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Detention sucks all around, but summer is by far the worst time to suffer through it.
Satoru just had to live through three hours in the stifling classroom with the air conditioning perfectly coincidentally broken, all because they had some minor collateral damage seen outside the curtain in their last mission. Stupid stuff, really; there is more than enough money flowing in the school to fix a couple of acres or whatever.
Now that the hottest part of the day inside hell itself is over, he takes it upon himself to enjoy the rest of his afternoon outside with the cool breeze hitting his face.
And Suguru of course. Laying in the grass next to him, he doesn’t look as bothered as he should have, but then again, he’s crazy enough to look pretty much unbothered and even take a nap inside the boiling classroom like it was nothing.
Satoru knows, he was watching him the whole time. To make sure he wasn’t faking it, and not because Suguru’s sleeping face is handsome or anything, with his narrow, elegant eyes and smooth, thin lips, parted tantalizingly as he breathed in and out and cute, groggy voice when he woke up. Absolutely not. Inside those stupid four walls, without his phone to kill time, he was the most interesting thing by process of elimination alone.
Who is he kidding, honestly?
Even as he plays them in his head, those excuses sound completely stupid. Even if they were in the middle of an amusement park or a spectacular firework show, Satoru would still consider Suguru the greatest sight. It’s a fact; his Six Eyes never lie.
Case in point, right now. Satoru has to physically close his eyes behind his sunglasses and pretend the fresh air relaxes him to avoid getting too obvious in his glancing.
He simply can’t help it. The droplets of sweat running down Suguru’s neck, the muscles rippling as he stretches his arms, how his shirt rides up to wink a sneak peek of flesh, the fine hair that clings to his bare nape are hypnotizing.
“Satoru.” Suguru calls his name, calming like windchimes in a lazy day.
Satoru hums and from one glimpse from the corner of his eyes, Suguru suddenly covers his whole field of vision, too close he’s dazed and confused and too stunned to move.
Rough fingertips touch his cheekbones, removing his sunglasses. It’s a mere few blinks of a moment in which he’s incapable of blinking, but electricity travels to each and every one of his neurons, straight to his heart, shocking it to a halt and then a rapid, stomping rhythm.
Suguru is cool and composed, like he didn’t pull the shit he just pulled, but his smirk says a whole different story and it both pisses him off and kind of turns him on.
He doesn’t see his glare, too focused on his fingertip, “There was an eyelash.” He elaborates unhelpfully. “They really are white, huh? And real.”
“The hell that’s supposed to mean?!” Satoru exclaims, outright offended.
Suguru’s smirk widens, becomes more irritatingly attractive. “Make a wish.”
“Huh?”
“It’s a thing.” He elaborates unhelpfully, holds his hand, pointer and thumb pressed together. “Just do it.”
“I wish for global warming to stop.”
Suguru rolls his eyes, but he smiles and it’s beautiful. “Not out loud.”
“Why are you hung up to this stupid superstition all of a sudden?” he groans.
“Because I’m bored. Come on.”
Satoru clicks his tongue in annoyance, “Fine.” He frowns and while he could think of something like world peace and a cure for cancer to make fun of this pointless gag, his brain provides a different suggestion.
‘I wish I could kiss you senseless.’
His face flusters red to match the temperature and he eagerly blames it on the season’s hotness and not Suguru’s.
“Now pick.” He gestures to his two pressed fingers.
“Pointer.” He indulges him because it’s not like Suguru hasn’t done so with Satoru’s own whims.
He opens them. The eyelash is stuck on his thumb.
“Tough luck, Satoru. Seems it isn’t happening.” Suguru laughs mischievously.
The annoyance strikes Satoru deep to his bones. He doesn’t like being told what he can and what he can’t do, especially from some children’s game.
Gojou Satoru has everything within his vision, he’s one half of the strongest duo. He can reach out, disobey infinity and grab everything he wants.
“Oh really?”
And so he does. He pounces on Suguru quickly, one hand on his knee, the other on his shoulder and pushes him down, bringing their faces close enough for the tips of their noses to brush, trapping him in order to have only Satoru in his world.
Suguru smiles in satisfaction and he would really be annoyed that he danced into his little scheme if he wasn’t so gorgeous underneath him like that.
He’d rather consider Suguru very perspective and give him credit for that than think of himself as too obvious in his infatuation. Because Suguru is the other half of the strongest duo and he deserves all the credit.
“Oh? You want to do something about it?” Suguru coaxes him sweetly, his breath fanning Satoru’s lips.
“Damn right.” Satoru preens and presses their lips together with vigour, deepens the kiss the moment Suguru gasps into his mouth to steal his breath and his stupidly charming all-knowing smile away.
Despite the heat of the summer, Satoru yearns to be close to Suguru, to let his hair loose and feel them between his fingers, roam his hands all over his body until Suguru’s mind and heart and very soul are thrown out of sync every time he thinks about Satoru. Catch up to how Satoru feels and long for him just as much.
When they pull apart, they are both panting. Suguru’s tan skin blushes to a shiny bronze quality that really appeals to him. His lips are shinnying and peach pink and their sweet taste sends his mind to overdrive and halt simultaneously.
This is always the thing with Suguru; he just looks so alluring that it messes up Satoru’s control and sanity and pragmatism.
“You were saying?” he goads.
“Took you long enough.” Suguru retorts easily.
Satoru barely holds back his gawking expression, “Shut up!” he says a bit too loudly for someone as smooth as himself.
Suguru smiles wide and sharp, full of teeth, of coyness and challenge, “Make me.” He speaks slowly, tongue peeking out to wet his lips.
And Gojou Satoru has a certain pride that reacts when he’s provoked a particular way, and he never turns down fun challenges. He kisses Getou Suguru until the colours of the sunset illuminate his skin and eyes splendidly and commits the sight to memory, to have and to hold.
“If I get an eye infection or become blind, expect everyone to be on your ass.” He tells to Suguru one morning when he feels those rough fingertips on his jaw.
Suguru chuckles, voice still heavy with sleep but never losing its light musicality.
“That’d be a shame. Your eyes are really the prettiest and only part of you I like.” His laughter increases when Satoru scoffs and turns his back on him. “I’m careful though. I only take the ones that’ve fallen out.”
Satoru is more than aware of that. How Suguru’s touch lingers on his skin, with outmost care and how his lips are so featherlight the rare times he’s kissed the sensitive skin of his eyelids that it leaves him craving for more.
If Suguru wanted to gouge them out of his skull and keep them as prizes, Satoru is more than in love to let him ruin his pride, his gift and his everything.
This absurd superstition grants him more of Suguru’s attention and touch, and that’s the one important reason he’s welcoming it. It has become a game between them, one he likes to make fun of. It’s the least he can do because those are his eyelashes being used.
Sometimes he makes outrageous wishes that will never happen, like an alien invasion. But to be fair, when this game of coin toss turns in his favour, he gets some really nice things out of it.
“There are too many of them.” he murmurs, already making the wish in his head.
“Not really,” Suguru replies, “If I always look, then I don’t miss any of them.”
Satoru turns again, to face him and stares hard at the pressed fingers.
“Thumb.”
He guesses correctly and rejoices by taking what’s rightfully his now. They might have something to do later but he really doesn’t care when Suguru groans into his mouth just as eagerly as he feels.
‘Some of us have subtlety in their staring.’ Suguru had said when he was asked how did he know. Satoru will always stick to his defence, ‘What’s the point of having the Six Eyes if it’s to practice subtlety?’
Sometimes, stray eyelashes get stuck on his blindfold, from the friction by having it on so long. Their white contrasts starkly with the midnight blue of the soft fabric.
That’s the only thing he dislikes about the blindfold. When he wore his glasses, they just went away and the white of the bandages blended them together. It had successfully stayed out of his mind for years.
Now he’s left in times like tonight, with nostalgia and longing echoing from deep within their well-crafted cage, and this one more than others.
The same sweltering summer time, with global warming still being very much a thing, and the same field where they had kissed that first time, these days being used by Maki and Panda for physical endurance training.
With one fingertip, he picks up the eyelash, giving it the permission to bypass his infinity, his skin, muscle and, blood and bone, resonate the hit in his soul.
He presses the pads of his fingers hard. And makes his one and only wish.
“Pointer.” He says out loud, for no one but himself to hear.
The eyelash is stuck on his pointer.
‘Tough luck. It’s not happening.’ Suguru’s voice chimes euphoniously, just as innocently taunting as that first time. His laughter is as sweet and syrupy as honey.
Infinity exists everywhere; between two fingertips. His technique brings it forward; between himself and a simple wish which can never reach him.