where were you?” Mimiko asks him.
“Yeah! You’ve been gone since breakfast. We were looking for you all over the place!” Nanako cries.
He laughs and puts his hands on the tops of their heads to slow them down. “I’m sorry, girls. I was—” He can’t tell them what he was actually up to, but he can confess to a little something. It’s a special occasion, after all. Satoru loves him. “I was with Satoru. I, uh—fell asleep in his dorm.”
It’s so f*cking weird to say to them, but they just go ‘ohhh’ and carry on like he had said nothing groundbreaking at all.
Life goes on after that. Satoru tells him he loves him often, and Suguru still hasn’t said it back. It’s not that he doesn’t feel it or show it, he just thinks there should be a moment or something, where he can’t hold it back any longer.
It’s mostly the romantic in him, but it’s also kind of fun when Satoru looks at him a certain way, like he’s theorizing when it will finally come out. Suguru likes how he waits, that he acts all cool about it and like it’s not all that. Like he doesn’t desperately need to hear the words, confirmation Suguru feels the same.
The suspense is probably killing him inside, but he just grins through it, letting Suguru be a tease.
Typical Satoru.
They’re picking through an office building in search of a detachable generator when it finally happens.
Satoru has a fresh undercut, a dark blue baseball cap perched backwards on his head as he relaxes back in an executive’s chair. He looks boyish, his eyes glittering bright, his smile lazy and his legs spread wide. “Ah, man,” he sighs, “this is nice.”
“Is it?” Suguru asks, setting his sword across the desk before promptly climbing into his lap. “Hm. You’re right,” he decides, wiggling around a bit to drape his knees on either side of him, settling comfortably right on top of his groin.
Satoru’s eyes spark with interest as he grabs hold of his hips, rocking him slow over his lap, already catching the drift. “I usually am.”
“You are not,” Suguru mutters, flicking his forehead. Heady heat and friction is steadily building between them, their clothed co*cks rolling together. Satoru lets him set the pace, his head tilting back, his cap falling over the back of the chair as they grind together, revealing messy white hair and that fresh undercut, perfect for running his nails over.
“I was right about you,” Satoru says, flicking him back out of spite.
“You rolled the dice with me because you wanted to f*ck me,” Suguru corrects as Satoru slides down in the chair, angling his hips up to thrust right into Suguru’s core, making him clench and grit his teeth.
“Yeah,” Satoru agrees, his mouth ticking up on one side, “and I’m gonna do it again before the day is done.”
“We don’t have time. It’s almost dark.” He’s aching to be bent over the desk and f*cked into oblivion, but it’s getting late, and he’d promised the kids they’d both be home for dinner.
“You climbed on top of me, baby,” Satoru reminds him. “You gotta finish what you started.”
“I’m not taking my clothes off. Deal with it,” Suguru sniffs.
“That’s okay. I like this just fine.”
They share messy, wet open-mouthed kisses as they move against each other like teenagers just trying to figure it out, Suguru’s co*ck hot and throbbing painfully, straining against his pants as the fabric drags against it long and slow, Satoru hissing in his ear when he digs his nails into the meat of his shoulders.
“I’m gonna come in my pants if you don’t stop,” Satoru whimpers, such a baby about it when he doesn’t have anything to stick his dick into, clutching at Suguru’s ass and hips, roughly jerking him back and forth across his lap so that he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to.
“How cute,” Suguru laughs, Satoru shooting him a glare of annoyance.
He shoves Suguru to his knees, getting his pants open and Suguru’s mouth around his dribbling co*ck just in time with a hand on the back of his head, tangled in his hair, sheathing himself down Suguru’s throat again and again until he’s spent.
Suguru swallows, leaning back on his haunches, but Satoru yanks him right back up to his feet, opening his pants and pulling him out, pumping him with quick and precise strokes until Suguru’s is hunching over, clinging to his shoulders. He finishes on his face, his come dripping down Satoru’s cheek and chin. He lazily swipes his hand through it, wiping some of it off, licking it up from his palm and fingers.
Well. There’s no better time to confess, really.
Suguru climbs him again, rough this time, slamming him back in the chair and kissing him furiously, carding his hands through his hair and pulling at his pale neck, demanding and whiney when Satoru’s laughs, craning his head and neck away so Suguru doesn’t get his own come in his hair.
“I love you,” Suguru says against his scar.
“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Satoru mumbles, suddenly bashful, his skin flushing prettily.
Caught up in a storm on a supply run in late winter, they camp out in a house just a few miles from the school, the snow fall too heavy and the night too dark for them to make it all the way back.
They lay on the old carpet, sharing the rations they’d brought, staying warm by cuddling up under the heat of a kerosine lamp. There’s no sex; Satoru just holds him, Suguru flat on his back, Satoru on his side right up against him, arm curled over his middle, their legs tangled beneath the blankets.
It kind of feels like a vacation or something. They’ll be snowed in for days, and he wants to spend all of them just like this, laying with Satoru and doing nothing at all, the world outside and all their responsibilities on hold.
“What did you want to be? Before, I mean.” Satoru asks.
Suguru considers that for a moment. He was a lot things back then, drifting between menial customer service jobs and living listlessly. He doesn’t remember having a fixed view of what he should be, just that he’d wanted whatever it was to be worth something.
“Fulfilled, I think,” he finally decides.
“And now?”
Suguru smiles a little up at the ceiling, reading between the lines. “Is this your roundabout way of asking me if I’m happy with you?”
Satoru’s laugh huffs across his forehead, shifting his bangs. “I guess so.”
He is happy, almost disturbingly so. In this world, he and Satoru had somehow made a family. He used to think the only thing he was good for was keeping the girls alive, and before that, he used to think he wasn’t good for much at all. Now he has a seat at the council table, he’s respected and treated like a friend. He goes home to a loving man and their children and dog every night. There was nothing better.
“I didn’t know being this happy was possible,” Suguru admits, turning his head and meeting Satoru’s blue eyes, shining clear in the firelight. “What about you? Are you happy with me?”
Satoru’s smile could melt the snow. “I’m satisfied,” he says, and then kisses him gently, sweetly, like to him that’s all that needs to be said about it.
The storm rages on through the night, Suguru falling in and out of fits of sleep, Satoru breathing easily beside him, still holding his waist, his thumb moving in slow circles over his hip to unconsciously soothe him, attentive even as he rests.
Eventually, Suguru wakes to Satoru’s hands pulling on the blanket, dragging it down his body. “Stop,” he mumbles, shivering a little. “I’m too cold, ‘Toru—”
A soft growl snaps his eyes open, dead hungry yellows looking back at him.
The walker hunched over him opens its mouth wide to tear into him, Suguru jolting fully awake and rolling out from under it just in time. He gets to his feet, turning to dive for his sword on the couch, but he runs right into another body, mindless teeth angling for his throat. Every direction he turns, another body emerges from the shadows, crowding him back into the hall and away from anything useful, away from Satoru.
Snow is blowing across the floor, and the front door stands wide open, busted in by walkers gathering until it caved, drawn by the light of the lamp through the window. There are roughly a dozen of them packed into the living room, and he’s separated from both Satoru and his weapons.
He hears Satoru curse, a few of the dead turning and going his way as Suguru reaches for the nearest one, curling his arm around its neck and roughly snapping its head back, the broken body crumpling to the floor. It’s all a blur from there, Suguru cracking neck after neck, trying to avoid teeth from all sides, listening for Satoru, looking for him through the bodies. He pushes back into the living room where he falls onto the couch, grabbing up his sword in time to whip around and point it up as one last walker falls after him, spearing itself through the head on his blade, sinking down until it's dead weight on top of him.
Suguru pushes it off of him with the last of his strength, rolling off of the couch and landing on the floor, braced on his hands and his knees, panting. A moment later, Satoru is helping him up, brushing his hair out of his face and quickly scanning him for injuries.
“Are you okay? Did you get—”
“No,” Suguru interrupts, leaning against him, pressing his face into his chest to seek out his living warmth, Satoru’s comforting arms coming around him. “I’m fine. They just surprised me. Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’m f*cking jacked up on adrenaline right now, but I’m okay.”
Suguru laughs a little breathlessly, still in disbelief they both managed to survive that. “Well, I’m f*cking exhausted.”
Satoru takes Suguru by the hands to lift his arms and loop them around his neck so they can kiss and nuzzle noses, holding each other until their hearts slow. A funny look crosses his face as he touches his elbow, Suguru flinching slightly as a sharp stinging pain spreads through him, and then Satoru’s whipping the sleeve of Suguru’s shirt up, staring at the string of teeth marks gouged into his forearm with an unreadable gaze.
Everything drops away. All sound, all sight.
There is only the bite, torn flesh jagged and red, the wound bleeding through his shirt.
“I—I didn’t feel it,” Suguru says, hollow and echoing, a strange ringing in his ears.
Things move in lagging slow-motion, Satoru’s face changing, becoming devoid of all emotion, his eyes turning hard as he forcefully shoves Suguru away from him, sending him sprawling onto his back. He advances on him as he lands, all predator, pulling Suguru’s sword from the walker’s body and lifting it up above his head execution style.
What? This soon? Suguru thinks in sudden alarm, his eyes widening. He’s not even close to change yet, he still has at least three days before he becomes one of the dead. Satoru doesn’t seem to care, like it’s nothing to sever his head from his shoulders, like he does this sh*t every day. He’s expressionless, completely blank, looking down at him with dim eyes. He’s never looked at him like that.
I didn’t know being this happy was possible.
I’m satisfied.
He’d just implied that Suguru made him feel whole, and now he was going to finish him off with his own blade. It was horrible and ill-conceived, but… hadn’t he always known that Satoru would one day have to kill him? Isn’t that the way the world turned now?
“Wait,” Suguru starts, not yet ready to accept that when he’d been so happy just hours earlier, attempting to scramble backwards on his hands. He doesn’t want to die without a last kiss, he doesn’t want to die at all.
Satoru is just too fast and too strong, planting his heavy boot on his chest to keep him still. “Wait,” Suguru pleads again, a little choked up this time, “Let me at least say goodbye—the kids, I need to radio the kids—”
Satoru just shakes his head, like it’s already done. “Sorry about this, babe,” he says grimly, and then brings the sword down in a vicious arc.
