The eggs had to be perfect. He needed the yolks liquidy enough that they ran when the toast soldiers broke through, but with the whites fully set. Satoru had practiced an incredibly stupid number of times in the past few weeks. Heād even accounted for the specific altitude of their neighborhood in the cook time, which was more than a little crazy, but whatever worked. Eventually, after dumping batch after mediocre batch, heād come to a conclusion. They needed exactly six minutes and forty seconds at a gentle boil before going straight into an ice bath for another three minutes.
Satoru hummed a melody from the live recording of Nippon Budokan, 2019. Heād probably watched it a thousand times by now. Suguruās voice had cracked on the bridge of Bellflower and the entire stadium went quiet with anticipation. Satoru had the blu-ray. He also had the limited-edition vinyl. The setlist had been auctioned for charity and, hey, Satoru appreciated a good cause. It now hung in a frame above his couch.
Suffice it to say, Satoru knew every single breath of that performance. There was so much unique phrasing, mostly due to the cold Suguru had been fighting that week. The fan forums cross-referenced photos from Narita three days prior, documenting the entire illness extensively. Satoru himself had built a comprehensive timeline.
The toast popped. Satoru sliced them into perfect strips, before arranging them in a small ceramic cup. It matched the mug Suguru had been photographed with in a paparazzi shot from 2021. Heād been hiding away in a cafe, no doubt trying to have a break for just a moment from the endless pressures of his current tour. Unlike the mug in the photo, Satoruās wasnāt chipped, which arguably made it better. Suguru deserved to have things that werenāt broken.
Satoru started to build the tray. He placed the two boiled eggs in wooden cups next to the mug of toast soldiers. Suguruās rider for live shows always called for Okuaizu Still, so Satoru had gotten a few cases in preparation. A small bundle of purple bellflowers sat in a glass jar. Heād planted a few mounds in the beginning of the season. They were perfectly in bloom.
Bellflower, campanula, hotarubukuroā¦ Whatever they were called, they meant unwavering devotion, if Google was to be believed.
Satoru made his way down the hall, past the sitting room with its drawn curtains. He eventually stopped in front of the basement door. Satoru balanced the tray in one hand as he started working on the deadbolts. Each one gave way with a satisfying thunk. Heād installed them himself over a long weekend, after watching a million Youtube tutorials. Satoru had wanted Suguru to feel secure. The outside world could be so demanding, after all.
The stairs were a death trap waiting to happen. Satoru carefully kept one hand on the railing as he descended step after step with the tray. He had to admit, his basement wasnāt really all that special. It was just as dingy as the rest of them. Satoru made up for it by painting the walls a light french gray and installing warm sconces along the back wall.Ā
A proper double bed stood on top of a thick rug, covered with navy sheets that would complement his fair skin. Satoru had stocked the bookshelf with novels. Heād cross referenced every book Suguru ever mentioned across interviews and social media posts. Plus, Satoru added a few he thought he might enjoy.
All in all, it was cozy, like their own little nest.
The ankle cuffs were a little unfortunate. Satoru really hadnāt wanted to use them. The thought of restraining Suguru with anything that could be confused for shackles caused him no small amount of grief. Satoru had padded them himself with strips of sheepskin. The chain was long enough that Suguru could reach whatever he needed in his new home. It was just a precaution.
That first night had been so difficult, after all. Suguru had been frightened and disoriented. Satoru couldnāt stand the thought of him tripping on the steps and breaking his neck before their relationship even had a chance to begin. So, the cuffs were temporary, just until Suguru felt more at home.
Suguru now sat with his back against the wall. He wedged himself into the corner where it met the bookshelf. Knees were drawn up to his chest, and his tangled hair hung loose around his face. The sheets on the bed were mussed, but the pillow looked untouched. That could only mean Suguru had slept on the floor again. Satoru made a mental note to bring it up later.
"Good morning, sweetheart," Satoru said. He set the food down on a small tray table beside the bed. "I made eggs."
Suguru's head came up. Bloodshot eyes watched his every movement. He really hadn't slept much. Satoru's chest ached with tenderness. The industry had really done a number on him, hadn't it? Heād been run ragged for years, tour after tour. Of course he was exhausted. His body was finally catching up to the rest he'd been denied.
"You look so tired," Satoru said softly. He crouched beside the table and patted the edge of the bed. "Come eat. You need to keep your strength up."
Suguru didn't make a move from his spot. His hands trembled where they were clasped around his shins. But those amethyst eyes never left his.
Satoru smiled. Suguru had always been an observer. It was one of the many things Satoru loved about him. In interviews, he'd always take a moment before giving his answers. Fake-fans normally mistook it for aloofness, but Satoru knew better. Suguru was just selective about who got to see the real him.
"I made them just the way you like," Satoru said. He started peeling the first egg with his thumbnail. Suguru had talked about it on a podcast in 2020. His mother had studied abroad in London back in the 80s, and so she always made eggs and soldiers for him for breakfast before school. Suguru complained at the time about missing them. They didnāt fit into his macro plan, but the craving persisted regardless.
Suguru didnāt move. But his gaze dropped down to the tray and he swallowed. He hadnāt eaten dinner last night, so he was no doubt hungry.
"Come on, sweetheart," Satoru gently urged. "Before they get cold."
Suguru eventually uncurled from the corner. He moved slowly, crawling on the rug until he crossed the short distance to the bed. The chain dragged behind him. Suguru settled on the floor beside the table, which was fine, as long as he was eating, and pulled the tray toward him with trembling fingers.
Satoru noticed. "Chilly? I can bump up the thermostat."
Suguru didnāt answer. He picked up a toast soldier and bit into it without dipping it into the egg. In fact, he ignored the egg altogether. His eyes were fixed on a point somewhere past Satoru's left shoulder.
"Good?" Satoru asked.
Suguru swallowed and nodded once. His hand went back to the plate for another strip of toast. It shook the entire way there and the entire way back to his mouth.
Satoru's heart swelled. Suguru had barely touched the onigiri yesterday, or the miso the day before that. But the comfort food from childhood, this he was eating. Satoru had finally found the right thing.
He reached out and brushed a crumb from the corner of Suguru's mouth with his thumb.
Suguru went totally rigid. His wide eyes snapped to Satoru's face, and his breathing had suddenly gotten quick through his nose. Satoru let his thumb linger for a moment. After all this time, he deserved to savor the warmth of Suguru's skin. He traced along his lower lip, and then pulled back.
"You're finally getting some color back," Satoru said. He was more than pleased that his love was finally willing to help himself.
ā
The silence was what Satoru loved most about mornings down here. Upstairs, there were noisy neighbors who couldnāt mind their own business. The garbage truck made a racket right at six-fifteen twice a week. The insulation of Suguruās room swallowed all of it. The only sound was the occasional turn of a page if Suguru was reading one of his novels. Satoru liked to perch on the bottom step and just exist.
"Please."
That wasā¦ unexpected. Did Suguru need something? Satoru shook himself out of his daydreams. Suguru lifted his head and met Satoru's eyes directly for the first time that morning.
"What do you want?" Suguruās voice broke, just like Budokan, 2019. But Satoru could barely hear a word. His heart was too busy bursting with pride that his love was finally trying to open up. "Is it money? I have money. I canā I can transfer whatever amount you want, I'll do it right now if you just let meā"
Suguru's voice broke again. A flinch rippled through his shoulders, and Satoru recognized it for what it was. His love was just self-conscious about being vulnerable. Suguru had spent years building a very specific image. Now, in the quiet of their own home, he was casting all that aside, letting Satoru see what really lay underneath.
Satoru was so proud of him, and heād never been more in love with him than in this very moment.
āIāll do anything, I'll do whatever you want, I don't care what it is, I'llā" Suguru stuttered out. Then his chin dropped to his chest, and he whispered, "If you want sex, I'll do it. Whatever you want. However you want it. Just let me go after."
Satoru's heart nearly stopped. His love was looking at him with those desperate, glistening eyes. Suguruās chest was heaving, and his hands were trembling, but all Satoru could hear was the roar of blood in his own ears.
Suguru wanted them to make love. After only a few days, he was already so comfortable that he was offering that level of intimacy. Suguru was famously private with his personal life. Heād never been photographed with a partner, and heād been known to deflect any particularly invasive interview questions geared towards romance. Suguru kept the world at armās length. And now he was here in their home, looking at Satoru with those longing eyes, asking him for this.
Heat flooded Satoruās cheeks. His pulse hammered in his throat, and he couldnāt speak for a moment. Those beautiful amethyst eyes just kept watching him. A flush began to creep up his neck, and then his eyes shyly darted away. Satoru knew in that moment that Suguru had never done this before. He didnāt know how to ask for what he wanted. It was the most endearing thing Satoru had ever seen in his life.
"Suguru," Satoru breathed. He slipped off the step and crossed the floor until he was right at the foot of the bed. Suguru flinched. He scrambled further back onto the mattress, but Satoru reached out to steady him. Suguru's fingers were ice cold.
"Oh, sweetheart," Satoru said. He kept his voice soothing as he rubbed his thumbs over the backs of Suguruās hands. "Look at you. You're shaking.ā He let go of one of Suguru's hands to tuck a loose strand of dark hair behind his ear. His fingers lingered there for a moment, before dropping to the curve of Suguru's jaw. Suguru stopped breathing. "I'm so, so proud of you for saying that. But thereās no need to rush."
Suguru's mouth tried to form words, but no sound came out. That was fine. Satoru wanted his love to be reassured more than anything.
"I'm not some groupie who just wants your body," he murmured. "I love you for you.ā
Suguru's pupils were blown so far that the purple of his irises vanished entirely.
Suguru went completely still against him. He wasnāt kissing back, but he wasnāt pulling away, either. Satoru eventually broke the kiss and pulled away. He could feel it, this helpless grin threatening to spill onto his face. He couldnāt hold it back. Satoru wasnāt even sure he wanted to. This was his first kiss with Suguru. His first kiss with Suguru.
"There," Satoru whispered. "See? No rush. We have forever, sweetheart."
Suguru's eyes were glassy. He blinked a couple times, but the tears still threatened to fall. Then, something in his expression changed. His bashfulness sank beneath the surface, leaving his face unbothered once again.
"Okay," Suguru said quietly.
Satoru squeezed his hand. He continued to sit beside him, close enough that their knees touched. He hummed the melody from Bellflower under his breath. The songās namesake on the tray leaned toward the sconce light. Their purple heads nodded gently in the air current from the vent.
It was, Satoru decided, the best morning they'd had yet.
ā
Suguru was a fast learner. Satoru supposed that was to be expected. He wouldnāt be able to sell out stadium after stadium without a quick mind and an instinct for reading the room.
Ever since their first kiss, Suguru had stopped retreating to the bookshelf whenever Satoru came downstairs. He lounged on the bed now, with his legs crossed. The chain connected to his ankle cuffs lay still on the mattress. Whenever Satoru brought food down, Suguru would thank him, and heād give a verbal answer if Satoru asked how he slept.
They were small steps, but Satoru treasured each one.
One day, Satoru came down the stairs with lunch and found Suguru sitting at the edge of the bed. He was already near his table, ready for a meal. Satoruās heart sang. And then, when Satoru set the tray down, Suguru reached out and took his hand.
Satoru gasped.
Suguru's hand was clammy and his fingers were stiff, but his grip was firm. He held Satoru's hand and looked at him with those beautiful, amethyst eyes and said, "Could I have another blanket? It still gets cold at night."
"Of course, sweetheart," Satoru said in a rush. He was a little upset that fiddling with the thermostat had done nothing. There was no reason his love had to go cold, and he was so proud that Suguru had been able to work himself up to actually ask for something. Satoru swallowed against the lump in his throat. "Of course. I'll bring you a nice kakebuton."
Suguru squeezed his hand before letting go. The whole touch lasted maybe four seconds. Satoru carried the memory of it all the way back up the stairs, through the deadbolts, and into the kitchen. He stood with his back against the counter and pressed his tingling hand against his chest.
Suguru had been so eager for contact today. For him to reach out and initiate meant the barriers were really coming down. It was slow, at a pace Suguru could manage, but he was finally letting Satoru in.
Satoru brought him the kakebuton and a pair of thick wool socks. Suguru was a size 27, per a rider from 2022 regarding sponsored footwear appearances.
Suguru took the socks and pulled them on immediately, right there in front of him. Satoru noticed then how his feet had gotten all mottled from the cold concrete, even through the rug. He hated himself for not noticing sooner. The socks swallowed his feet. He pulled the kakebuton around his shoulders and began to relax.
"Better?" Satoru asked.
"Yeah," Suguru said. Then, after a beat, he added, "Thank you, Satoru."
It was the first time he'd used his name.
ā
The guitar had been an impulse purchase. He just happened to stumble upon a Martin 000-15M. Satoru had read that Suguru's first ever guitar was a hand-me-down mahogany Martin. The actual model number wasn't really documented anywhere, but a series of Google searches told him that mahogany Martins were the brand's signature student line. The odds were in his favor.
He carried it downstairs on the day of their one week anniversary, if he counted the night Suguru moved in.
Suguru lay on the bed with a novel up in the air above his head. Heād been working his way through the bookshelf, top to bottom, right to left. Suguru was on Mishima now, The Temple of the Golden Pavilion. Heād quoted it in a Rolling Stone Japan profile from 2018, so Satoru made sure it made it to the shelf. Suguru turned his head away from his book. His gaze landed right on the guitar case and stayed there.
"Happy anniversary, my love," Satoru said. He gave Suguru the most awestruck, loving smile he could muster as he set the case down on the bed. "Itās been a whole week."
Suguru quickly unlatched the case and swung it open. The guitar sat in a bed of velvet, gleaming under the warm light. Suguru stared at it for a long time without moving. His fingers just twitched against the edge of the case.
"You don't have to play it now," Satoru added. He sat on the edge of the bed. "It's just a gift. I wanted you to have something of yours down here."
The guitar was more than just an instrument. It was an extension of Suguru's very identity. Music had built him up from a teenager in his uncle's living room into a voice that filled stadiums. Giving it back felt like giving him a piece of himself.
Suguru reached into the case and lifted the guitar out with both hands, settling it across his lap. His left hand found the neck instinctively. Satoru watched on as fingers curved around the fretboard. His thumb pressed against the back of the neck as it found its seat. And then he just sat there holding it, with his eyes closed.
Satoru waited.
Suguruās right hand eventually came up to the sound hole. His thumb brushed along the strings one by one. The notes rang out individually, filling the basement with the beginnings of actual music. Suguru opened his eyes. He looked at Satoru with an earnest expression, almost like he was getting shy again.
"Could I take a shower?" Suguru asked softly. "If I play something for you?"
"Oh, sweetheart. You don't have to earn a shower," Satoru said. He could already feel a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth. Didn't his love know he could get whatever he wanted? "You can shower whenever you want. You just need to ask."
Some other emotion flickered behind Suguru's eyes. He looked down at the guitar.
"Then I'll play something anyway," he said. "For our anniversary."
Satoru's pulse was already skyrocketing. The love of his life, Geto Suguru, was offering to play privately for him. Satoru leaned back on his elbows and nodded. He tried keeping his face casual even as he felt like screaming at the ceiling.
Suguru adjusted the guitar. The fingers of his left hand pressed into the frets to shape a chord. He took a deep breath and began to strum. The pattern was rather simple, a gentle fingerpick in three-four time, and after two bars, he began to sing Bellflower.
Satoru stopped breathing.
Suguru's voice was a little rougher than it was at Budokan, 2019, but that made sense. He hadnāt warmed up or had any of his Okuaizu Still. Suguru had a whole vocal prep routine that his endless touring demanded. His phrasing was different once again as he artistically stretched out certain syllables. They pooled in the dips between notes like a comforting hug. The melody wisped through the basement.
And it was all for Satoru.
Nothing but Suguru's voice and the warm resonance of his guitar bouncing off the walls. Satoru could hear every tiny catch where Suguru's throat caught on a particular word. He could even hear the calluses on Suguru's fingertips catching the strings. It was incredible.
Suguru's eyes were open, but he was focused on a point somewhere on the wall. Away from the demands of the stage, Suguru finally sounded at peace. He sang without armor, in the quiet of their home, because he wanted to. Because the moment moved him enough to create art out of it.
Satoru's vision blurred. He blinked and felt something wet drop onto his cheekbones.
The song ended just as quickly as it began. The last chord hung in the air, sustained by the guitar's natural reverb, before fading away. Suguru's hand stilled on the strings.
"That was beautiful," Satoru whispered. He wiped his eyes with the heel of his palm and laughed, but the tears just kept coming. He was frankly embarrassed by his own reaction. "Shit, Suguru. That was the most beautiful thing I've ever heard."
Suguru looked at him with earnest adoration.
"I'm glad," he said.
Satoru couldn't help himself. He leaned forward and kissed him, cradling his face in both hands. Hot tears were still wet on his cheeks when their mouths met. The guitar creaked faintly where it was squeezed between them.
And then Suguru's mouth opened for him, and the invitation was so unexpected, so generous that the tears began anew. Satoru's heart lurched violently and a soft moan escaped his lips, only to be swallowed up by Suguruās mouth. Satoru tilted his loveās head gently to deepen the kiss, and then his tongue brushed the inside of his lower lip. Suguru was trembling with need under his hands, like a plucked string left to ring.
Satoru wanted nothing more than to push Suguru down into the bed.Ā
The thought hit Satoru somewhere in his gut, and then lower, pooling warm in his groin. All Satoru could think about was how easy it would be to lift the guitar out of the way and set it gently on the floor. Then, heād ease him back against the pillows and undo each button of his shirt one at a time. The cotton would part to reveal skin that Satoru had only ever imagined.
He wouldn't rush. Satoru would spend an hour on just his chest if Suguru let him. He'd trace the line of each muscle with his tongue, press kisses right into the divot of his collarbone, and then mouth along the side of his neck until Suguru tipped his head back in pleasure. He would continue to worship him until Suguru understood without a doubt that he was worth this kind of devotion.
Satoruās pulse pounded in his own ears. Heat crawled up his neck as he became distinctly aware of the blood redirecting south in a way that was going to become a problem if he didnāt get a hold of himself. He realized his fingers were pressing harder into Suguruās chin than he intended. He forced himself to ease his grip.
They had all the time in the world. Satoru had meant it when he said that. There would be a night not too far off in the distance when Suguru reached for him first. His trembling would be from anticipation instead of nerves, and Satoru would hear his own name gasped in the midst of pleasure. That night would come. He just had to be patient enough to deserve it.
And so Satoru kissed his love until his lungs burned, until the salt of his own tears mixed with the sweet velvet of Suguru's mouth, and then he pulled back. His thumbs stroked the wet tracks that had rubbed off onto Suguruās cheeks, just under his closed eyes.
"I have something else for you," Satoru said through his gasps, just to change the topic. His voice was scratchy from the intensity of everything that had just happened. "Another anniversary gift."
His heart was refusing to calm down. No matter. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small key. Suguru's gaze locked onto it immediately.
"I'm gonna take the cuffs off," Satoru said. "I donāt think you need them anymore. You can move wherever you want around the basement now."
Suguru's breathing stuttered. It caught in his throat, and then came out quick through his nose. His hand tightened around the neck of the guitar.
"You've been so good, sweetheart," Satoru murmured, reaching down to unlock the cuff around Suguru's left ankle. The mechanism clicked and the padded leather fell open. His skin was ringed with a faint pink line where the cuff had pressed in, even through the sheepskin lining. Satoru rubbed it gently with his thumb. "I trust you, Suguru. I need you to know that."
He unlocked the second cuff. Suguru drew both legs up, pulling his ankles away, and sat with his feet flat on the mattress and his arms wrapped around his shins.
"Thank you," Suguru said in a rush. Satoru leaned in and kissed his cheek. Suguru's skin was damp against his lips.
"You're welcome, my love," Satoru said. "We're gonna be so happy here."
ā
That very evening, Satoru made his way down the stairs with dinner. Heād made a mild curry rice. He noticed Suguru pushing around some of the spicier dishes without really eating too much, so perhaps they upset his stomach. Satoru also brought him a slice of strawberry shortcake from his favorite bakery in Ginza. There was a 2021 fan account that was dedicated only to photographing Suguru in patisseries, so Satoru was well aware of his appreciation for sweets.
Satoru balanced the tray against his hip and worked through the deadbolts. Then, he pushed the door open with the ball of his foot and started down the stairs.
"Suguru, sweetheart, I made you some curry tonight. I think theā"
The guitar connected with the side of his head.
The impact left a blinding white flash behind his eyes. There was a crack Satoru could hear inside his own skull before it echoed into the room. The tray went flying. Curry and rice and cake sprayed across the stairs. Satoru was distantly aware of the plate shattering. The bellflowers heād gathered that afternoon scattered in a burst of purple.
Satoru staggered sideways, but then he caught himself on the railing. His vision started to tilt as the stairwell doubled. Past the ringing in his ears, he was vaguely aware of Suguruās silhouette darting past him. Long hair streamed behind him like ribbons fluttering in the wind as he took the steps two at a time.
Suguru was fast, but Satoru couldnāt allow the outside world to tear him apart.
He lunged, wrapping his arms around Suguruās midsection from behind. The momentum threw both of them off balance. Suguru thrashed in his arms, slamming his elbows into Satoruās torso. He screamed as he tried to break free, but Satoru held on tight.
They hit the bottom of the stairs together. Satoru gasped at the sudden impact against his back and shoulders, but he curled his long limbs around Suguru, pulling him tight against his chest. Suguruās elbow caught him again, this time right in the solar plexus. It forced the air right out of his lungs, but he still didnāt let go. Satoru locked his arms and squeezed tight. He wrapped his legs around Suguruās until he was pinned.
"Shhh, shhh." Satoru pressed his mouth against the top of Suguru's head. He could hear the effort it took him to hold Suguru down in his own voice. Satoru had a few centimeters of height on him, but Suguru was all bulk, even if he didnāt necessarily know how to use it. "I got you. You're okay, sweetheart. I got you."
Suguru continued to thrash. His fingernails raked across Satoru's forearms until he broke skin. He kept trying to roll sideways out of his grasp, but Satoru just rolled with him. He grunted when Suguruās heel connected with his kneecap. Pain shot up through his thigh, but he just tightened his grip.
"The bad people can't get you here," Satoru murmured into his hair. Blood was running down his face, dripping onto Suguruās shoulder. Weird. He didnāt feel any pain, but Suguru mustāve broken skin either with the strike or during the subsequent fall. "You're safe, sweetheart. You're safe with me. Nobody's gonna hurt you."
Suguru fought with everything he had until the exertion caught up with him. His muscles began to fail. The thrashing relaxed into shaking, which in turn became tremors and then stillness. After that, he simply went limp in Satoruās arms.
Satoru could see curry dripping off the edge of the stairs out of the corner of his eye. A few bellflower petals were tangled in Suguruās hair, and Satoru was trying his best to calm down his love, but he couldnāt help but think of how they complimented his eyes.
Suguruās body hitched a couple times, and then a heartwrenching sob came out of him. It came from somewhere deep in his chest, swallowed and swallowed until it just couldnāt be held anymore. And so Suguru cried into the cradle of Satoruās arms. His face turned away, but his shoulders kept jumping with each breath.
Satoru held him tighter. He gently rocked them both as if he were calming a child through a nightmare. He was, in a sense. Satoruās fingers combed through Suguruās hair, smoothing the tangled strands away from his damp face. The bleeding from his head wound was starting to slow, but it didnāt really matter. The only thing that mattered was Suguru.
How much damage had they done before Satoru found him?
The thought burned. Satoru buried his face into Suguru's hair and breathed him in and felt a righteous anger settle deep in his gut. All those years Suguru had been out there, exposed, unprotected, while the industry ground him down to nothing. The managers, the fans, every one of them had taken a piece, and none of them ever cared for what was left behind.
And maybe Suguru was safe now, but the damage was already so deep that the mere thought of being without Satoru had sent him into a blind panic. It broke Satoruās heart.
Heād have to put the cuffs back on, just until the panic attacks subsided. He loved Suguru, enough so that he wouldnāt allow his love to hurt himself. The stairs were so steep, and Satoru kept imagining a version of these events where Suguru had fallen in his disorientation. He couldāve cracked his skull on the concrete, only to bleed out alone while Satoru lay unconscious just above him. The very thought made him hold his love even tighter. He couldnāt let that happen. Heād add more sheepskin to the lining to make them as comfortable as possible.
"I know itās scary, my love," Satoru whispered against his temple. "Change is always scary. But we have each other now, and that's all that matters."
Suguru cried harder as his fingers curled into the fabric of Satoru's shirt.
Satoru pressed his lips to Suguru's skin and closed his eyes. The strawberry shortcake was ruined, and heād need to clean the stairs. And he should probably ice his head at some point. Maybe he could even order a new guitar. There was no way the Martin survived the events of this evening. A better one, maybe something vintage. Something worthy of being held in Suguruās hands.
Everything was going to be okay, and they were going to be so happy.
Maybe heād make eggs and soldiers again tomorrow. Six minutes and forty seconds. Suguru liked them that way.
hi! i downloaded this just to ask this sob but i was wondering if it would be okay for me to use the kirara art recently posted as a rant layout! its completely fine if not and ill take down the video i have posted i just came across it on pinterest and asked if u could use it just to find out whoever posted it wasn't the real artist so i researched it and found you! again its fine if not and i will use a different layout but i wanted to make sure!
Hi! I'm not an artist, I only reblog other people's art, so unfortunately I don't have any Kirara art. But I hope you find the artist you're looking for!
When Satoru had invited Shoko to join him and Suguru to an all-inclusive resort for free, there was no way she was going to turn him down. What he neglected to mention was that Paradise Cove was an āAll-Inclusive Resort Experienceāā¦ for men who love men, specifically.
Well... she was here now, so she might as well make the most of it.
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When Satoru had invited Shoko to join him and Suguru to an all-inclusive resort for free, there was no way she was going to turn him down. What he neglected to inform her of was that Paradise Cove was an āAll-Inclusive Resort Experienceāā¦ for men who love men, specifically.
Shoko stood in the lobby with her carry-on at her feet while two shirtless men in matching speedos hand-fed each other pieces of fruit not three meters away. There was a rainbow flag the size of a bedsheet hanging from the mezzanine. The concierge, an objectively gorgeous hunk of a man with cheekbones that could slay lesser gays, was wearing a tank top that read DADDY in sparkling rhinestones.
She glanced at Satoru.
The idiot was beaming. He was wearing his most obnoxious pair of designer sunglasses, pushed up into his white hair, and he had both arms spread wide.
"Isn't this place amazing?" Satoru gushed, rotating in a circle to take it all in. "The staff are all so friendly! I love the energy!"
Shoko then turned to look at Suguru. To his credit, he had the decency to look like he wanted to jump out the nearest open window. Shoko felt the corner of her lips curve up and quickly pressed them together. Something was bubbling up in her chest, and if she opened her mouth right now, she was going to absolutely lose it.
"I tried to tell him," Suguru said before she could. A flush was crawling up the back of his neck. "I showed him the website, but he assured me it was just how Europeans advertised things."
Across the lobby, Satoru had wandered over to the welcome desk. The rhinestone concierge was leaning forward on his elbows, smiling at Satoru in a way that was mostly interested, but at least a little professional. Satoru, radiant and oblivious, was asking about the buffet schedule.
"Suguboo, do you want early dinner or late dinner?" Satoru called back over his shoulder, more than delighted to call his boyfriend by that godawful nickname.
Suguru let out the most strangled squeak sheād ever heard in her life.
Shoko bit the inside of her cheek and tried to stay quiet. She was shaking, but she was determined to not laugh, because if she started, there was no way she was gonna stop.
"Well, we're here now," she just barely managed. "Might as well make the most of it."
ā
The room, at least, was spectacular.
Shoko had a king-sized bed all to herself with a balcony overlooking the ocean. The bathroom had a rainfall shower and the tub was more than deep enough to drown her sorrows in.
She dropped her bag on the bed and pulled the curtain open. Far down below, the pool glittered turquoise in the afternoon sun. It was populated entirely by men. Fit, tanned, oily men in microscopic swimwear, lounging like iguanas all over the pool deck.
Now, Shoko could appreciate a nice body. She'd slept with enough men and women of all shapes and sizes to know that much about herself. Most men were perfectly pleasant to look at, but they werenāt exactly worth crossing the room for.
She let the curtain fall.
Shoko stripped out of her travel clothes, leaving them in a pile she'd deal with later. The bathroom mirror stretched from the floor to the ceiling. She looked at herself. Shoko had the same dark circles under her eyes sheād had for years. Her hair had unfortunately given up somewhere over Kazakhstan.
Whatever.
The water pressure was incredible, way better than anything her dinky little staff dorm at Jujutsu High could ever hope for. It hit her shoulders and she made a noise that was frankly embarrassing. Her head dropped forward under the heat.
Shoko stood there for long enough for the mirror to fog over completely. It was working though, because the tension in her neck was beginning to unwind. When she stepped out, she felt marginally more charitable toward the universe.
She plopped down on the edge of the bed and pulled her phone from her bag. Sheād somehow already missed a wild series of texts from Satoru.
The Dumb One: shoko the gym has a steam room AND a sauna AND a relaxation suite w mood lighting (Ā“ļ½„Ļļ½„)Ā
The Dumb One: towel guy said i have GREAT bone structure (Ā¬āæĀ¬) do i?? be honestĀ
The Dumb One: suguboo wont come out of the bathroom (āÆĀ°ā”Ā°)āÆ its been 20 minsĀ
The Dumb One: i think he got shy abt the robe situation (ā§ā½ā¦)Ā
The Dumb One: they're VERY short (ā_ā) like. dangerously shortĀ
The Dumb One: oh ALSO couples massage at 4
The Dumb One: BUT spa guy said they do a āfull body sensual experience" package too?? like in quotes??
The Dumb One: should i book three??Ā
The Dumb One: this resort is SO hospitable ć½(ā”āæā”)ćĀ
Shoko stared at the screen for a long time.
Shoko: Please do not include me in whatever your sensual experience is
Shoko: Also tell Geto I can hear him dying from here
She plugged her phone in and settled onto the bed.
See, here was the thing about Ieiri Shoko Ieiri. She was a practical woman. Sheād spent her entire adult life surrounded by catastrophe and learned, very early on, that the only dependable source of comfort in this world was the kind she provided for herself. Other people were unreliable. But a good drink and the contents of the black zippered pouch at the bottom of her toiletry bag? Those never let her down.
She glanced at the front door.
Well. She did have the room to herself, and this resort was clearly designed for a certain kind of recreation.
She deserved this.
Shoko hopped up and pulled the blackout curtains shut.
ā
Her vibrator was this deep purple color and roughly the size and shape of a small pear. It was, without exaggeration, the best purchase she had ever made.
She set it on the nightstand and pushed her towel to the floor. The AC was on high, and the cool air sent goosebumps across her stomach and thighs. She didn't bother getting under the covers. There was something rather nice about the contrast against the heat building underneath her skin.
Shoko settled back against the pillows and let her knees fall apart. She had to keep reminding herself that there was no need to rush. Itās not like she had any students bleeding out in her infirmary or anything. For the first time in months, nobody needed her hands for anything.
She ran the tips of her fingers against her lower stomach and gasped at her own soft touch. Her hair was damp against the pillow, dripping occasionally onto her breast in a way that made her shiver. Shoko trailed her hand lower until her fingertips brushed through the coarse hair between her legs.
Her breath caught as she let her hand drift lower. She was already warm. The shower and the anticipation mustāve done most of the work. She pressed two fingers against her outer lips, but didnāt part them quite yet. She teased herself with a rolling pressure that made her sigh hard through her nose.
Shoko didn't think about anything. No fantasy, no faces. Just her own hand and the peace and quiet.
She parted herself and gasped at the slickness that had already gathered at her entrance. She ghosted over her clit with the pad of her index finger. It was barely just a whisper, but her hips still twitched off the mattress.
"Mmm."
She circled around her clit slowly, keeping to the edges rather than touching it directly. The pad of her finger glided in a lazy loop through her own slickness. Shokoās breathing deepened. Each one carried just the hint of a moan. She could feel her pulse between her legs, picking up the pace.
She dipped lower and pressed one finger into herself, just up to the first knuckle. Her walls clenched immediately, sending a ripple of warmth up through her core. Shoko curled the finger against the front wall. She knew just the spot that would bleed the tension from her body. She rubbed it a couple times, letting the pleasure wash over her.
There was something so luxurious about having alone time like this. Shoko pulled finger loose and reached for the nightstand, careful not to get her slick on anything.
The vibrator fit perfectly in her palm. The silicone head was a little cold from the room's ambient temperature, but that wasnāt anything that couldnāt be fixed by the heat of a small motor. She pressed the button and the device hummed to life with a quiet buzz.
Shoko pressed the cupped head up against the inside of her thigh. The vibrations traveled through her skin in small waves. She slowly dragged it upward, along the crease where her thigh met her hip. Close but not quite there.
Her other hand spread herself wide as she moved it inward. The moment the silicone head settled over her clit, her entire body seized.
The sucking pressure reached so much deeper than just the surface, tugging at nerve endings she could feel radiating all the way down through her core. Her thighs snapped together on reflex, trapping her hand, but that didnāt even matter. The vibrater would keep on pulsing regardless.
"Ah," she breathed, her shoulders pressing back against the sheets.
Shoko held it there for just a minute on the lowest setting. The pleasure was already beginning to pool in her lower belly like warm honey. She pressed the button again.
The pulses quickened, and something deep within her tightened as her thighs fell open again.
Shoko let her head fall back. She started to rock her hips against the device. She was wet enough now that the silicone kept slipping around. She adjusted, pressing the suction flush where it needed to be.
A wispy moan caught in the back of her throat. Her free hand came up to cup her breast, and she began playing with her nipple with her thumb. Each touch sent a bright spark of pleasure down through her belly and straight between her legs. Her back arched, pressing harder into the vibrator.
She accidentally pressed the button twice, skipping a setting altogether.
"Fuck," she moaned out into the air.
The suction was demanding now, pulling at her clit with a greed that made her hips jerk off the mattress. She could feel herself clenching around nothing, but the emptiness only heightened the ache.
A flush was crawling up her chest and neck, heat blooming under her skin. She was getting so close, and then the vibrator pulsed in a way that made her whole body jolt, and she couldnāt even think.
There was nothing in her head but the sucking pressure between her legs and the heat in her core that was coiling tighter and tighter. The sheets were all bunched up in her fist as her hips rolled in desperate little circles. Small, breathless sounds kept escaping her, but she couldnāt bring herself to care. Shoko just pressed harder. She ground against the silicone as her free hand moved to twist in the pillow under her head.
A small part of her wanted to stay here, right on this edge, where everything was bright and tight and trembling. A much larger part of her just wanted to come already. She pressed the button one more time, bumping it up another notch, and went over.
Her legs locked up as her heels dug into the mattress. A loud moan tore out of her, ripped from somewhere deep in her chest, as she spasmed hard. Her core gripped and released around nothing at all as she pressed the vibrator against herself, desperate to ride through the peak. Her hips ground in tight circles against the suction. Each wave arrived before the previous one had finished, and Shoko's back stayed arched off the mattress, her breath coming in sharp little bursts.
When it finally ebbed, her whole body went slack. The vibrator slipped from her fingers, still buzzing against her inner thigh and sending shockwaves through her body. She fumbled for it with a clumsy, boneless hand and managed to click it off before the overstimulation had a chance to tip from good to unbearable.
Shoko lay there with her chest heaving and just stared at the ceiling. She felt like she'd been taken apart and put back together with a couple screws missing. When her brain finally came back online, the first thing it registered was moisture.
A distinct wetness soaked into the linen beneath her hips. She frowned, still groggy, and slid a hand down to touch the sheet.
It wasā¦ very wet. A circle of it, wider than her hand, had seeped into the crisp white fabric. Shoko blinked at the ceiling.
"Huh," she said.
Shoko hadn't squirted in years. She sort of assumed she wasn't really able to anymore. Apparently, all she'd needed was the right combination of sonic pulse technology and the total freedom of professional obligation.
She felt sorta bad for a hot second before remembering she was at a resort, which meant housekeeping. The sheets officially werenāt her problem.
Her phone buzzed several times.
She reached for it with a shaking hand.
The Dumb One: shoko shoko shoko
The Dumb One: there's a wet white party by the pool tonight and the dress code says as little as possible which i think just means linen??
The Dumb One: very classy
The Dumb One: ALSO there's a room in the basement called the playroom (ć»ć» )Ā
The Dumb One: with a PADDED floor and i think it's for like. wrestling?? ā ā ā ( Ā°ć®Ā° ) ?
The Dumb One: the guy at the front desk WINKED when he told me about it
The Dumb One: so i think it's exclusive ( Ė¶Ā°ć Ā°) VIP only very fancyĀ
The Dumb One: suguboo turned PURPLE when i asked if he wanted to check it out is he ok??Ā
The Dumb One: i think he's getting a sunburn (ß¹š„¦ß¹) you should take a look
Jesus fucking Christ. Shoko tried to gather her strength.
She began to type out that no, that the playroom is not for mother fucking wrestling, but then she deleted it. Some things were funnier left alone.
She did some fancy gymnastics to grab her towel up off the floor and dabbed up some of the excess sweat coating her body. She'd deal with Satoru and āSugubooā later. She'd deal with everything later, after a nap and a margarita the size of her head.
For now, the thread count was exceptional and every muscle in her body was officially liquefied.
All things considered, the room alone was worth the trip.
ā
Shoko made it to the pool by late afternoon.
She was wearing her black one-piece and a pair of oversized sunglasses, as well as a brand-spanking-new coverup that sheād bought just for this sad excuse for a vacation. She had a paperback tucked under one arm and absolutely no intention of speaking to another human being.
She found a lounge chair in the shade and ordered a frozen margarita from a pool boy with sculpted forearms. He handed her the drink with excellent, platonic service and went back to flirting with the bartender. Shoko could respect a man with priorities.
Across the pool, Satoru was chatting animatedly with a couple on adjacent loungers. Shoko caught the words "wrestling" and "exclusive" before one of the men choked on his piƱa colada. His partner started laughing so hard he slid halfway off his chair.
Suguru was planted on the far side of the pool with his feet in the water, pretending to read a book of his own. Every few seconds however his eyes drifted to Satoru. Shoko had known him for years. She could see clearly on his face a particular anguish that meant he was horny, mortified, and completely unable to do anything about either.
They were both idiots, but they were her idiots, and they were paying for her drinks.
Shoko took a long sip of her margarita. It was perfect, ice cold and ridiculously heavy on the tequila. Shoko settled deeper into the chair, tipped her sunglasses down, and let the sun warm her legs.
