Chapter 1: Morning Temptation
The kitchen was bathed in the soft, golden haze of early morning, the sun barely creeping over the horizon. Satoru Gojo stood by the counter, his fluffy white hair a mess of bedhead, cerulean eyes hidden behind his signature dark blue shades. He was drowning in Megumi Fushiguro’s oversized black sweatshirt, the hem brushing against his thighs, leaving little to the imagination. The sight was innocent enough—until it wasn’t.
Megumi, already awake and composed as ever, leaned against the doorway, his spiky-wavy black hair slightly tousled, jade green eyes sharp and unreadable. He watched Satoru fumble with a mug of coffee, the sweatshirt riding up just enough to reveal a flash of pale skin. A rare smirk tugged at Megumi’s lips, a silent promise of trouble.
“Wearing my clothes now, huh?” Megumi’s voice was low, a quiet authority lacing every word. “Didn’t think you’d look this good in something so… plain.”
Satoru spun around, nearly dropping the mug, a flush creeping up his neck. “H-Hey, it’s comfy, okay? Not my fault you’ve got no sense of style outside of ‘brooding delinquent chic.’ Besides, it smells like you.” He grinned, cocky as ever, though his voice wavered under Megumi’s piercing gaze.
Megumi stepped closer, his height looming over Satoru now, a fact that made the usually chaotic virgin squirm. “Is that so? You like smelling like me, Gojo?” His tone was teasing, but there was an edge to it, a possessive undercurrent that sent a shiver down Satoru’s spine.
“Shut up, Fushiguro,” Satoru shot back, pushing his shades up to hide the way his vibrant blue eyes darted away. “Not everyone’s a damn tease like you. Some of us just wanna drink coffee without being interrogated.”
Megumi’s smirk widened as he closed the distance, trapping Satoru against the counter with a hand on either side of him. “Interrogated? I’m just curious why you’re prancing around in my sweatshirt, looking like you’re begging for something.” His voice dropped, a whisper that made Satoru’s breath hitch. “Or is that the point?”
Satoru’s bravado crumbled, his cheeks burning as he tried to muster a retort. “I-I’m not begging for anything, you smug bastard. You’re the one staring like some horny creep—ow!” He yelped as Megumi’s hand slid under the sweatshirt, fingers brushing against his bare thigh, cool against his heated skin.
“Careful with that mouth, Satoru,” Megumi murmured, his lips dangerously close to Satoru’s ear. “You’re already dripping with attitude. Don’t make me shut you up.”
Satoru swallowed hard, his cocky facade melting under the weight of Megumi’s quiet dominance. “Tch, as if you could—ah!” His words cut off as Megumi’s hand slid higher, the fabric of the sweatshirt bunching up, exposing more of Satoru’s trembling legs. The air between them crackled, charged with unspoken need.
Megumi’s jade eyes darkened, his rare smile reserved just for Satoru flashing briefly before his lips crashed against the other man’s. It wasn’t gentle—it was hungry, possessive, a claim staked in the heat of the moment. Satoru gasped into the kiss, hands gripping Megumi’s shirt as if to anchor himself, already panting under the intensity.
The counter dug into Satoru’s back as Megumi pressed closer, the oversized sweatshirt riding up further, revealing the hard lines of Satoru’s arousal beneath. Megumi’s own desire was evident, pressing insistently against Satoru’s thigh, and the friction had them both sweating already. “Fuck, Satoru,” Megumi growled, breaking the kiss to nip at his jaw. “You’ve got no idea what you’ve started.”
Satoru’s head tipped back, a silent moan escaping as Megumi’s hands roamed, claiming every inch they touched. “T-Then show me, Megumi,” he whispered, voice raw with want, his usual loud confidence replaced by something softer, needier. “I’m all yours.”
Those words snapped something in Megumi, his control fraying as he lifted Satoru effortlessly onto the counter, the sweatshirt slipping higher, teasing glimpses of what lay beneath. The morning light caught the flush on Satoru’s skin, the way his lips parted in anticipation, and Megumi knew they wouldn’t stop here—not in the kitchen, not until they’d claimed every corner of their shared space with this burning, animalistic need.
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