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Gojo Satoru will never, ever admit it out loud, but his parents aren’t always wrong about everything. They were right, at least, to send him Suguru.
Don’t get him wrong, though, he bitched and moaned at them plenty he’d found out that they’d already contracted a companion hybrid for him. Satoru didn’t need some guy paid to be his roommate, his friend, or worst of all, his babysitter. Sure, his parents talked a lot about “isolating himself” and “focusing too much on work,” but he hadn’t really thought they were serious enough to do anything but nag him about it every so often.
No matter how many times people tell Satoru that acting like he’s better than everyone else is a bad way to make friends, it doesn’t change the fact that he is better than everyone else and there’s nothing wrong with admitting it. He’s always excelled at anything he sets his mind to, and now, as a CEO at only 25, all he’s doing is waiting until his old man steps down from their family company so he can run that one successfully, too. It’d been a game, almost, to see how fast he could rise up the ranks and impress his ever-diminishing number of superiors, and Satoru’s competitive.The family connections helped, sure, but he went out of his way to prove himself on his own. It kept him entertained for a few years.
Now, though, he’s at the top, and even if he blows through his responsibilities with ease, there’s enough of them to take up his time. Besides, even if he had more free time for the socialization his parents insist on, there’s few people actually worth spending it with: Nanami’s caught up in his own rat race and constantly complaining about it, and if Satoru thinks he’s tired, it’s nothing compared to Shoko, who keeps working double shifts after nearly burning herself out in medical school and hardly has time for him anymore. No one else is worth the effort.
Before his parents intervened, Satoru was perfectly happy to go home after working late to his nice, quiet apartment to watch reality TV for 3 straight hours, or sometimes to just keep working. He likes being busy, is the thing, and he has to figure out some way of staying entertained now that there’s nowhere higher to climb. It suited him just fine.
It was really unlucky, then, that his parents had somehow stumbled into picking Suguru for him.
He’d stormed into his apartment after they dropped that little bomb on him during a call, determined to send whoever they’d hired packing as fast as he could, fuming at their audacity. He’s a grown man, and the last thing he needed was a cheerful stranger trying to soften him up and drag him away from what matters.
He’d slammed the door open, ready to bully whatever fuzzy, cutesy little companion hybrid was supposed to “help him adjust” and “encourage him to get out there more” right back out the door.
Instead he’d found Suguru standing politely in his foyer with his bags sitting at his feet, his hands folded neatly behind his back and all the necessary paperwork sitting on the counter, and gotten distracted.
The hybrid was… not what Satoru expected. Instead of something small, cute, and fluffy like a bunny or a cat or even a toy breed of dog, he was a husky—Satoru’s best guess is that his parents took inspiration from Shoko, a saluki hybrid, and just assumed that he’s a dog person. Well, Suguru wasn’t small or cute, but he was fluffy, with angular, furry ears poking out from his sleek black hair and an equally luxurious black tail with a white underside curled politely across his legs. Those ears were pierced with heavy black gauges and he wore a baggy gray sweater and loose, wide pants, with even the slightly sharp claws on his hands painted black, the look at odds with the formal way he held himself. And he was big—it was to be expected, from a large hybrid breed, but still, Satoru was used to being the tallest man in any given room. Instead, Suguru had a couple infuriating inches on him, and an easy, broad stance that belied strength and muscle.
Not cute at all.
He was, though, completely Satoru’s type. That might be at least partially responsible for the way immediately he lost sight of kicking Suguru out, instead gaping as the man introduced himself. And though he huffed and complained after that, he let Suguru explain that he’d been strong-armed into this arrangement just as much as Satoru (unsurprising, given how pushy his parents are), and that he doesn’t usually do this type of companion work at all. He’d even picked up on the fact that Satoru’s parents hadn’t exactly told him about anything and had managed to insist on a two week trial run of the live-in arrangement to see if they were a good match, keeping them both from being trapped in a longer contract. It was immediately a relief to not have to chase off some unsuspecting stranger, and Satoru figured he could put up with this for just two weeks.
Unfortunately for Satoru’s vivid fantasies of showing his parents how much of a failure their whole stupid plan was, it turns out that Suguru is good at what he does. Part of it is that being a companion is, obviously, his job: he’s good at listening, willing to chat and joke when Satoru is in the mood and willing to sit quietly with him on the couch or disappear into his own bedroom when he isn’t, and he even does the housework and the cooking that Satoru so often lets pile up endlessly when he’s busy with work. It’s… okay, actually, the feeling of coming home after a long day of meetings to find Suguru there already, hair loose around his shoulders after a shower and dinner almost ready, or even letting Suguru drag him out to a museum or a restaurant on the weekends as part of his responsibilities in getting him to actually socialize.
Plus, there’s all this stuff that Satoru wouldn’t have even thought of as companion work. Suguru reminds him to eat or sleep if he’s too focused on his work, something he didn’t even know he was doing multiple times a week. Or how, when they’re in a busy public place and Satoru can feel himself getting a little snappy because it’s too bright, or loud, or god forbid some asshole is making a repetitive noise somewhere in his vicinity, Suguru can always tell, bumping him with a shoulder or brushing his tail against his leg as a distraction. When Satoru asked, he even agreed to lightly run his sharp nails across his arm or his shoulder—it’s enough sensation to block the disturbance out but not painful, and Suguru is better at not being too forceful or too repetitive in a way that Satoru never quite manages.
The absolute best revelation, though, was the first time that Suguru knocked on his door while he was hunched over his desk, taking a break from reading paperwork to scroll through his phone, with a bottle of water and painkillers in hand.
“You’re getting a migraine, right?” Suguru had asked, like that made any sense. Satoru, admittedly, had scoffed in his face.
“No, I’m not. What are you, a mindreader or something?” Suguru just raised an eyebrow, pointedly leaving the water and pills on the corner of his desk. Three hours later, when Satoru was cocooned with his head under a blanket, the lights off, and the cold water bottle pressed against his forehead, waiting for the ibuprofen to kick in (he’d ignored the realization that he was, in fact, having a migraine for a little too long out of spite) he had to admit that he’d been spot-on. Suguru wasn’t a mind reader, but he could apparently smell when Satoru had a migraine coming on, which was kinda freaky but super helpful, and Satoru’s taken every warning to take medicine, stop working, and not push himself into making it worse like he usually does to heart since then.
Obviously all of that stuff is great, but the part that really makes things difficult is that he finds out almost immediately that he just likes Suguru. Any other companion hybrid could probably do a lot of the same things, he discovers, since most of it is just the general training required for certification, and Satoru is stubborn enough that all the help in the world wouldn’t be enough to make him keep sharing his apartment with someone he didn’t like. He expected to be patronized or coddled by some obsequious goody-two-shoes, because that’s what hybrid companions are for, right?
Except Suguru looks at him like he sees right through him, not judging, exactly, but just like he doesn’t really buy any of Satoru’s bullshit. It’s kind of refreshing, actually, when he just rolls his eyes when Satoru shows off instead of gushing, or calls him out for showing off, or, after a few days of getting to know each other, teases Satoru here and there, making fun of him in a way most people are just too scared to do.
Suguru makes him feel… balanced. He’s steady, in a way that Satoru is unprepared for, even in the face of all of Satoru’s posturing and bad moods, dragging him back down to Earth and other people. And sure, he seems like a goody-two-shoes sometimes, all formal and polite and clean, clear boundaries, especially around others, but Satoru quickly figures out that it’s just for show. For starters, there’s the trail of tattoos across his back and chest (Satoru’s personal favorite is a long, elegant dragon curled across his spine and shoulders, not that he’s looking), nothing that would ever be visible in everyday clothes, safe from the eyes of a potential employer. Or the way, when he sometimes hangs around Satoru at work, he’ll keep a close eye on the subordinates he doesn’t like and lean in close, reporting all the office drama and several bitchy observations to Satoru with all the seriousness of a war council, his voice curling with amusement and his breath soft against his ear. Best of all, though, is just before that two week trial period is up, when he watches Suguru, two feet away from him on the couch, pick up the phone and lie to Satoru’s parents that Satoru is out on important business, and that’s why he’s been ignoring their nagging calls.
That just maybe makes his heart skip a beat. It definitely makes him choose to fill out their contract for real, giving license for Suguru to live with him as his companion indefinitely.
It also helps that they have their own schedules. Suguru tends to leave before him in the mornings, usually while Satoru is still in the shower, but he gets home a little earlier in the evenings. Sometimes, though, he’ll be gone all evening, leave in the middle of the night after a phone call, or even be gone for a couple of days at a time, though he always texts Satoru about when he plans to get back.
It takes him, just maybe, embarrassingly long to think to ask about this. In his defense, Satoru really is a busy guy.
When he finally does, Suguru just blinks for a second before actually having the audacity to laugh at him.
“Satoru, it really didn’t occur to you that I’m actually doing my job?” He says, easily brushing off the glare Satoru sends his way, but there’s no venom in his voice.
“Wha—I’m your job,” he answers, crossing his arms, exaggerating his indignation to hide the discomfort that twists inside him. Maybe that reminder puts a sour feeling in the back of his throat. It’s easy to forget, sometimes, that he’s just paying Suguru for a service, and he’s not sure he likes it.
“Like I told you, this isn’t my normal arrangement.” Suguru goes quiet for a moment, ears twitching forward a bit in the way that means he’s thinking hard. “I don’t usually work as a live-in companion at all; instead, I’m partnered with Child Guidance Centers and a few therapy offices for daily or weekly visits, or sometimes home interventions if it’s necessary. All my other clients are children, actually. Too young to have been through so much, and they… struggle to talk about it, to open up, to feel safe with the professionals trying to help them or the family members who do care. Young children love the ears. My presence provides comfort, something to pet, and I can pick up on changes in mood, stress, or even health factors and intervene faster than a human. I can listen to them and make them feel safe, and then show them to trust others, too. It’s my responsibility to use what I have, what I am, to help them.”
That, obviously, stops Satoru from doing something incredibly stupid like being jealous he isn’t Suguru’s only client.
Still, even as he lets it go, he pays more attention to the weariness Suguru sometimes brings with him when he gets home, the urgency with which he answers every phone call he gets, no matter the time of day or night. He wonders what it’s like, to feel like your very nature is a gift or a burden, and thinks about Shoko, how her keen sense of smell as another dog hybrid lets her diagnose problems other doctors would miss. At the same time, though, Satoru thinks he gets it, just a little, human or not. If he wasn’t a CEO, he’d have to be doing something else just as busy, just as serious, just as engaging—it’s not in his nature to sit still and let problems go unchallenged, either.
So Satoru adjusts to Suguru, starts to appreciate him, even, especially once Suguru explains that no, he isn’t handling Satoru the way he would a traumatized kid in the slightest. Suguru is his companion, and Suguru is his friend. Satoru can’t help but wonder if they could be something else, too.
It’s a bad idea. It’s definitely, absolutely, 100% a bad idea. He’s Suguru’s boss, kinda, and he’s really not good at anything other than casual one night stands so sleeping with his roommate/friend probably isn’t the best move, and, more than anything, he just enjoys Suguru’s company too much to risk fucking things up. Even if he catches himself watching Suguru when he’s not looking more and more, even if he’s so aware of the feeling of their legs pressed together on the couch while watching a movie that it almost burns, even if the soft, almost purring way Suguru says his name when it’s just the two of them makes him have to suppress a shiver. What really complicates things is that Satoru is 99% sure the attraction is mutual, even if Suguru won’t act on it due to that pesky professionalism and respect.
Sometimes, Satoru will get home from the gym and catch the way Suguru is very obviously not looking at him and his tight clothes. Or he’ll feel Suguru tense up when he slings an arm over his shoulders or rests his head in his lap, only to soften right away. Or he’ll simply note the way Suguru’s tail wags no matter how much he tries to stop it, not just when Satoru gets home from work but whenever he tests the waters by saying something a little flirty and a little joking, or even just when he stretches, his shirt riding up to expose bare skin.
So they dance around each other and their chemistry, and Satoru starts to wonder how, exactly, he can make the first move without misreading the situation completely, or if it’s even worth the risk of ruining things. Turns out, nature handles it for him.
Satoru gets home so late it’s already pitch dark outside after a company dinner he couldn’t afford to miss and then couldn’t escape for hours.
The apartment lights are off, the air still, and for a moment Satoru is back to when he lived alone, trying to fill the space with noise every night. He almost hadn’t realized how quickly he’d gotten used to Suguru’s presence, looked forward to it, even. But of course the apartment isn’t empty, not really—since Suguru told him yesterday that he wasn’t feeling very well, he’s probably still just in his room resting.
So it’s a surprise when, while taking off his shoes, he hears Suguru shuffle in behind him, mumbling something that might be a greeting but really sounds more like a grunt. But if that’s a shock, Satoru is completely unprepared to finally untie the last stubborn knot, only to stand back up right into Suguru’s strong arms around him.
He freezes at the feeling of his broad, bare chest pressed flush against his back, his arms curled protectively around his middle and hands resting on his waist, the puff of his breath against the column of his throat. Sure, they’re comfortable enough with each other to be touchy, but this is something else entirely.
“Wow, you really missed me that much?” Satoru manages, trying to keep it casual, like he’s not hyper aware of how warm Suguru is, the way he’d only have to shift back the slightest bit to press his ass against Suguru’s hips. He really must not be feeling well, to be so cuddly all of the sudden.
Suguru just hums in response, his stupidly big hands pressing a little into the exposed skin of his waist beneath his sweater, fingertips rubbing little circles that Satoru’s going to be thinking about for days. There’s no way exactly five seconds of friendly touching is getting him wet, he’s not that desperate. Completely no way. But all deniability goes out the window when he feels a soft nuzzling against the delicate skin just behind his ear, a little press of Suguru’s nose and lips that sends shivers up and down his spine at the intimacy of it.
And then Suguru leans down and licks all the way from Satoru’s collarbones to just below his ear, the warm press of his tongue syrup slow.
Satoru makes a noise he will never in a million years admit to, a gaspy little whine of shock at the slow, wet drag, jerking in Suguru’s grip, but the hybrid just pulls him back against him, his hold iron.
“Suguru! Wha—?” he tries, and then has to clamp his mouth shut when he does it again to prevent humiliating himself even more, burning up. It’s… it should be gross, right? Suguru, lapping open-mouthed at his neck in broad strokes, all hot and damp and panting against his throat, should be disgusting. “Disgust” isn’t exactly the word Satoru would use to describe his feelings about it, though, twitching against the burning-hot touch. What’s gotten into him?
“Mmm, Satoru,” Suguru murmurs against the base of his jaw, voice still high and sweet like it normally is, but less articulate, like he’s not thinking about much at all. At least he knows who he’s latched onto. It does nothing to answer any of Satoru’s million questions, even though hearing the hybrid say his name like that turns him to putty.
Suguru’s hands find their way up his sweater in earnest, and he yelps as those big hands cup his tits, fondling him shamelessly, tugging at his nipples in a way that he can’t help but push his chest forward into even though (because) it hurts. At the same time, Suguru finally stops lapping at his neck, instead letting his fangs catch lightly on the sensitive skin, sucking roughly. He seems determined to leave as many marks across Satoru’s pale throat as he can, nipping and kissing with a single-minded focus as his deft fingers circle his stiff, sensitive nipples. His chest aches from the constant attention.
The thought of Suguru marking him up, laying such a hungry, possessive claim to him, is almost too much for Satoru. He doesn’t know what’s going on, they’ve barely even started (started what, he also doesn’t know) but he feels soaked, his tdick stiff and twitching in his underwear at each little touch. Fuck. Fuck, he’s so going to pretend that it’s just because he’s been too busy to get any for awhile and not just the fact that it’s Suguru touching him.
What jerks him back to reality is the feeling of Suguru pressing forwards against him, his hard cock rutting against Satoru’s ass as his fangs sink lightly into the skin across his shoulder. He can’t help the moan that escapes him, clapping a hand over his mouth to try and stay quiet. He knew—hoped, whatever—that he was big, but holy shit. Suguru’s hand that isn’t tugging roughly at one of his oversensitive nipples has a vice hold of his hip, keeping him in place as he grinds forward against his ass again, and Satoru can feel everything even through the layers of their clothes. It’s a lot of everything. He feels, in equal parts, doubt that it can even fit inside of him and a little thrill at the thought of Suguru making it fit.
But then he’s being shoved forward, rough enough that Satoru is barely able to catch himself on his hands and knees on the carpet. Suguru drapes over his back like a heavy, warm blanket, panting against the shell of Satoru’s ear as he humps him like—like a dog.
Not that he minds the attention, but what the fuck is going on? He’s spent a week watching Suguru avoid anything even remotely sexual between them. Serious, cautious, considerate Suguru, rutting against his leg like his life depends on it.
Don’t some hybrids have like… mating seasons? Estrus or something like that? Shoko used to miss a couple of days of class and complain about it every once in awhile, but the only time he’d dared to ask, she’d given him a withering look, her tail raised high in annoyance, so he hadn’t brought it up again. Is it estrus for guys too, or something else?
Not that the difference is especially important right now. Satoru wants nothing more than to give in, to let Suguru do, fuck, pretty much anything to him, but he also remembers around this point that he’s technically Suguru’s employer and the whole “this is a terrible idea” thing. If they can at least talk it out—
He wiggles, trying to put a little distance between them just so he can think, and Suguru actually growls , his claws biting into Satoru’s hips as he jerks him back against his cock with a steady grind, like telling him he’s not going anywhere. Fully clothed, barely even touched, but it still makes Satoru’s hole pulse around nothing. Not exactly helpful when he’s trying to be the responsible one.
“Suguru, Suguru, hey, calm down,” he says, even as it comes out unconvincing, especially when a nip at the base of his neck makes him break off into a whimper. And then, just because he suspects he can get away with it in a way he never will again, “Down, boy! Bad dog!”
It backfires. Suguru makes a noise that’s part growl, part mean, condescending laugh, right against his throat in a way that makes whatever latent animal instincts he has tell him to show his belly, and then he’s leaning back to claw at Satoru’s pants. Like, actually tearing through the fabric of his jeans and boxers, leaving the fabric to puddle on the floor, but he’s never cared less about anything in his life, because Suguru must’ve shoved down his own sweatpants, too.
All Satoru can do is keen and shake as he feels Suguru’s thick cock shoved between his thighs, sliding easily with how wet he is, every pass pressing just a little against his own dick in a way that’s both too much and not enough. It’s impossible to hide the way he’s leaking, dripping down onto his own thighs, and Suguru makes a low, pleased noise even as Satoru feels himself flush all the way to the tips of his ears.
“Suguru, ah, what’re you doing?” He tries one more time, inanely, because it’s pretty fucking obvious what Suguru’s doing when he feels his thick cockhead catch against his hole. So much for being the responsible one.
Suguru thrusts forward, rough and unrelenting in one long, deep slide that has Satoru crying out, twisting in Suguru’s tight grip as he struggles to adjust. Fuck, it’s perfect, but it’s too much even with how wet and open he is, it feels like Suguru is splitting him in half as he just keeps going. His cock is thick and hot as he sheaths himself inside of Satoru’s quivering body, inch by inch. His thoughtful, gentle, teasing Suguru simply holds him in place by the hips even as he keens and writhes, his arms giving out so his face is pressed against the floor as finally, finally, he feels Suguru’s hips meet his ass, barely able to breathe from the feeling of him.
And then Suguru responds to the question Satoru forgot he’d even asked, a little distracted from worrying about what Suguru’s trying to do when he’s filled so completely. The hybrid pulls out almost all the way, Satoru’s cunt fluttering and clenching around that suddenly empty space, one hand moving from his hip to right over his lower belly with a gentle pressure.
Suguru leans down, lapping almost gently at the tender, bitten skin of his throat, pressing down just a little on his abdomen, and thrusts back into him all at once as he answers, “Satoru. Puppies.”
Satoru comes so hard he forgets to breathe. It hits him all at once, tingling pleasure spreading out from his core through his entire body, his fingers scrabbling uselessly at the floor, toes curling, mind blank except for one brilliant, shining fact. Suguru is—Suguru is trying to—Suguru’s sole focus right now is knocking him up.
And he can’t do anything but take it, still shaking with the aftershocks of his orgasm, every thrust knocking more little gasping whines out of him as the hybrid pounds into him. Satoru has never felt small like this in his entire life, pinned down by Suguru’s chest against his back, Suguru’s panting breath against his ear, Suguru’s thick cock carving deeper into him than he would have thought possible. All the while, that big palm rests right against the base of his belly, Suguru’s thumb rubbing a gentle circle into the sensitive skin. The contrast between all that tenderness and the brutality of his rutting makes Satoru’s head spin.
He realizes with a jolt that the high, continuous whimpering in the room is him, a noise he hasn’t ever made before and would rather die than admit to, little gasps and moans, but Satoru can’t help it. Not when Suguru’s dick keeps dragging across the perfect spot inside him, and definitely not when his mouth finds the tender place his throat meets his shoulder once more. He keeps biting him, not too hard but enough of a sting that it drags Satoru back into his body over and over again, back to every sensation at once. Then he licks over it, sucking bruises into every unmarked spot like it’s his life mission to make sure that everyone who so much as glances at Satoru knows he’s taken.
The only noise besides the pathetic mewling Satoru just can’t seem to stop is Suguru’s huffing breaths and the slick sounds of their bodies colliding, noisy with how wet Satoru is. It’s embarrassing against the quiet of his apartment, almost obscene. If Satoru was capable of blushing any harder, he would, but the shame of it just makes his neglected cock throb. He’s face-down in the middle of his living room, only his own folded arms keeping him from getting carpet burn on his cheek with the force of Suguru’s thrusts, back arched up into the hybrid’s vice grip, dripping down his own thighs at being manhandled like this. Hell, he came without even a touch to his clit just from the realization that all of Suguru’s carefully maintained control has disappeared in his desperation to breed Satoru.
He shudders, heat building in him once again, his thighs shaking. Satoru has to wonder if it’s just the nature of his hybrid cycle, whatever it’s called, or if Suguru has thought about it before. If he’s fantasized about coming in Satoru over and over until it takes, filling him completely.
Satoru moans, his knees sliding further apart against the carpet, unable to keep himself upright any longer. Suguru just growls, dragging him upwards like he weighs nothing at all, claws leaving bright, sharp trails of delicious pain across his skin. He leans back to kneel upright and takes Satoru with him until they’re back to chest again, Satoru’s head leaning back against his shoulder and his hand trailing up to press against his chest to keep him from collapsing forward again.
The angle makes Satoru yelp, somehow hitting him impossibly deeper as gravity drags him down on Suguru’s cock. But what really pushes him over the edge is the force of it, his body lifted and moved as though he’s nothing more than a toy, a hole for Suguru to do whatever he wants with. And maybe there’s something a little wrong with Satoru, because Suguru using him like that for his own pleasure, for his instinctual desire to mate, has him clenching down again, wetness gushing out of him as he shakes. He can’t think, can’t even breathe, can’t do anything but feel the pleasure Suguru drags out of him even as the overstimulation verges on painful.
When he’s aware of himself again, Satoru finds that he’s crying, too overwhelmed to hold it back anymore even if he wanted to. Suguru leans forward, tongue catching the tears that track down his chin and throat, his thrusts quickening, hips slapping roughly against Satoru’s ass. The hand not holding Satoru tightly against him instead wanders back up to his chest, groping one tit and then the other, thumbing his nipples again and again when it makes Satoru keen. He can feel a fanning of air against his thighs from how hard Suguru’s tail is wagging. Satoru can’t help but laugh at that, even though his voice is hoarse and breathless.
The laughter dies in his throat when he feels Suguru’s thrusts slow to a deep drag, pushing as far into him as possible with each one as he lowers him back to his hands and knees. The hybrid is breathing heavier, too, and it feels like—like—
It feels like Suguru is getting even bigger where the base of his cock presses into Satoru’s waiting cunt, but that can’t be true.
Except, Satoru realizes as though from very far away, buried beneath the little shocks of overwhelmed pleasure coursing through him, Suguru is a husky hybrid. A husky hybrid dead set on knocking Satoru up and with a knot to make sure it happens, to keep every drop of his come inside him, even though Satoru’s not entirely sure his body is made to handle that.
“Suguru, woah, woah, hold on—” He gasps, trying once more to wiggle his hips out of Suguru’s grasp on instinct, even as his neglected clit throbs at the thought.
Suguru does not, in fact, hold on. Instead, Satoru finds himself dragged backwards all at once as Suguru takes him all the way, his cock so deep it’s like he can feel it in his throat. There’s a brief moment of resistance, his hole already so stretched, but then Suguru shoves himself forward, forcing his knot all the way in with a deep groan. Satoru thinks he might scream, but he can’t be sure, isn’t aware of anything at all besides the feeling of being stretched so completely, especially as the knot keeps on swelling, locking Suguru inside him with its size, pressed tight against his walls.
Satoru is flooded with warmth as Suguru comes deep inside him. And keeps coming, more than he would have imagined, feeling every twitch of Suguru’s cock against his walls as he’s stuffed impossibly full, his knot trapping it all inside of him. Satoru can’t help but follow, his pussy fluttering and twitching around Suguru as they come together, his eyes rolling back in his head as the world fades, leaving only the sensation of being filled.
When he comes to, it’s to find himself in Suguru’s arms in his bedroom, the other man gently lowering him down onto the bed as carefully as possible. The reason why becomes apparent when Satoru feels a twinge in his hole, the knot keeping them both connected for the time being. He hisses, nails biting into Suguru’s arm where it’s wrapped around his middle, but the hybrid manages to get them both lying on their sides in the bed after a moment.
At first, Satoru doesn’t think he’s going to be able to fall asleep—he’s not exactly used to being physically locked together after sex like this, usually sneaking off as soon as he can. Not that he’d sneak away from Suguru, considering he’s not a random stranger, but still, he is very much stuck there, something he’s reminded of if he so much as breathes too deeply. More than that, though, he should probably be worrying.
He’s Suguru’s boss, sort of, which makes it his responsibility—unless he’s just Suguru’s client and therefore it’s Suguru’s responsibility? His parents are probably going to kill him if they find out about this either way. Worst of all, though, is just the fear that he’s ruined things with Suguru, that things will be different now. Not things between a client and a companion, but just between the two of them, how they seem to fit together in a way that Satoru hasn’t really experienced with anyone else.
Then Suguru buries his face against Satoru’s neck, his breath puffing out in a contented hum as he snuggles closer, their legs tangled together and his arms wrapped tight around him. His ears tickle against Satoru’s jaw. They really are incredibly soft, he thinks, feeling the gentle rise and fall of Suguru’s even breath.
Satoru wakes up to sunlight streaming through the curtains, hours later than he normally manages to sleep. He would take a moment to bask in it, maybe burrow his way back down into his warm, comfortable sheets, except Suguru is sitting at the end of the bed, shame practically rolling off of him in waves.
It’s obvious that he’s fully back to himself just from the way he’s looking determinedly down at the floor instead of at Satoru, his tail drooping off the edge of the mattress and his ears flat against his hair, but one twitches in his direction when Satoru stirs. Suguru turns to him with what looks to be considerable effort. He is, tragically, fully clothed.
“Satoru, I need to apologize. My rut cycle came sooner than expected, but I should have paid more attention to the signs and left for a few days; this is my fault, and I take full responsibility. I am so sorry,” he says, his voice soft and so evenly controlled, words so carefully chosen, that Satoru can instantly tell that this is eating Suguru alive. He can’t have that.
Satoru pushes himself to sit upright, leaning back against the headboard, and winces. His whole body is sore, from the hickeys all over his throat to the bruises Suguru’s hands left on his hips and thighs, along with a deeper ache in his core. Upright, he can feel come leaking out onto his thighs, probably ruining his sheets, and tries his absolute hardest to ignore the way that makes his stomach flutter. Not the time. He needs a hot shower and probably some Plan B, but only after having this conversation. Suguru’s eyes track every movement, but not in the way he wants; instead he just seems to sink even further into himself.
“Okay, so, what, you’re apologizing for having a medical emergency here?” Satoru asks, which isn’t enough, he knows, but maybe it’ll show Suguru how ridiculous he’s being.
No dice. “That’s not what I mean and you know it. I hurt you, Satoru, when I’m supposed to do the opposite.”
“Yeah, and you made me come at least three times without even touching my dick. I enjoyed it. Also, I was fully capable of elbowing you in the face the entire time if you were really being too rough.” He gets to watch Suguru blush at that, his tail not quite wagging but fluffing up a little, and pushes on. “Besides, I’m paying you to be here. I think that makes me equally at fault, if it matters.”
He leans forward, putting a hand on Suguru’s shoulder. The hybrid tenses but doesn’t pull away. “Look, I know you think that your job, what you’re good at, means that if things do go wrong, the entire world is your responsibility and you take the blame, just because hypothetically maybe you could’ve done something different. No, don’t argue, let me finish. What I’m saying is that it’s not fair to me—I make choices just the same as you do, and it’s only right if we share the blame. If you were irresponsible, it’s because I was, too. It was… a little unexpected, sure, but I was into it. I figured it was kind of obvious that I wanted you, Suguru, and I still do. Don’t ruin the best sex of my life by moping about it.” Satoru shoves him in the shoulder, immediately feeling like he’s said way too much and made a complete fool of himself, but it’s worth it for the way Suguru’s gaze softens.
“You have a point. I just—it was unprofessional of me. And I wanted to… this isn’t exactly how I wanted things to go,” he sighs, leaning into Satoru’s palm when he trails a hand up to tease his hair and across his ears.
“What, you wanted to wine and dine me first?” Satoru teases.
“Yes,” Suguru smiles at him, and Satoru can’t help but freeze for a second, not prepared for the sincerity of the answer. “That’s what you deserve, Satoru. I wanted to, I still want to, but given our…arrangement…”
“Fuck the arrangement. I don’t just keep you around as a companion, you know that, right? No matter how good you are at it, no amount of reminding me to eat or warning me about migraines would make me put up with you for more than an hour if you weren’t… you. I can tell my parents to stop paying you, if that’ll make you feel better, but it’d probably be easiest if you just kept living here anyways. I don’t want you as a companion or a roommate, Suguru. I just want you.”
Suguru blinks. “I… I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.” And then he smiles at Satoru again and it’s like looking into the sun, and leans in to kiss him. It’s so gentle, so totally different from everything he was last night, just a tender press of his lips that makes something in Satoru’s chest twist itself up. Completely different but completely perfect.
“So…” Satoru says over breakfast later, curiosity getting the better of him. “How soon will that whole rut thing happen again?”