Chapter Text
I want to swallow you and have you melt into me and flow through my veins. I want you to quiver and shake and whisper my name until it becomes a fervent prayer.
So, I daresay, will you be mine?
_ Gojo to Getou.
If you can, then make me fall in love with you.
Satoru chews on his fingers restlessly, his bare feet tapping against the marble floor of his room. It's been a year since his Master, Getou, told him those words. And yet, despite the time that has passed, they still manage to grate his nerves raw somehow. Make him mad. Make him want to scoff and snort, which he does since no one can hear him in the confines of his bedroom.
The problem is, the challenge is easier said than done. Satoru knows he cannot win over Getou so easily. The vampire always carries an air of indifference around him. Rarely interested in things or taken aback by anything. It doesn't help matters even that he always seems to know what moves Satoru plans to make; going as far as encouraging him teasingly when Satoru tries to be a tad flirtatious. Getou has teased him and is down right mean with it at times.
On one hand, while he does appreciate his Master's once in a while beguilement, it boils his nerves because it shows just how much regard Getou has of him.
How is he supposed to own someone who still sees him as the same child he picked up from the slum years ago? Satoru is no child anymore. He may not have lived the longest life before he died and was reborn as a vampire, but he considers himself more mature and wise with his decisions and choices. Getou, however, is difficult to read at best, and at worst treats Satoru like the little brat he believes he still is.
Satoru sighs, his thoughts swirling within his mind and causing him to muddle about with them incessantly. Thinking about Getou does that to him.
He gives his feet a break, stopping in front of the window in his room. He stares out at the large expanse of tall trees that stretches for miles ahead of him, seperating Getou's estate from the village. He watches with half interested eyes as a family of deer cross the distant field.
He feels a familiar tinge of an upcoming hunger, the pain mere moments from tearing at his stomach if he doesn't feed soon. Satoru ignores the sensation for now, instead reaching a hand to rest against his window. The cool glass seeps in through his fingers and he pretends the feel of coldness is Getou's touch.
It's been so long since he last had his Getou feed from him. Usually it was a daily routine between them, but for the last three weeks, Getou has been avoiding him. Satoru is well aware the reason is because of him.
He knows what his Master fears; Getou has told him before.
To love Satoru will weaken him in more ways than one, and Getou cannot allow that. Though Satoru has tried to show that his fears are baseless; that there was nothing wrong with allowing himself to care and love him, his method only seemed to widen the already deep rift between them.
He winces, dropping his hand from the window pane, a pang echoing in his chest. He turns away from the window, and decides he will go for the hunt after all. Maybe getting out for the night will help him clear his head and mind off Getou.
He dresses for the night, deciding on wearing large pants and a silky long sleeve shirt. He tops his attire with a dark knee-high boot, complete with buckles up the sides. He fixes his hair, making the white-sliver strands strands look wild and carefree; the way Getou likes it.
Once done, he leaves his room, locking the door behind him and walking down the long hallway leading to the stairs. The heels of his boot echo loudly throughout the empty corridor. Getou's mansion is quiet most nights, save for the usual scuttling of the human maids roaming the place. Getou prefers it this way- the silence and emptiness of the mansion. It suits him, Satoru thinks. After all, Getou rarely entertains guests; choosing instead to remain alone in his home most days.
Satoru makes it downstairs and into the large hallroom and out to the back, through a large set of glass doors that are made out of stained glass. They are one of Getou's favorite designs, depicting scenes of flying seraphs; colorful and bright when the sunlight hits them just right. Satoru finds them gaudy and too flashy, but Getou has always been fond of pretty things, be them humans or well crafted treasures.
Satoru opens the glass door, a slight gust of wind blowing and ruffling the hem of his sleeves. He walks outside, onto the stone steps of the patio, and makes his way down a set of paths winding through the gardens, taking him to the front of the mansion's gate.
Then he pauses. Freezes more like.
Blinking probably a couple of times more than needed, Satoru stares at the figure seated on a bench near the garden. Long legs stretched out in front of him, crossed at the ankles. It's Getou sitting casually with a hand flipping through his book, looking like a god with the moonlight casting an almost ethereal glow upon him.
Long dark hair falls over his shoulder, the ends curling slightly against the front of his silk vest. Long eyelashes frame his eyelids. His fair skin, unblemished, is like fresh fallen snow. His lips are plump and full, though the lower is noticeably bigger than the upper. Satoru wonders what it will be like to kiss those lips and pull at them with his fangs, drawing blood from them until Getou moans softly for more.
His fists curl at the thought, nails biting into his palms. He feels a quick jerk in his abdomen and he swallows back the desire building up inside of him.
The leather pants Getou wears tonight looks soft and comfortable, the black material encasing his frame in a form fitting manner.
His Master is beautiful and Satoru wants to eat him alive.
What he would give to see him writhing and begging underneath him. To hear Getou gasp his name between breaths, eyes hazed over in lust. Satoru thinks about what other expressions and sounds he can pull from his Master as well, once he has him under him.
Getou hasn't even lifted his gaze from his book and Satoru wonders if he even knows he's there. Until—
''You'll burn a hole through my head at this rate, Satoru.'' He points out lazily, still not looking up as he flips a page.
Satoru catches himself in his voice. Smooth, deep, velvety. Getou sounds sexy no matter what tone he uses, he begrudgingly realizes.
''I wasn't staring.'' Satoru snaps, somewhat angry Getou knew he was there all along.
Getou finally looks up, onyx meeting with bright blue eyes. Satoru holds their heated gaze steadily, and is proud of himself when Getou is the first one to break contact, looking back at his book.
Satoru stalks forward.
''Where are you going dressed like that?''
''I was going for a hunt,'' Satoru replies, his shoes scuffing lightly against the grass and cobblestone as he gets closer. ''but I see that there's an even bigger prey sitting out in the open.''
Getou hums thoughtfully, before he closes his book and puts it aside on the bench. He peers up at Satoru curiously.
Satoru tries not to fidget under his stare, but his efforts are fruitless. His fingers find the edge of his shirt, picking at a loose string.
Getou's gaze follows his hand, watching the thread wrapped between his fingers before he returns his attention back to Satoru.
''Why do you always go out to hunt?'' He asks, tilting his head a fraction and his raven locks spill across his shoulder like waves, revealing a small part of his neck. Satoru stares longingly at it. ''I can provide if you need.''
His head snaps up and his lips pull into a frown, the string forgotten. Getou is doing it again. Taunting him. Provoking him. Dangling a piece of fresh meat before his eyes, yet not letting him have a bite of it.
It's annoying, Satoru thinks, and his temper is quick to flare.
''If you aren't too busy ignoring me and pretending I don't exist. Yes, Master," he says, eyes narrowed and his voice coming out cold as he says the last word. The last conversation they had, ended with Getou leaving him furious and upset. He sees the flinch of acknowledgment his words bring and smirks. But his victory only lasts a second when a slick smile stretches across Getou's lips and Satoru feels his breath hitch at the sight.
This is it.
He feels the rush of sensations that swells up inside him. Satoru could run a thousand miles, hunt a hundred prey. But none could give him as much satisfaction as seeing Getou smile at him. For him. Only him.
And as much as it angers him, he lets the effect wash over his body, and his annoyance and frustration is downright purified.
Getou stands from the bench, and Satoru watches in anticipation as he crosses the gap between them, stepping in close until they are merely inches apart. He stares down at him, their height difference noticeable. Getou isn't particularly short. Satoru just grew tall, and with him reaching his six foot status, Getou only reaches his chin.
He doesn't mind though. He likes looking down at Getou this close. Likes knowing he has the advantage of being this tall. But he's also positive that even if he towers over him, the vampire would still act like he is the biggest and baddest between them.
Which he is. Satoru doesn't refute that. He's seen him in action.
''I've ignored you, have I?'' Getou asks softly, lifting a hand to cup Satoru's cheek. It takes everything in him not to lean into his touch at first. But his body betrays him anyways and he leans into Getou's cold-warmth, sighing a bit as a thumb strokes across his skin.
Satoru feels his face heat up a fraction, knowing Getou notices from the way he smirks.
''Your hair has grown longer.”
''You told me you fancy men with long hair." Satoru chips.
Getou hums, reaching to stroke a few strands between his fingers. ''So I did."
''You also said my hair looks good in any style. But you like this one more."
''Did I?'' Getou seems to be humoring him at this point, his face still with lazy contentment. ''I can't seem to remember," he laughs, though it's short.
''You also said it matches my eyes and skin,'' Satoru continues on. He leans downward this time, pressing closer to Getou so their noses are a mere inch apart.
Getou arches his brow. ''Do you remember every word I say?''
''Every word,'' Satoru's voice clicks as he repeats. ''Every move. Every twitch. I watch you Suguru. You just aren't looking at me hard enough.''
Getou's breath hitches a bit at the sound of his other name slipping past his lips. It's rare for Satoru to say it, usually calling him by his family name. But he favors saying Getou's first name sometimes, and he likes that the tone he uses does all the right things he wants to it's owner.
"Tell me something Satoru," Getou's lips twitches as he presses on. "What would you do once you do own me?''
Satoru answers without missing a beat. "I'll make you mine and mine alone."
"You're too possessive. I don't remember training you like that," Getou sighs, shaking his head as he mutters something about bad company before he looks back up at him.
Satoru stares at his Master. Getou stares right back, a knowing look in his eyes.
"No, you trained me to always go for what I want," Satoru says, his fangs peeking out. The hunger is back with a vengeance. He steps forward and Getou inches back until his legs hit the edge of the bench causing him to fall into the seat.
Satoru smiles a bit predatory, a hand reaching out to wrap around Getou's wrist. He holds it in place when the other moves to drop it, earning him a frown. The temptation is too much now, and his fangs elongate more until he feels the tips nearly touching his bottom lip.
Getou doesn't pull away, in fact he seems elated by Satoru's forwardness. "What if I don't want you?"
Satoru hisses low and threatening, squeezing Getou's wrist tighter before releasing it to grab at the back of the bench, caging Getou between his arms. He quickly calms himself. What use is it getting angry? Getou would only take his anger and frustration as a personal victory.
''You will. I assure you,'' Satoru whispers, his face hovering over Getou's. He smiles at his Master's widening pupils. "And when you do. I'll devour you completely.''