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"In another life, Satoru."
The man rolls over, long arm draping over Saturo's body like a blanket. Pinning him there, softly, but with intent, I don't want to leave you again, but I have to.
He looks almost redeemable in this light. The dawn had always been kind to Suguru; it's balmy fingers had a way of blending his cutthroat edges into doughy swells of round, pink flesh, soft and young and fuckable - in the same way that the candidness of nightfall ages him, daybreak takes years from him, and he is Getou. Just Getou.
Satoru, despite this, makes a noise of vague disapproval.
"Lame," he says. "You'd make the same choices again, don't act like you wouldn't."
"Maybe -,"
" - shut up, Suguru."
It had become an unspoken rule that on the rare occasion Suguru found himself sharing Saturo's bed that they didn't discuss their respective life choices. If they never spoke about it, Satoru could pretend it wasn't real, this demarcation between good and evil that had sent them down such different paths. It wasn't about this moral greyness that hung over him like a fucking raincloud - Satoru knew to which side of the fence he belonged. It was that Suguru had chosen this life, without even including him, without ever letting him in to that mental shift that had led him from his apparent nonpartisanism to this great antagonist.
Now, for reasons unbeknownst to him, Suguru is the most talkative he'd been in years. It pisses Satoru off, this pretend guilelessness.
The mattress shifts beneath their weight as Suguru moves.
He knows what's coming; they move like clockwork, and Saturo sighs as the other crowds him, hips moving up by muscle memory. Feels good, to have Suguru like this, pliant and willing, grinding his body down and up, slotting into Satoru like a puzzle piece. Feels like old times, when Suguru wasn't the poster child for worldwide destruction.
"Two sides of the same coin?" breathes Suguru, breath warm against his skin. "You know I love a metaphor."
Satoru scoffs. "Stop romanticising everything. You sound like a teenage girl."
And, really, he should have seen it coming -
"But you make me feel romantic."
It's cruel, really, because Suguru knows how to manipulate him. Knows he's the only person alive capable of it, and Satoru closes his eyes, turns his face into the pillow. Feels the lazy drag of a tongue over his throat, and he swallows, Adam's apple trapped at the junction of Suguru's devilish mouth.
Suguru huffs, bored with his struggle.
"C'mon, babe," he says, knee forcing it's way between Satoru's thighs. "I don't think I'll take much prep. Still stretched pretty good from earlier."
