bites his arms. both arms. <3
Suffocate me with your arm! The cries of a deranged man who'd promptly dragged Suguru off to the bedroom mirror, shoved his nose into the crook of his arm, posed, and snapped various selfies.
Suguru, naturally, had no say in the matter.
The Cinnamoroll phone case Satoru recently purchased adds a certain layer of absurdity to the whole situation — it stares at him, beady eyes boring into his head, and for a brief moment Suguru wonders what he's doing with his life.
He can't deny that it looks good, though. Squeezing his bicep, he watches as the bottom half of Satoru's face is consumed until only the very tip of his nose sticks out. Celestials shimmer with delight, an obvious grin felt against bare skin as he fires off another quick succession of pictures.
Huh. Satoru really seems to like this. It's cute. Filing the information away for later, he stands there quietly, watching.
Once he's done, Suguru goes to pull his arm away. Satoru, meanwhile, decidedly has other ideas. Grabbing the retreating limb, he sinks his teeth into soft skin eliciting a yelp of surprise. “Satoru-- ?! Ack-- wait-- stop.” Geto whacks him with his free hand, eyes wide; it fails. Satoru continues his path of destruction unimpeded, gnashing into the bicep and upwards, only stopping when his forehead meets Suguru's palm.
Just as soon as he gets one arm away, his boyfriend lunges for the other. Suguru, expecting a second round of trouble, jumps back, a hand shooting out to grab Satoru's own arm and twisting it behind his back. What a menace. “I didn't realise I'd married a feral cat. Do I need to get a rabies shot?” Strands of hair spill out of his usually well-kept bun, a mess he knows he'll have to tidy after.
Satoru playfully chomps at the air, boyish grin playing upon glossy lips. Suguru snorts in return, shaking his head with a faint smile. Utterly ridiculous.
He leans in, lips brushing against the shell of Gojo's ear. “What am I going to do with you? You're impossible at times.” And then, as if taken by impulse, Suguru bites down on the helix.
A squawk of indignation tumbles forth from his captive, Suguru's soft laughter following. The arms Satoru had taken fancy to encircle his waist as he pulls him close, chin resting on his shoulder. “You should take one of us like this instead. Not with the mirror, though. Use the selfie camera.” Murmured, an affectionate squeeze given.
Satoru does. It later sits framed on Suguru's desk alongside other photos, a comfort, and a reminder: Even should his days darken, he'll always return home to this.