Archive of Our Own ^beta

Today’s the day. Half a decade of persistence and preparation all for this. Passing GY’s screening, meticulously maintaining his professional persona to ascend the ranks to manager, whilst making sure he’d be supplied when the time came by keeping in touch with the right sort. He’s missed so many concerts and fan-signs to avoid scrutiny, but the insight into the industry and its stars has been irreplaceable. Being based at the Japanese branch has limited his direct involvement with the talent compared to those in Korea, but it’s essential to his plan.

Suguru has supported Limitless for nearing fifteen years. Korean groups hadn’t breached the Japanese market before them so two years of activities passed before he’d first discovered Six. Fleetingly he laments not seeing the soft, waifish version of Satoru in person, but that’s all in the past. After today everything will be as it should, a new chapter opening up for them.

"You the replacement manager?"

The familiar timbre of the voice almost strikes Suguru dumb, but he hasn't achieved this much by ceding control to emotion. Turning to face the idol, he summons his signature ease-inducing smile.

"Getou Suguru," he bows, "Typically I work with Ten Shadows, but I'll be replacing Ijichi until he's feeling better."

Satoru nods silently. His recent vocal-chord surgery has reduced his infamously ceaseless chatter to rare pockets of carefully chosen questions or commands. Being robbed of Satoru’s unfiltered self is a travesty, but the imposed quiet has advantages. They’ll make up for it later.

Turning to the SUV behind him, Suguru opens a rear door. He tries not to inhale too obviously as Satoru brushes past him. The shampoo he smells matches the bottle he keeps at home, the one he found in sliced open bags of trash. The floral notes wafting from Satoru’s hair are even more intoxicating.

Closing the door, he moves to take his place in the driver’s seat. The week’s schedule is intentionally sparse as Satoru continues to recover. Today features a follow-up with the head surgeon, and a brief check in with the agency to review a script for the lead in an upcoming film.

Blessedly uneventful, everything wraps up in a couple of hours. On the route home, he stops at a cafe he knows Satoru favours to collect a pick-me-up he ordered earlier. Satoru smiles, immediately indulging in his sugary monstrosity. Guilt over the something extra Suguru slipped into it buoys in his gut, but the way Satoru’s lips purse around the straw and the flash of pink as he gathers some escaping cream, swiftly smother it again.

Keeping an eye on him in the rear-view mirror, Suguru patiently waits. After forwarding Satoru’s exact measurements to his supplier and grilling them about the correct dosage, he’s scarcely worried but it didn’t hurt to be cautious. He recalls the news-story of an anti impersonating a staff member, daring to give Satoru superglue-laced orange juice. Violating his trust this way pains him, but it's necessary. He'll thank Suguru for it later.

They're nearing Shōtō when Satoru speaks.

"Feel weird…"

Right on time.

"Yeah? Did you catch something at the clinic?” he clicks his tongue, “We’ll be home shortly. You can rest as much as you want then."

Satoru nods, settling into seat. His sleepy gaze skims over passing traffic, breath huffing as his thighs rub together. His brows furrow, leaning forward to paw awkwardly at Suguru's shoulder.

"Missed my turn…"

"Ah, sorry. I just remembered Ijichi gave me something yesterday that I was supposed to pass onto you. I only live a couple of blocks away, is it okay if we stop and get it?"

Satoru’s response is incomprehensible but he quiets down until Suguru pulls into his parking space. Turning around, he finds Satoru slouching against the seats, stunning eyes watching him. His flushed cheeks are a sight Suguru intends to capture in the near future.

"Are you okay?" Suguru asks, affecting concern.

"'m dizzy."

"Come in for a moment, you can lay down until you're feeling better."

Before he can protest Suguru carefully replaces Satoru's hat, glasses, and mask, assisting him inside without risking anyone recognising him. Quietly locking the door behind him, he guides Satoru to his bedroom, laying him upon the plush mattress. Already fumbling with his disguise, Satoru pauses as the bedside lamp illuminates Suguru’s curated décor.

Shelves line the walls, chock full of magazines, light sticks, plushies, Season's Greetings and every version of every album. Amongst them a collage of framed posters and photo-card collections stare back, a gallery of immortalised perfections. The DNA replica necklace and tenth anniversary rings nestle careful upon a silk pillow, watched over by a life-sized standee from his latest movie.

His cupboards are filled with every collaboration, from Nike, to Hermes, from Chanel, to Cledbel. There are replicas of every stage outfit Satoru has worn, and a couple of the real deal that he acquired more recently. Just last week he’d spent an hour with his face buried in the crotch of the leather bodysuit from the Prison Realm mini-album, edging himself to a bone-rattling orgasm, the smell and taste of Satoru's sweat, ambrosia on his tongue.

His personal collection is there too, photos taken through a high-performance telephoto zoom lens. The smile Satoru saves for his friends, the glittering canvas of his skin as he swims in a private pool, his slick lips stretched around a popsicle. Instants of divinity locked away in a fireproof safe.

It's a shrine, Suguru's bed the altar. Satoru lays upon it, staring at the mirror on the ceiling, the brightest star reflected amidst the constellation.

"You a fan?" He slurs, poorly stifled giggles shaking his frame. Suguru adores them even if they're at his expense. He can feel himself smiling as he checks his cameras, partially obscured amongst his collection. Once he's sure everything is rolling, he settles on the bed next to Satoru.

"You could say that. I prefer to think of it a little differently.”

"Mm?"

Suguru's thumb strokes Satoru's cheek as he confesses, "It's love. I love you."

"You're weird," slurs the object of his affection, dopey smile smoothing over the edges of the statement. Suguru mirrors it, pressing closer.

"A little," he says. It's good to be honest where he can. "I'm going to kiss you now."

Another giggle, Satoru thinks he's joking. He quiets him, pliant lips parting sweetly beneath Suguru's own. The kiss is predictably messy, Satoru's responses slow and uncoordinated. Yet each flex of their tongues, each soft sigh stirs Suguru’s pulse to race, heart swelling with a flurry of emotion.

He aches to swallow Satoru whole, to take a sip of every whisper, every breath, every atom, burying them somewhere far in the depths of his very being where only he can touch. Surely then the gaping maw at his core would be sated– no– purified. Only an existence as good, as right as Satoru’s could quell such a ravening beast.

Patience, he reminds himself. Good relationships rely on give and take, it’s imperative he gives Satoru everything.

Sliding a hand beneath his sweater, Suguru greedily caresses the muscles beneath. When he inches the soft fabric up to Satoru’s armpits he breaks their kiss, enticed by his sculpted pecs. Groping them he almost misses the scars beneath each, marvelling at the masterful handiwork of his surgeons. GY scarcely allows Satoru to bare his chest, endlessly paranoid regarding scrutiny of their star. Equally a blessing and curse, it preserves his image against unworthy eyes as well as Suguru's own. Pressing his mouth to the pale swell of his chest, he anoints each peak, squeezing the pink buds of his nipples. Satoru moans, arching into his touch.

"A little quieter, sweetheart. I'd hate if you strained your beautiful voice."

"'s'hard," Satoru pouts, before laughing once more, "like you."

Endlessly endeared, Suguru can't resist kissing him, Satoru doing his best to stay quiet as his chest is played with. He rocks gracelessly against Suguru’s thigh, seeking further stimulation. Skating a hand down the plains of his abs, Suguru pets the fine hairs dusting the vee of his hips, before delving between his legs, fingers feather-light as they trace the seam of his pants.

"Can I touch you here?"

"Shouldn't…"

Suguru hums in acknowledgement, circling the growing tent at the front of Satoru's pants. He bites down on a chuckle as his legs twitch open wider, a clear invitation.

"But you want it, don't you?"

"Yes... please."

He strips Satoru's shoes, trousers and underwear, designer clothes carelessly shed in his haste. Despite his best imaginings, there is no preparation for this reveal. Satoru's cock is wondrous, genetics and years of hormones transforming whatever was originally there to something rivalling Suguru's thumb in length. An overachiever on every front. Thanks to the gifts of his anatomy, the proud jut of his bottom-growth pulls at his labia, parting the folds just enough to tease Suguru with a glimpse of his core. Parting Satoru's thighs further exposes him fully, pussy pink and dripping as it splays before him. No sooner could he refuse such an offering than deny his feelings.

Bewitched, he runs a finger along Satoru's folds, tongue following shortly after. Full-flavoured nectar consecrates Suguru’s taste-buds as he laps reverently at his hole. Kissing his way up, he blows a jet of air over Satoru’s clit, admiring the way it jerks and twitches, desperate for attention he’s delighted to provide. He laves it with his tongue, carefully suckling the tip as he soaks in Satoru’s gasps. With a practised ease he draws it into his mouth, saliva dripping down to mix with Satoru’s arousal as he bobs his head. Breathless moans serenade him as Suguru tongues the underside, grinding against the mattress in hopes of momentary relief. His patience stretches thin, years of fantasies wearing down his restraint. Just a little longer.

His mouth servicing Satoru, Suguru cautiously probes his cunt, wetting his fingers with spit and slick before sinking the tips inside. Tight but not alarmingly so. He withdraws his mouth, seeking to confirm his suspicions.

"You've taken something in here before, haven't you?" He asks, emphasising by flexing his digits.

"Mm, yeah." Satoru says, hips canting into the pressure, "a lot."

"Fingers?" He questions, tamping down on jealous embers.

"Mhm."

"Anything more than that?"

"...'have some toys. Feel nice."

That tracked. He doubted GY would permit their cash-cow to fuck anyone who could "compromise his assets". Suguru’s split between smouldering hatred at Satoru's stifled sexuality, and gratitude for the present opportunity. His cock would be the first and last to experience this pussy.

Appeased, he resumes opening Satoru up, doting on his cock whilst his fingers burrow into his slick channel. Satoru keens as they rub over a particularly sensitive spot so he hones in on it, fingers fucking faster to match the rising tension. Suguru can’t suppress his moan at the growing wetness on his hand, bobbing his head faster as precome dampens his boxers. An inarticulate cry rewards him, hips jerking into his mouth, pussy impossibly tight, before Satoru's momentary strength deserts him.

Withdrawing his fingers, Suguru cleans them with his mouth, savouring the slick. Heavy breaths move Satoru’s abs, an idea stirring as his clothing joins the pile on the floor.

"Are you on birth control?"

Satoru moves his head, but it's unclear whether it’s a confirmation or denial. Oh well. If anything happens he’ll happily take responsibility. Suguru could be an excellent stay-at-home dad.

Inching up the bed he drags Satoru’s legs around his waist, socked feet brushing the backs of his thighs. Satoru mumbles as he ruts his dick between his folds, lubricating it with ample slick.

"Mmm. Getou- 'mnot s'posed to do this."

"I know, but you said you want it, right?"

"Yeah... But 'm not sure…"

"It's okay. We’ll just try a little bit and see how that goes. If you really don't like it, I'll stop."

He neither agrees nor protests. Good enough for now.

Dipping the head in, Suguru works his tip through that sensitive ring of muscle. A quiet moan has his eyes snapping up from watching his cock edge Satoru’s pussy. His creased brow belies his pleasure-slack body. Suguru is captivated, drowning in a gaze that could unravel the universe as he teases Satoru’s welcoming hole. He can’t tear his attention away even as his lover twitches around him, desperate to draw him closer. He relents, sinking further with each thrust, carving a space for himself inside. He drinks in the minutiae of Satoru’s expression as they finally become one, no less beautiful for its glazed quality as he blinks at Suguru.

It’s tight, a glove-like fit around his girth. Clutched by such perfect wetness, Suguru grapples with self-control. He needs to make sure this lasts. Thankfully Satoru's enjoying it too, eyes rolling, faint ahs spilling from his lips. The GHB in his system transforming the ceaseless motion of Suguru’s member into an unspeakable ecstasy. A thumb circling the tip of his still-erect clit spurs him even higher.

"See, you're feeling good already. Just relax into it."

Ever contrary, Satoru tenses, shuddering as he peaks anew. The sublime clench around his dick has Suguru’s hips working faster, tears welling from Satoru’s cosmic eyes. Always beautiful, this has to be his most stunning look yet, flushed, overcome, helpless. A face he'll never show the world, one for Suguru only. His heart thuds a chorus, I love you, I love you, resonating with each beat. Words stream forth, unfiltered, unbidden.

"Can you feel how I love you? How perfectly we fit together? My cock was made for you, to make you feel good. I’ll do this for you every day if you let me."

Fresh tears wet Satoru's lashes. Suguru kisses them from his cheeks, diamonds on his tongue. Skin slaps loudly as he drives deeply into Satoru, their love-making frenzied as his climax approaches. He presses closer, embracing Satoru tightly, kisses soothing along his brow.

"Getou," he whimpers.

Hips faltering, Suguru rubs harsh circles on Satoru's softening cock until that familiar clench returns, walls milking him as he paints them glistening white. He's limp as Suguru pulls out, blacked out from the high. Pride thrills through him as Satoru’s hole quivers through the aftershocks, raw and oozing come. Fishing his phone from the chaos on the floor, Suguru leisurely snaps photos, experimenting with settings to get the best shot of his used cunt. He’s filming everything from multiple angles but the impulse to document everything is compelling. As he shifts to take selfies of him kissing Satoru’s pussy it winks open, even accommodating the ghost of his breath.

"Your pussy misses me already. Don't worry, we'll go again shortly. Hopefully you're awake by then."

It’s okay if he isn’t. Suguru has spent years staunch in the face of an un-crossable distance, adoring the flawless and untouchable Six. Satoru isn’t Six. He’s warm and vulnerable, and most importantly, he’s here. He’s so easy to love. Nothing will prevent Suguru from doing so.