Work Text:
Iori Utahime let her eyes drift downwards from the hurriedly drawn blinds that kept out the world. It wasn’t night any longer, but not quite morning. She let her gaze follow the straight ribs of a blue and milky dawn until they fell crookedly on rumpled sheets. The light, pale as a lilac, dipped and swam into the deep shadows of the linen. And then, steeling herself for the pang, she let them slide up the long line of the shape beside her — the plane of shoulders, musculature and bare skin, and the sheet pushed down to the waist. Steady breathing.
She had to slow her eyes, urging herself to relish it. There’d be the sharp hinge of his jaw, the curl of his ear, pale hair in all directions and long lashes on soft cheeks. Her own eyelashes fluttered, her vision swimming slightly as her heartbeat ticked up just a quarter beat. And then she carried on, up the slope of his throat, his chin slightly buried in the pillow, soft lips puffed slightly from kissing, from sleep.
Her breath stalled sharply, because her eyes clashed with his. Gojo Satoru stared levelly back at her, his eyes pale like the watercolour light of the room, his face still. He didn’t smile, not how she thought he might — that flash of a grin, sharp as diamonds — that would tease her for her scrutiny. She expected a whispered joke at her expense, a wink, the tug of a knowing smile.
Instead, Gojo stared back at her, their shared line of sight broken only by the slow swoop of his blink. Utahime opened her mouth to speak, but the expression on his face stopped her. She sank her teeth into her lip instead, and took stock. She felt the cool air of the room on her warm cheeks, her heartbeat kicking up dust now. The rise in her pulse sent fresh blood to the ache of what they’d done earlier. There’d been laughter, sweat, biting, a playfulness she could only associate with him. She curled her fingers in, remembering how he had laughed, exuberant and boyish, when she had smacked at him while he barrelled down the hallway with her in his arms. She had still been breathless, cursing at his giggling, when he had pressed a kiss against her cunt, tried to suck a mark into her thigh.
And now, the memory of their laughter and the whispered sounds of their pleasure, hung about in the corners of the ceiling in a silent room. Utahime couldn’t shift her gaze from Gojo’s eyes, his lashes casting long shadows over his cheeks, over an expression that made her stomach start to flicker like light on grass.
Slow as a thaw, his hand slid out, wrapping his fingers around her wrist and easing out the clenched fingers, forcing his thumb against her palm.
“Come here.”
Utahime sucked in her gasp, too breathless to make words, as he dragged her over his body in one fluent movement. She held her breath, the sheets twisting a little with them, as her stomach slid flush with his, as she felt the points of his hips and the give and take of their bodies slotting together, tongue and groove.
She gazed down at his face, his chin tilting up to hers, no inquiry in his expression, just steadiness, just certainty. They had only had three days. These were the diminishing few hours of the last one. He said he needed to be gone by eight thirty at the latest. She didn’t need to look at a clockface to know that wasn’t that far away, that this wasn’t the middle of the night. She could read the proximity of the hour of his departure in his expression.
She lowered her chin, tilting her face into their soft kiss. His lips tipped into a smile against hers, hesitantly slow, as she kissed first the right side of his top lip, and then the left. He exhaled a curse, growing slightly agitated, a little bit of the urgency of feeling welling up again, as he sucked her lower lip into a gentle kiss. He gave it a little nip, then a forceful push of his feelings against hers. And his long fingers slid against the line of her jaw, thumb pressing into her cheek, lest she try to draw back.
She should feel much more tired than she did. But her lips parted against his and she felt the lick of his tongue, a dart of blistering heat, and then tenderness again. He murmured a little sound against her lips, something profane and sweet. She let her fingertips slide up his face, over the line of his brow, pushing the soft hair of his forelock out of his eyes as they kissed slowly in the silent bedroom.
“I want to be inside you.”
“Gojo,” she whispered helplessly.
But she reached between them, sliding her trembling hand around his cock, moving with him to shift their bodies. It was always smooth with him — their bodies spoke fluently to each other. Utahime edged her knee up the side of his body, feeling the head of his cock slide slowly into her. She grasped softly, pressing her moan into the palm of his hand, as he lifted his hips slightly, edging deeper.
“Look at me,” Gojo whispered raggedly, forcing her to open her eyes to the intensity of his gaze as he slid flush with her.
She had many things to tell him, but she saw them reflected back at her in the steadiness of his silence. Utahime’s heart thudded, a constriction and then a collapse, to see her own thoughts up in lights. He would go back to Tokyo in a few hours, and she'd finish grading her essays. They’d talk discreetly on the phone — clicking through all the registers of their complex affair — and everyone else would continue not knowing anything of what they created from scratch within four walls over one weekend.
She tensed the parts of her that held him close, drawing out a guttural noise from him, making her smile a little self-satisfied grin.
“Don’t move, Hime,” He breathed, palms sliding down to her waist to keep her still.
She obeyed, sinking deeper into the feeling of their bodies knit, fighting the urge to buck, to move on his cock as a flicker of pleasure made her spasm.
His fingertips pressed deeper into her waist at this little jolt.
“I said, don’t move,” he repeated, his voice talking on a different timbre, a little darker, a sexual warning.
“I won’t,” she whispered.
She sipped another kiss from his lips, feeling him melt a little, a tender noise humming against her mouth. That soft sound stirred something in the soft soil of her heart. She moved her mouth to gently stamp a kiss along his jaw, licking below the lobe his ear, whetting his appetite for the small truth that needed to be told directly into his bloodstream.
She was defying him by moving a little, a little circulation, just enough to make his breath shorten as his fingertips pressed into her flesh. She squeezed her eyes shut, throbbing with the fullness of him, feeling his cock stretch her and his body — his scent, his essence — merging with hers.
Utahime whimpered softly into his neck, knowing what he was doing with this stillness, and letting the knowledge of it break pieces of her resolve. She tilted her head up, pressing her lips against the warmth of his ear.
“Mine,” Utahime breathed.
Gojo’s breath stuttered, his hips jerking slightly, making Utahime’s lips part at the jolt.
“Again,” he whispered this command, his grip urgent on her body.
Utahime smiled, heart swelling with a turmoil of pleasure and melancholy.
“Satoru, you’re mine,” She said, taking the lobe of his ear between her teeth.
“Yes. I am,” he gasped, his hands sliding down to her hips, pulling her more insistently onto him.
She squirmed, her heart thundering, nearly sobbing at the sensation and desperate to move, to chase the friction.
“And you’re mine, Hime,” he said through his teeth, seeking out her kiss, “you know that already.”
Utahime nodded, eyes welling up, as he pressed his mouth against hers again, lips parting, hot with love. He thrust up into her, making her shake, kissing the gasp off her tongue.
Afterwards, he rolled over her body, his whole weight keeping her from fading to a vapour and slipping through his fingers. He pressed his lips everywhere, felt her pulse slow down as she touched his hair and raked his scalp with her fingernails. They spoke drowsily spoke gently of the past and of a future that always turned at angles back to the past. Eventually, they slept as the morning grew bolder outside and whittled away at the outer boundaries, the last few hours of their walled garden. Utahime pressed her face into Gojo’s neck. She breathed in the scent of him that would linger on whatever he left behind after he left in a fluster, with no breakfast but smiling. She’d think how they fit together, perfectly slotting into the contours and grooves of each other's bodies.
Always his. Always hers.