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“And for my next trick, I will saw my beautiful assistant in half!”
Suguru grins as she listens to Satoru’s theatrics, the other woman standing tall in her three-piece magician’s suit. Over the years it had slowly transitioned from ridiculous to, somehow, kind of sexy, but it’s always been a treat to watch Satoru’s showmanship regardless. She’s the life of every room she walks into, effortlessly able to garner the attention of any audience, no matter how large - but she still only has eyes for Suguru. It’s the sweetest thing.
Now, though, Suguru brings her attention back to their script, wiggling her hips a little in her sparkling leotard and gesturing towards the box. Her muscles ache with the memory of their practice - having to squeeze your entire body up underneath a little panel of wood was not easy, especially with double D’s - but she keeps smiling anyway. She’s the perfect magician’s assistant, after all, and she has to play the part. With a tip of her top hat, Satoru helps Suguru to lay down in the ornate box, her girlfriend’s elaborate speech giving Suguru time to contort herself into the panelling as the audience looks on, enraptured.
She has to scoff a little. It’s the easiest trick in the book, any and all ‘magic’ behind it revealed with a simple google search, but if Suguru’s learned anything in her time as Satoru’s full-time girlfriend part-time sexy assistant, it’s that the general public are, generally, pretty stupid. Not that she minds, of course. If they were even 10% smarter, the pair of them would be out of a job.
Still, she waits patiently for the outrage of the crowd when she seemingly ‘disappears’, the smile audible in Satoru’s voice. She wishes she could see it instead of being forced to stare only at the boring interior of the box. It’ll be worth it for the way Satoru beams at her, the same way she does after each and every one of their shows. Worth it for the way she’ll pin Satoru up against the wall of their hotel, kissing that smile off of her face and tugging off her waistcoat as she -
“Et voila!” Her smile audible, Satoru opens the box, simultaneously cutting Suguru’s fantasy short and offering her hand to help her climb out. The crowd, predictably, goes wild, clapping and cheering. She even hears a few wolf-whistles, breathing a laugh when Satoru’s brow twitches. But honestly - dressing Suguru up like this? What did she think was going to happen? Though, given the way Satoru’s gaze keeps straying to Suguru’s muscular thighs, hugged by her sheer tights beneath the leotard, she’s sure the choice of costume was more for Satoru’s benefit than anyone else's.
Their routine is almost over. Bouquets and bills alike are thrown at the stage, and Satoru pulls out her magician's wand, grinning as her own bouquet of roses shoots out of the end. She does this every single time, but still, Suguru’s eyes twinkle as her girlfriend offers the flowers to her.
“For the lady,” she smiles, bowing fully and holding the bouquet over her head. She’s so dorky it drives Suguru
insane,
the need to pin her down and smudge her lipstick almost too strong to resist. Just one hour. One hour, and then Satoru is all hers, all night. It would usually be even faster, their post-show routine a short twenty minutes long, but for some godforsaken reason Satoru had agreed to a meet and greet; for some
other
godforsaken reason, they had enough diehard fans to warrant one. Satoru thinks it’s because her magic routine is just that captivating. Suguru thinks it’s because their fans are all lesbians.
They’re barely five minutes into the event when they get the first round of invasive questions. Alarm bells had gone off in Suguru’s mind when the girl in question had walked up to them, taking a photo with the two of them and standing a little
too
close to Satoru for comfort. She keeps tucking her hair behind her ear, biting her lip, and shuffling on her feet; clearly, she wants Satoru. Suguru’s girlfriend looks like a fish out of water, constantly flicking her gaze to meet Suguru’s:
help me
.
“So,” the interloper drawls, dragging her gaze up and down the length of Satoru, “who tops?”
Satoru chokes. It’d be funny if Suguru wasn’t pissed.
Her girlfriend goes to answer, fidgeting with the hem of her jacket, but Suguru interjects. “We aren’t comfortable answering that question.” It’s accompanied by a tight smile, her stare hard and challenging. Who does this bitch think she is?
She bats her eyelashes, her unblended foundation glaringly obvious to Suguru, and smiles up at Satoru. “I bet it’s you, Satoru,” she sighs, using Satoru’s given name as though they’re close friends, “you just give off those vibes, you know?”
She clearly doesn’t know, based on the way the girl’s question has left her speechless.
“Uhh,” Satoru hesitates, looking rapidly between this freak and Suguru, “thanks, I think?” Despite Satoru’s confident persona on stage, she’s historically
terrible
at human interaction. Before they got together, Suguru had to hunt her down to get her to agree to a first date - so, Suguru usually handles the fan conversations. But usually, the fans have more tact than to be this fucking invasive.
“Mhm,” the crazy bitch continues, “tall, masc, and muscular? I bet you’re putting Suguru through the mattress.” It’s one thing to continue to probe at their personal lives, and it’s another entirely to shamelessly refer to Suguru by her given name despite overtly flirting with her long-term girlfriend - especially when she’s categorically wrong.
Shouldering her way in front of Satoru, Suguru smiles beatifically at the girlfriend-stealer. “Alright, I think that’s enough. There
are
other people waiting in line, so if you could continue on that way,” she points off to the side of the stage, “then we would be eternally grateful.” You’d have to be an idiot to miss the sarcasm in Suguru’s tone, but clearly, this girl is denser than a bag of bricks. She smiles at Satoru before sauntering off the stage, throwing a wink behind her. In another life, Suguru would have killed her and everyone else here. As it is, she goes to therapy - meaning she has a modicum of anger management.
The meet and greet goes on for another half hour, Suguru’s hand itching to grip Satoru’s shoulder and pull her down for a kiss the entire time. The questions get no less invasive, either. In fact, they get worse, with some people growing comfortable enough to ask incredibly specific questions about their personal lives. By the end of it, Suguru’s been called a power bottom, a pillow princess, and an ‘omega’, whatever that means. It’s equal parts amusing as it is infuriating; not only is it an invasion of privacy, Suguru thinks, but it’s simply reductive to immediately assume that a femme bottoms.
But finally,
finally
, she’s dragging Satoru down the street to their hotel. Are they flanked by a full on security team? Sure, but it’s worth it for the privacy they have when they finally manage to get into the room. During their first tour, they hadn’t bothered with security - they quickly reneged on that idea after a fan camped out by their doorstep for 24 hours.
As soon as they're through the door Suguru’s pinning Satoru against it, the height of her heels helping to make up for the few centimeters Satoru has on her. She cups Satoru’s hips between her hands, brushing their noses together as she speaks.
“Finally,” she says, “I’ve got you all to myself.”
It’s one of her favourite things to witness, the way Satoru’s overconfidence melts away, replaced by that comfortable, curated intimacy. She’s quieter, more than happy for Suguru to take the reins after a long day, and she relaxes into the hands on her hips. Though, the smirk on her face is a new addition.
“Mmn,” she hums as Suguru unbuttons her waistcoat for her, helping her to get comfortable. “Shouldn’t this be the other way around? You know, since you’re my ‘pillow princess’.” She snorts, laughing at her own joke, and it's so charming in that dorky way specific only to Satoru that Suguru can’t hold back her smile.
“Don’t make me laugh.” Suguru toes off her heels, placing her hands steadily on the underside of Satoru’s thighs so she can pick her up. Her girlfriend stands at a good 6 '3 but she fits into her arms perfectly; if Suguru had to pick one main reason for hitting the gym as much as she does, it would be so that she can continue to carry Satoru around like a princess. Perfectly familiar with this song and dance, Satoru folds her long legs around Suguru’s hips and tucks her head into the hollow of her neck. Her ear is pressed up against Suguru’s pulse - she can probably hear the way it speeds up as she noses across Suguru’s neck.
Settling onto the armchair in the corner of the room, Suguru manoeuvres Satoru sideways so that she’s sitting across her lap. She keeps a manicured hand on her girlfriend’s leg, her thumb stroking back and forth across the fabric of her suit pants. With the weight of Satoru over her thighs, Suguru feels the dregs of arousal lurking in her stomach, but she pays it no mind, focusing instead on carding her free hand through Satoru’s undercut. The magician rests her head against Suguru’s, her eyes drooping shut as she’s pet like a cat. It’s cute.
“Tired?”
“Mhm.”
“My big baby,” Suguru teases, turning her head to press her lips against Satoru’s temple.
It’s funny to her, the way their fans think that Satoru’s the one who wears the metaphorical pants in this relationship. She’s Suguru’s princess through and through, spoiled and pampered, and Suguru wouldn’t have her any other way.