Author's note: This has been cross posted on AO3 under the pen name Eccentric Bookworm. Beta by Jorgmund Piper. POV switches after the line breaks. Enjoy!

Like a Bad Habit

(You Are Hard to Break)

It is admittedly weird.

And at the same time, not.

Seeing you prowl around my reading room like this, stalking about like you own the place, it's like no time has passed at all. Instead, we both simply pick up the abandoned thread, continuing a conversation that has been left unfinished for…oh, what?…nearly eight or nine years now. Like only a single day has passed instead of an entire decade. It is somehow ridiculously easy. Yet also absurd. I lean back on my elbows, perfectly relaxed, watching you glide along the back wall's shelving unit, casually touching the books' spines without saying a word.

Like a ghost, a beautiful hallucination.

Like a long lost memory, a stab of regret.

"Why are you here, Satoru?" I finally ask, propping my chin on my hand as I watch you move about.

Drinking you in…

Admiring you, coveting every little piece and particle of you…

Unable to look away…

Some things never change.

"How many years has it been?" You ask this with your back to me. Bold, considering we are enemies now. Of course, it would never even cross your mind to be wary of anything, of anyone. You dominate every single space you are in. Fearless, unconcerned. Confident. I both loved and loathed that about you. And still do.

Because really, who is the bigger monster in this room?

"Too many to count," I say. Then: "You look exactly the same."

"You don't. That robe and that hairstyle put at least ten extra years on you."

I laugh aloud despite the harsh barb. How like you to say something so hurtful and absolutely tone deaf, with zero concern for the feelings of the offended party. You were always such a blithe little sadist. I clutch at my heart theatrically and say, "You wound me, Satoru. You know I've always been vain about my hair—"

"—I love your hair—"

"—and the outfit befits my position, my current station."

"And how is that crazed genocidal cult of yours, anyway?"

"My family is just lovely, thank you for asking." I tilt my head and smile serenely. "How is it with you? How is the school?"

"Passable, thanks—"

"With Utahime and Nanami and…oh." I pause for dramatic effect on that last syllable.

"You must be going out of your fucking mind, hanging around that lot. What a bunch of the most humorless—

"—Suguru—"

"—stuck up—"

"—Suguru—"

"—fun sucking—"

"—Suguru—"

"—set of wankers I've ever had the misfortune of setting eyes on." Another dramatic pause.

"No wonder you're here with me." I toy with the folds of my robe. I smile, cat like, as I produce a cursed dagger and casually flick it at your head.

It never reaches you, of course.

The projectile wobbles in midair inches from your face before dropping with a sad little ping! to the ground.

"Seriously, Suguru?" You frown your disapproval at me.

I play hurt. I play coy. "You never used to keep your technique going when it was just the two of us," I remark, feigning injury. As if I didn't just throw a knife at you. These are the words of a wounded lover, a reminder of our shared memory. I slowly rise from my chair and approach you.

Stalking…

Predatory…

Reaching out…

You walk towards me in that (ridiculous) outfit. You pause two feet away, just outside my barrier. The lights from the city skyline shine through the floor to ceiling windows, lighting up the night in your room, the night in your hair. I have to stop myself from reaching out to touch it. I have to show at least some modicum of restraint. Some semblance of control.

I have to play this little game with you…

I have to lead you along in this dance…

I stare at you over the top of the round opaque shades I'm wearing. I inch back towards the bookshelves, my eyes never leaving yours. Your feet slide forward in tandem, your steps tracing my moves in this dangerous little dance we're playing at. My back is almost against the bookcase. But, the barrier won't allow you to move any further. I watch your face twist into a slight scowl, your frustration showing as your progress is deliberately impeded.

I watch your face and I relish the frustration I'm causing you.

"Satoru…"

"Hmmm?"

Your right hand is visibly shaking now. With anger or desire—perhaps both—I can't tell. I lift my chin, hiding my expression behind the gleam of dark round frames.

"Satoru, release your technique…" There is an underlying threat in those low, deliberately enunciated words, a slight menace straining your voice.

But I'm enjoying myself far too much to let you in just yet.

"Make me."

"Are you fucking twelve? Release. Your. Technique. Now." And this time I can hear it. The barely restrained desire roughening the edges of your voice, twisting the cadence of your words. I can feel you straining against my barrier. I watch your outstretched hand as it moves slowly, so slowly, barely making any visible progress. I feel myself smiling, and I can tell this just infuriates you even more. I've really pissed you off.

It feels great.

It feels like old times.

The playfulness of the situation is sucked out of the room the moment I release my technique. There is a palpable tension in the air as you remain frozen, as if you haven't noticed the subtle change. But this is a ruse; this is part of the game. I wait to see what you will do. And as I wait, I feel a rush of conflicting emotions coursing through me—

Fear and—

Want and—

Longing and—

Hate.

They converge together in a way that makes me feel so very…

Alive.

But also extremely vulnerable. This feeling is utterly alien to me. And I'm not sure that I like it. My back thumps reflexively against the bookcase. Fight or flight instinct sets in, sets my heart to racing as—

Your arm shoots through the air and snatches my frames right off my face. I stare at you dumbfounded, my mouth hanging open as you casually toss a thousand dollar pair of sunglasses back over your shoulder. "That's better," you say, staring at me. I blink stupidly, frozen in place, because…

Because for a fraction of a moment, I actually felt fear.

And for some reason, it's intoxicating.

Goddam how I've missed those electric blue eyes of yours. A swatch of light from outside the window falls directly over your face, cross hatching and illuminating those unearthly baby blues like a searchlight. My hand is still shaking as I raise it up to your face, just inches away from touching you. The vein at my temple throbs with anger at the ridiculous stunt you just pulled. Absolutely maddening. So juvenile. So bratty. So…

You.

I smile despite myself.

But you are not the only one who can play games.

My smile turns calculating as I grab your chin in my hand, leaning in dangerously close. Your eyes widen, the black overtaking the blue, your breath turning shallow with expectation as I close in. Closer. Closer…

…close enough that the want in your eyes is unmistakable…

I make a feint for your mouth before spinning you around and pinning you against the scrolling ladder attached to the bookcase. I push your face against the gold lettered book spines. My hands are not gentle. On the contrary, they are careless and rough. Because I remember…

…I remember exactly how you like it.

I press my body up against yours, making my desire for you known. I hear you hiss into bonded leather as my grip turns painful. You're trying not to struggle, to capitulate gracefully. But I know where you are weakest. And I won't let you surrender gracefully. I thrust my knee up between your legs and whisper pointedly in your ear:

"I bet you remember this technique, oh honored one?"

"For fuck's sake, Suguru!" You mutter as you try to worm out of the position I've put you in. You try to turn around. But I won't allow it.

Or rather, the game we're playing won't allow it.

I take both your hands and force them to grip the wooden ladder in front of you. "Don't you dare move," I threaten.

Your head turns and I catch a glimpse of radiant blue. "I said no moving," I chide. I push your beautiful face back into its former position. Perfect.

I slowly lower myself down behind you, kneeling like a robed supplicant, running my hands covetously up and down your long legs. I can feel the tension in your muscles through the overpriced fabric. I lean forward and press my face into the base of your spine, my lips just barely grazing the naked skin where your jacket and beltline don't quite meet. I feel somewhat crazed, like a man lost in a fever as I rasp:

"Ask me for it."

Fuck. You. Suguru.

I am not going to be the one to give in first. I'll stand glued to this ladder all night if necessary. I'll do it just to spite you. I'll do it just to piss you off even more. I'll do it, but…

Your hand is pointedly creeping its way around my stomach, skimming, caressing, exploring. The scrape of your nails over my exposed skin leaves me quivering like high tension wires thrumming with electricity . My body remembers your touch and responds to it like the craven, traitorous bastard it is. I feel my control slipping. Your fingers dance lightly over the buttons of my trousers, teasing me, testing me.

"Ask, Satoru."

"No." I want it to sound firm. But it comes out as a low whine.

Your warm breath tickles my lower back as your hands continue to explore me through my uniform. Your fingers become more and more frenzied as they climb up and over my hardening bulge. I feel teeth grazing my spine, and I twitch involuntarily underneath your grasping, greedy fingers. "Fuck Suguru," I rasp as I cling onto the wooden ladder, struggling to hold my position while you silently molest me with your mouth and hands.

Your clever fucking hands. But what I really want is —

"Ask me, Satoru," I can hear the strain in your voice, the desire, a familiar sounding melody that makes my dick grow even harder, without me even seeing you, without me touching you…

And I want to see and touch you so badly!

You shove your hand down the front of my pants and the contact almost does me in. Your body is pressing into mine from behind like a mold, hard as granite rock, and I question whether or not you're actually wearing anything under those ridiculous monk's robes. The side of my face is pressed into some books, and the overwhelming smell of leather, paper, and animal lust assaults my nose. You're pumping my dick determinedly with your fist and I lean greedily into your rough touch, pushing myself into your hand, the ladder banging carelessly against the shelves with every motion of my desperate rutting. Then just as suddenly as you started, you stop. I feel you pull away, leaving me hanging there like a limp rag doll within the makeshift scaffolding of the scrolling ladder, unsatisfied and stewing.

I raise my head. I slowly unfurl myself and turn around to face you, violating the rules of the game. My hardened cock is still exposed and pointing skyward as I lean bleary eyed and slack jawed back against the rungs of the ladder.

I say nothing.

I wait.

I watch your greedy eyes travel straight down to my crotch, drawn there like a compass needle to magnetic north. I remain motionless as your hungry gaze travels up and over my body until finally our eyes meet. Your face gleams openly with undisguised lust; desire emanates from your body like a darkened pulse.

My mouth lifts slightly in one corner. I reach up and hook one hand through a wooden rung and tilt my head slightly back in invitation. In surrender.

In victory.

"Ask me for it, Suguru." I purr.

Fuck you, Satoru. Fuck you for always winning.

As if the memory of this hasn't tormented me for years. Of your face, your body. My eyes drink you in like a man who has crossed the farthest, widest desert only to find the most verdantly green oasis waiting for him at the end. That little smirk of yours, that deliberate and calculated pose, all of it—it shatters my control completely.

You shatter me completely, just like you always do.

"Ask—"

I don't let you finish the command. I say nothing as I close the space between us, my mouth effectively cutting you off as I finally stake my claim. Mine, yes, at last! I feel you breathing into me, sighing in surrender beneath my hands as I pull you against me, trapping you against the bookshelves. I kiss my way from your mouth, to your chin, to your neck, licking trails of fire across your skin. I breathe in the heady scent of you, holding you close, desperate to hold onto you, to this moment, for just a little bit longer, even as your hands push reflexively at my shoulders, urging me downwards.

I laugh at your obvious eagerness. I purposely ignore your glistening dick and return back to your mouth, sucking in your bottom lip, tormenting you on purpose.

Even as my own desire threatens to overwhelm my resolve.

I feel your hands in my hair, fingers tangling through the long tresses, pulling at me in frustration, with impatience. I feel you unraveling and I love it. I love every fucking minute of it.

"Suguru…"

You whispering my name is like a symphony to my ears. I put my hand between us and start stroking your length again, but lightly this time, teasing out your response.

"Suguru, please…"

Ah, there it is. Your shaken little plea makes my own dick twitch in answer. It crosses my mind that if I don't finish this soon I'm going to end up cumming on my robes.

"Ask me, Satoru" I exhale in a breathy whisper by your mouth.

A flicker of resistance, of determined silence, then:

"Please…"

Sometimes you have to lose to win.

I drop down to my knees a second time and let my breath skim along the length of your cock. I tilt my head and I lightly glide my tongue over the darkened vein underneath and I feel you crash back against the ladder, hear volumes of books clattering inside the shelves. I look up to see your head fallen back, lips slightly parted, with an arm wound around one of the rungs to hold you upright. The sight of you like this, undone and trembling beneath my slightest touch, sends tendrils of lust twisting through me. Balancing on the knife's edge of desire, I lean in and take your dick in my mouth, deep throating you, finally giving you what you want, what I want. I reach out and grip your ass with my hands. I hear you stifle a gasp up above me. I hear a couple of books fall from the case and thump to the ground beside me.

Let go, Satoru…

Let me hear your beautiful voice…

Let me hear you beg me, scream for me to suck you dry…

"Fuck, Suguru!" You yank my hair, the pain barely registering as I cling to your hips as you start thrusting, almost gagging me. I hang on as you aggressively fuck my mouth, savoring the growing tension, the climb, your tattered moans that fall from you unimpeded as you climax with a long whine into the back of my throat.

It's too damn much.

You're too damn much.

I make a mess of the library floor. Hearing you go off like that after resisting for so long sends me right over the edge. The room spins violently as I struggle to stay upright in my post climax high. I finally give up and topple back onto the library floor, leaving you stuck like an abused scarecrow in the scrolling ladder. I look down at the mess and think, "I really must clean this up before Nanako and Mimiko get home."

After all, it wouldn't do to let the children know I've been shamelessly fucking the enemy, carrying on like the immoral monster I am.

I splay my limbs out like a starfish and laugh silently to myself as I enjoy the aftereffects of our little…game.

"Oh, Satoru," I say wistfully, "You don't know how much I've missed being with you like this." When no answer comes, I lift my head and stare at the blank space in front of the bookcase. Empty. A void. You're gone. Proper gone.

You've ghosted me…

The only evidence you were ever there is the random pile of books you knocked off my shelf, littering the floor. And the lingering taste on my tongue…

Oh well, I think. It's fine.

Because after tonight you'll definitely be back…

Fin.