It's the sound of music, the tempo in perfect sync with his own heart beat, that draws Satoru into the thrumming night club. The buzzing neon sign says the crowded building is called Friction, and all Satoru can think is how that name sounds like a promise as he slips a crisp $100 dollar bill into the bouncer's pocket to jump the line.
It's not really necessary; anyone with a pair of eyes and half a brain cell can tell Satoru comes from money. Hell, Satoru is money. He's in a pair of smoky gray slacks and a white linen button-up buttoned to his navel. Simple, expensive, and made for the Miami heat. He's almost positive this may be his favorite vacation to date, there's always something… wild about partying in America.
They've been bar hopping and wandering into club after club for the last few hours, and now Satoru has a solid buzz going that has his limbs loose and his lips no better off.
"My dick is hard. I'm gonna go dance."
He's not really sure who he's been partying with all night–or the last few days, really–all Satoru knows is the booze has been plentiful and the coke in his pocket has yet to run dry, and the nameless bodies following him around keep him mostly entertained.
The music is louder inside, and the room is dark, lit by flashing lights on the ceiling, and it's hotter than the surface of the sun with so many bodies packed together—Satoru is in Heaven.
He wanders out onto the dance floor, body already covered in a sheen of sweat, and lets himself fall into the steadily pulsing rhythm. There are bodies caging him in on every side within seconds, and slurred promises being thrown his way with shameless hands trying to pull him close or cop a feel. Satoru is no stranger to the game, and maybe, just maybe, when he's good and fucking trashed he may just take a few of them up on their offers.
But right now, all he wants to do is dance. He's feeling the line of coke he hit before coming inside and it has every nerve ending on high alert, his skin too tight, and his mind racing along with the beat of the music. He feels good—high—and maybe that's why he doesn't notice him at first.
It's not until he's running his hands through sweat soaked hair, his shirt completely soaked through after what feels like hours on the dance floor, that he finally catches sight of the single most beautiful thing Satoru Gojo has ever laid eyes on.
Whoever he is, he's wearing a pair of skin tight leather pants, tight and cut so low Satoru doesn't have to imagine what's under them. The flashing lights dance across the bare skin of his chest and the shining metal choker around his neck as he makes his way to Satoru.
The crowd parts for him unconsciously and–it might be the drugs—but Satoru swears they've met before. But it feels impossible that he could forget a face like that. He's still trying to figure it out, eyes trained on the see through top and the gold chain around his waist as the gorgeous stranger stops right in front of him.
"You aren't from around here," he says, voice smooth. And all Satoru can focus on is how dilated his pupils are, or how they're surrounded by the faintest ring of violet that has him leaning closer when he replies, "Neither are you," with the speakers pumping out enough bass to shake the building.
It earns him a laugh, short and sweet and far more addictive than the drugs already forgotten in his pocket.
"Dance with me, pretty boy."
Satoru is pulled through the crowd by a ring-covered hand. Everything is already blurred around the edges, everything except the dark haired siren leading him to his boom in a darkened corner of the dance floor. His hair is long, inky black reflecting the constantly flashing lights above them, and Satoru is twisting the ends between his fingers when he's pinned in place by that drug-heavy stare again.
"You do know how to dance, don't you?" Satoru doesn't bother answering. He isn't sure what everyone is doing right now can be considered dancing anyway, but he pulls the nameless boy against his body by the gold chain around his waist in answer, and chooses to ignore the rest.
They find their own rhythm, led by the heavy bass of the music and Satoru's own pounding heart. The boy smells like cigarette smoke and sweat, and something deeper, darker that feels so out of place he can't help but be instantly obsessed with it.
He's never felt this light, but maybe that's the drugs too, or the way the devil in his arms trails his fingers over every inch of Satoru's body as they move. He's bold, absolutely shameless, in how he slides his hands inside Satoru's shirt to spread long fingers over the plains of his stomach and back. It feels incredible, like those fingers are over every inch of his skin, feather light and making his heart race.
There's a moment when they're pressed together, Satoru's nose buried in the dark strands of hair as that leather-wrapped ass grinds against his growing erection. It feels right, downright natural, to wrap his hand around his siren's throat. Satoru's fingers fit perfectly around it, the studs of the collar digging into his hand as he pulls them together, bodies flush. When their lips meet it's rushed, sloppy in the way Satoru's tongue licks against pearly white teeth and kiss-swollen lips.
And when the heavy beat slows and the rhythm no longer feels like a fresh bump off the keys to his Masurati, Satoru gets pulled–no, devoured–into a kiss, a proper kiss, so heated it feels like the floor melts right under them.
It's all teeth and tongue and spit, sharp teeth biting at Satoru's lips before licking away the sting with warm sweeps of his tongue. Satoru has a fist full of dark hair, holding his new fixation in place as he licks his way into another kiss, deep, slow, and quickly building into that hunger from before.
"Fuck," Satoru gasps as he comes up for air, mind melting right along with the floor. "If I'm gonna fuck you for everyone to see I should at least know your name."
That earns him another laugh, like it's the funniest thing his siren has ever heard, before he's lured into another kiss. It's not as heated as before, but Satoru quickly realizes why when he feels a pill being pressed into his mouth by a demanding tongue.
He swallows without thinking.
"It's Suguru," he hears, and there's a hand carding through Satoru's hair and another gripped firmly at his belt leading him to the edge of the crowd. "Now, are you gonna fuck me, pretty boy?" Suguru asks, the casual teasing all but over in the blink of an eye. " Or maybe… you want me to fuck you?"
"Whatever you want." Satoru says in a rush. Because the thought of Suguru riding his dick has him ready to eat his own fist, but the image of Suguru fucking him in some random corner of the club has Satoru just as ready to eat the other.
"Keep it up, I might have to keep you–"
"Satoru." He offers, and Suguru's eyes widen just the slightest before the grin is back ten fold.
"I might just have to keep you, Sa-to-ru." Satoru is suddenly very okay with the idea of being kept.
He's positive no one has ever said his name like that.
He's hard and swimming in his own head, along with the feel of Suguru's hands pulling him out of the crowd. The air is cooler and the music is still so loud Satoru can feel the bass, but now that all the other bodies and voices are gone, all he has left to focus on is Suguru–Suguru who pulls him into the darkest part of the hallway and shoves at his shoulders until Satoru loses his footing and flops down onto–what he soon realizes is–a leather couch.
"Since you said, 'whatever I want'," Suguru purrs as he starts to undo Satoru's belt with nimble fingers. "I want to fuck myself on your dick while you sit there looking real pretty for me. How does that sound?"
A shiver runs through Satoru's body in answer, his eyes rolling back into his head at the feel of Suguru's warm fingers against his skin as his slacks are pulled open. Satoru is sure he says something else, probably something that would make his dick throb and filthy ideas swim through his head, but none of it reaches him. He's too focused on the wet, scorching roll of Suguru's tongue over the head of his cock and the way it makes his mind so hazy he forgets how to breathe.
Suguru licks, sucks, and kisses every inch of Satoru's dick like he's found a new toy he just can't let go of–and, as it happens, Satoru can't get his shit together long enough to do anything about it when every sensation is dialed to eleven.
Don't do drugs, kids…
Or do, who was he to judge?
Especially when Suguru's hands, his mouth, and his breath ghosting over Satoru's thighs has him floating on wave after wave of molten, dick jerking, pleasure. He's completely at the man's whim.
And Satoru is so consumed by it that, when the heat suddenly spikes and his dick is completely enveloped in it, he has to blink his eyes open several times before he can figure out what the fuck is going on.
"Holyshitfuck—!"
From one moment to the next—er, fuck, maybe it was more than a moment… either way Satoru blinks and Suguru is no longer on his knees between Satoru's spread legs. Now, now the bastard is sitting in Satoru's lap, his skin-tight pants pulled down to his thighs as he steadily (almost on fucking beat with the music) fucks himself on Satoru's dick.
He's got a condom on at least (though Satoru doesn't remember that happening either) and he's trying with all his might to push through the drug-addled haze to appreciate how mind-numbingly sexy this complete stranger looks bouncing on his dick like he can't get enough of it.
Satoru starts to sit up, wanting to get his hands in all that hair draped down Suguru's back, when a ring-covered hand shoves at his chest, hard, to push him back against the couch as those hips pick up speed.
"Oh no you don't. Stay put, pretty boy. I'm not done using you just yet."
Satoru's gonna bust a fucking nut like a virgin… and then launch himself into orbit from the force of it.
He's been partying for as long as his hazy mind can remember, and Satoru has never met anyone who talks like this. It's sexy as hell, and he groans when Suguru pats him on the cheek with a breathy "good boy" when he does as he's told.
"Keep fucking talking like that and I'm gonna cum." Satoru moans—goddamn moans—when he starts to focus too hard on how tight Suguru's ass feels around his dick.
"That's fine," Suguru grins back, his own cock in hand. The long fingers and black painted nails are mesmerizing as the sexy bastard proceeds to pump himself slowly. "You have a mouth, and a very cute ass I can use if you come before I do."
Satoru's nails dig into the cushions on either side of him as he fights not to come. But it's not really up to him at this point, and Suguru continues that ungodly pace like he didn't just fry every cell in Satoru's brain with the image of them fucking against the couch.
He comes—and it's so good Satoru's eyes roll back into his head as he feels himself spill into the condom. A piece of him wonders how good it would feel if there were nothing between them, and he doesn't realize he's said it out loud until Suguru stands up and turns to face him with a shit eating grin showcasing straight, perfectly white teeth.
"Open wide, and I'll tell you."
There isn't an ounce of resistance as Satoru's lips part, tongue out and waiting, as Suguru climbs up to straddle Satoru"s chest. His pants are still around his thighs just as the condom is still wrapped around Satoru's dick even as his own come begins to run down his thighs. But Suguru doesn't care, and he wastes no time in bracing both hands against the wall as he slides happily into Satoru's waiting mouth.
"Oh fuck—fuck that's good." Suguru moans, hips already beginning a steady in and out.
Satoru slides lower, putting him in a better position, and palms at Suguru's ass to feel the way it flexes every time he rocks into Satoru's mouth.
"Shit, can I just…?"
Satoru tilts his head back in answer.
He's no pro at being throat fucked. Truthfully, he's the one usually doing the throat fucking. But right now he doesn't really care. Between the drugs and his orgasm, Satoru's body feels boneless, weightless. And as Suguru's hips move and his cock forces its way into Satoru's throat over and over again—he doesn't really mind the lightheadedness, or the way he can feel himself gagging and coughing every few seconds from the force of it.
Suguru uses him without a second thought. He fucks into Satoru's mouth, dick sliding against his tongue and between his teeth, chasing his orgasm like it's the last one he'll ever have. Satoru watches behind slowly clouding eyes as Suguru's muscles bunch and tense, his abdomen slick with sweat with that damn chain glinting in the low light, and his hair falling over his face until all Satoru can see is his open mouth panting between loud moans.
He feels the pounding of Suguru's heart against his tongue, swallowing unconsciously when he hears Suguru groan as his body tenses when he spills freely into Satoru's mouth.
It's a rush of sensations clouded by the weight of Suguru above him and the plethora of drugs in his system. But Satoru coughs raggedly as the cock dislodges from his mouth, spit and come sputtering over his face and down his chest with each watery exhale. It's a mess, wet and warm and running down the length of his throat and chest when he feels Suguru chuckle warmly above him.
"Yeah, pretty boy, I'm definitely gonna keep you."