Chapter Text
“Take it off. Now.”
“My, my, Suguru. In public? How forward of you.”
Geto’s hard glare would’ve intimidated a lesser man, but Satoru Gojo was no such man. Leaning casually against a brick wall of their alma mater and current place of employment, Gojo stretched out his long legs and fiddled with the collar of the oversized hibiscus patterned shirt draped over his thin frame.
“There are children present, Suguru,” Gojo continued, peering over his rounded sunglasses and fluttering snow white eyelashes at his best friend. “What sort of example are we setting as educators of the next generation of sorcerers, huh?”
A growl that would have been more appropriate coming from one of Megumi’s demon dogs reverberated from somewhere deep inside Geto’s throat as he stepped closer to breach Gojo’s personal space. Large hands clasped the front of Gojo’s shirt without any interference. Had Gojo really wanted to, it would have been as simple as breathing to keep infinity buzzing around his body like a protective cocoon. But that would have been cheating in this little unspoken game between the two friends.
Well, it was a game to Gojo; one that Geto was losing pathetically.
“You know this is my favorite shirt. How did you even get your hands on it?” Geto tugged Gojo up by the collar, righting him on his feet. In this position, Gojo had another advantage: his height. Not that Geto was small by any means. In fact, the two were the same height down to the centimeter. Geto’s broad shoulders and lean muscles had fascinated Gojo since they were teenagers. But Gojo was lanky in comparison, giving the illusion that he had more inches on the other man than he actually did. Plus, there was something to be said for Gojo’s presence that seemed to loom larger than life in the jujutsu world.
“Did you forget I can teleport?”
“For my shirt? That’s such a waste of energy, you idiot.” Geto rolled his eyes and moved his hands from Gojo’s shirt collar to the buttons, making quick work of them. But Gojo crossed his arms across his chest, effectively blocking Geto’s attempt to pull them out of the sleeves.
“It’s a nice shirt and you stopped letting me borrow your stuff when we were in school. What’s a guy to do?”
“I stopped letting you borrow my stuff because you ruined every piece of clothing you managed to wrangle onto your stupid tall body.”
“It’s not my fault we have a dangerous occupation! You know I can’t control the effects of every single curse I encounter.”
“Except you can and you do . Which means you actively destroyed my shit by choosing not to use infinity.” Geto tugged on the fabric at Gojo’s elbow. “You’re not ruining this shirt. Take it off .”
Gojo pouted and draped his arms around Geto’s shoulders, leaning his weight forward to force Geto’s hand. If there was one thing in this world that Satoru Gojo knew better than even himself, it was Suguru Geto. As Gojo predicted, Geto’s arms snaked around his waist without hesitation and pulled him close; not quite a hug, but instead a protective hold. Geto would sacrifice every single one of his favorite things, from clothing to people, to protect Gojo, and the sentiment was mutual. That’s just how it had been since they were teenagers and everyone in their orbit knew it.
Suguru and Satoru were two parts of one. To help or hinder one went for the other without question, making them a duo not to be trifled with.
“But Suguruuuuu …” Gojo whined, leaning his head on Geto’s shoulder. “It looks so good on you, so I had to see how it looked on me.”
“And instead of asking me like a normal human, you teleported into my apartment, stole my shirt, and then paraded it around on campus where you knew damn well I’d see.” The earlier annoyance in Geto’s voice had dissipated the moment Gojo tumbled into his arms; his grumbles replaced by soft coos as he rested his chin on top of the mane of wild silver hair on his shoulder. “That’s just insane, Satoru.”
“No one’s ever accused me of being sane and you know it.” Gojo ran his hands down Geto’s back until they found purchase on his hips, pinching the hint of lovehandles that no other soul knew existed under Geto’s clothes. A light laugh escaped Geto at Gojo’s teasing, his warm breath ghosting through Gojo’s hair.
“You have a point there. Can I have my shirt back now?”
“Mmm, in a minute. I’m appreciating this rare glimpse of my sweet Suguru.”
Geto snorted. “Rare? Jeeze, Satoru. You’re so dramatic. You make it sound like I’m this brooding black cloud or something.”
“Brooding in your Hawaiian shirts,” Gojo nodded against Geto’s shoulder, earning a pinch of his own in return.
“Ugh, get a room,” came a voice, followed by the scent of cigarette smoke.
Shoko.
Gojo unhooked a hand from where it held Geto’s hip and proudly displayed a middle finger salute in the general direction of his friend’s voice/aura without opening his eyes. He knew she was only a few feet in front of him, but he had been distracted by Geto and missed her approach. Geto was the only person in the world who could dull Gojo’s senses, as he was the exception to Gojo’s infinity. Physical contact was reserved for his best friend and best friend only; or at least that was the case before Megumi came under his care. If Gojo had learned one thing about caring for a seven year old boy with trust issues, it was that hugs were necessary.
“Classy, Satoru,” Shoko chided. Geto straightened up and turned around with Gojo still clinging to his body like a human starfish.
“Ah, Shoko. Satoru is even more annoying than usual today. Forgive him.”
Shoko flicked her cigarette and scoffed. “I don’t think it’s possible for him to be more annoying than usual. Why is he wearing your shirt? Did you two finally …”
“He stole it,” Geto interrupted, lacking any tact. Shoko had inferred for years that Geto and Gojo were a couple or close to it, and refused to believe either of their claims that they were just best friends. She knew perfectly well that her not-so-thinly veiled suggestions about their relationship made both men uncomfortable, which was probably her main motivation for doing so for as long as Gojo could remember. It surely didn’t help that she knew exactly how Gojo felt about Geto since midway through their first year at Jujutsu tech when a lovesick Satoru had let it slip that Suguru was the most beautiful person he had ever seen. Shoko simply narrowed her eyes and changed the subject when Gojo broke into a cold sweat at the realization of his admission.
Gojo thanked every lucky star in the sky that Geto hadn’t been in the room to hear his words. Even then, after being in Geto’s orbit for such a short amount of time, Gojo was sure that losing Geto would be losing a part of himself. It was not a risk he was willing to take, and so he never said another word. Not to Shoko or Nanami and especially not to Geto.
“Figures,” Shoko sighed before taking a long drag of her cigarette. “He was a clothes thief when we were teenagers too. I can only imagine what he’s teaching Megumi.”
“I’m right here, you know!” Gojo huffed into Geto’s shoulder before turning around, making sure to stay within Geto’s warm embrace as he leaned his back against Geto’s chest. The muscles that flexed against Gojo’s back were impressive, causing that same distraction to cloud his mind again. If it were a matter of brute strength with cursed energy off the table, Geto would overpower Gojo. Though Gojo was knobby and thin with mostly sharp edges, he wasn’t lacking in hand to hand combat skills and had Geto beat in speed. Despite that advantage, Geto would always be able to pin Gojo; a thought that flitted into Gojo’s imagination and ran wild.
“How could I miss the six foot tall man-child stuck on Suguru? Do you need him surgically removed?” Shoko raised an eyebrow at Geto, but Gojo shook a finger.
“Excuse me. I’m six foot and three inches. Don’t sell me short!”
Geto’s hand took a hold of Gojo’s outstretched one, lacing their fingers together before bringing both of their hands to rest on Gojo’s chest. With his other arm, Geto tightened the embrace.
“It’s rude to waggle a finger at someone, Satoru. Especially a lady.” Gojo could hear the smirk on Geto’s lips and wanted nothing more than to kiss it off of him.
And wasn’t that a thought? One that distracted Gojo’s already wandering mind once more.
“You guys are gross,” Shoko said as she dropped the cigarette butt on the pavement in front of them and snuffed it out with a pointed heel. “Shouldn’t you be teaching instead of whatever this is you’re doing?”
“Our kids are off at the fields training together,” Geto explained.
“Suguru made them run laps,” Gojo added with a nod.
“Physical fitness is essential for a sorcerer.”
“Yeah, and you needed an excuse to literally harass the shirt off my back.”
“It’s my shirt!”
“As much as I’d love to spend the rest of my smoke break listening to you two old hens bicker,” Shoko said, fixing the belt of her jacket. “I came with a message from Nanami. He called me because neither of you were answering your phones.”
“Oh, mine’s dead.” Gojo shrugged as if it was a simple fact that everyone should know. Of course his phone was dead. How silly to even think otherwise.
Geto released Gojo’s hand and patted the pocket of his pants on one side and then the other.
“Shit, I must have left mine home.”
“Idiots.” Shoko rolled her eyes again, and Gojo wondered how often she could repeat the action without causing retinal damage. Was that even a thing for people who didn’t possess eyes such as his? “Anyway, Nanami’s dropping off your kid in a half hour and wanted me to say, and I quote, ‘tell Satoru I don’t like this whole carpool arrangement.’ It’s hilarious. You two are such soccer moms now.”
“A soccer mom?” Gojo put all his effort into the most offended scoff possible. “No way. I’m a hot MILF. Back me up here, Suguru.”
“Yes, dear,” Geto replied with a chuckle, winding his arms back around Gojo’s waist. “The hottest teen mom this city has ever seen.”
“And don’t you forget it.” Gojo snapped and made a show of pantomiming a hair toss.
“Now you have to give me my shirt back. If Megumi knows it’s mine, he’ll find a way to wreak havoc. That kid hates me.”
“Aw, don’t say that, Suguru,” Gojo said, tilting his head back to Geto’s shoulder. He reached a hand up to pat Geto fondly on the cheek. “Megumi’s the best.”
“You know, they say kids have a hard time accepting stepparents,” Shoko interjected, earning a groan from Geto this time. “Anyway, my job here is done. See you later, boys. Be good.”
Shoko gave a quick wave before heading off in the direction of her office. Geto gave Gojo a small nudge of the hip, which was all Gojo needed to turn back around in his arms. Their physical communication was clear as day, each knowing what the other wanted with the simplest of touches.
“What do you say we grab some coffee before Nanami gets here? I’m sure he’ll be fiending for at least one cup himself.”
“Only if we can go to that shop that has the attached bakery. This hot teen mom needs a sugar rush before the kid gets home.”
“Deal,” Geto said, his smile reaching all the way to his eyes, creating the cutest crow’s feet Gojo had ever seen. “But you’re giving me that shirt first.”