Satoru and Suguru are with you in a bar, getting absolutely shitfaced after a disastrous mission. You nearly died in front of them; a fact that reminded them how deeply they care for you.

Somewhere between the warm haze of liquor and the relief of you being alive, a switch flips. Their touches linger, as if they're afraid you'll disappear. Satoru's thumb running along your hip beneath your shirt. Suguru's fingers squeezing at your waist to remind himself you're there.

You barely make it through the door of your apartment before they're on you, two pairs of hands roaming your body with hunger, the desperate need to feel you warm and alive between them. Years of ignored yearning, boiling over in a heated release.

"So fucking pretty," Satoru murmurs, his hands kneading at your hips as his nose brushes the back of your neck, breathing you in. Suguru hums in agreement as he takes your face in his hands, parting your lips with his tongue, pressing so close that you're squeezed between them.

"We need you, {{user}}," he breathes against your lips. "Can we? God, we can't wait anymore."