Work Text:
“C’mon,” he’d wheedled, grinning. “Let’s test our speed. C’mon. C’mon. C’moooooon.”
Geto hadn’t wanted to play along. Eventually, though, he’d given in, even though it had been absolutely useless.
The premise was simple. Gojo would start with his Infinity deactivated, and Suguru would have to touch him before he could reactivate it. If Geto touched him even once, he would win.
He hadn’t won, of course. After five tries, he’d just waved his hand, saying, “You are’t even trying, are you? You’re putting it up automatically.”
But that isn’t how it is, not really. That would make sense, but it’s not right. It’s the opposite. Every time he slings an arm around someone, every time he grabs someone’s hand, every time he leans against someone’s shoulder, that’s what’s on purpose. Having Infinity active, that’s what’s automatic. Suppressing it gets a little harder each time. But that’s fine, too. He likes it when things are difficult. If everything were easy for him, the way everyone thinks it is, he’d probably be even more insufferable than he is now.
Thinking about letting people close, letting people touch him, leads him to a conclusion, and one he thinks is pretty awesome. That conclusion leads to him stretching out on his bed, and opening the little door he’d carved into the wall between his and Geto’s rooms, peering over through his sunglasses. “Oi. Hey. Hey. Are you sleeping?”
Wasn’t Jujutsu High supposed to be peaceful?
It had been toted as such, a safe haven for sorcerers. Maybe not peaceful—there’s no peace in their jobs--but maybe it was supposed to be a more productive setting than anything in their previous lives, for sure. Except—Geto Suguru had been recruited at the same time that Gojo Satoru had arrived, and Gojo never really quiets down. And it’s been awhile.
If amphetamines were legal and easily obtained in Japan, Geto would accuse Gojo of partaking almost every hour of almost every day. But, no—he’s just like this, and unfortunately, Geto does think it’s…well, maybe charming isn’t the right word, but…
Sighing, Geto rolls over, staring from his bed at Gojo without lifting his head. “Not anymore,” he deadpans. “Did you make that doorway big enough to stick your head through now? I told you that it was weird, yeah?”
“I didn’t. But I can.” Gojo’s head tilts to the side. “Why do you want me to stick my head through?”
“I don’t want you to. Are you high?” Geto dryly asks.
“Not right now. I have a great idea, though.” Gojo grins, the grin of a puppy seeing its favorite person coming home after a long day. Man, walls are so annoying. “I decided I’m gonna let you have sex with me.”
Geto stares at him for a long moment, then sighs. Loudly.
Gojo is a lot of things—and he knows most of them. Literally, almost all of them. He knows he’s gorgeous to the point of it being distracting, he knows he’s powerful, he knows he’s able to do anything he wants, more or less, and he knows he’s the darling of his clan, the school, and the sorcery world at large.
He does not know that he’s a horrible, shitty brat—or if he does know, he doesn’t care, and that’s almost worse. What he wants, he gets; that’s the law of the world, according to Gojo Satoru.
Geto rolls over onto his back, wiping a hand down his face. “You decided that, did you?”
“Yeah. Congratulations!”
“Mm.” It’s the sheer audacity, really. What a brat. Never mind that Geto definitely would, and thinking about it is very distracting. “No, thanks. I’m going back to bed.”
“So, when do you want to do it?” Gojo asks, before that actually sinks in, and he blinks. “Wait, what? No, I said we could do it! Don’t go to bed.”
“And I said no,” Geto says over a yawn, rolling over to present Gojo with his back. “Consent’s important, Satoru.”
“Eh? What’s that mean? Oi. Hey! Suguru. Suuuuuguruuuuu.”
Geto closes his eyes and breathes out. Slowly. “It means,” he dryly says, “that you should ask more cutely. Emphasis on ‘ask’, not ‘tell.’ You don’t get to tell people that they’re having sex with you, you freak.”
“Ask more cutely?” Gojo asks, baffled. “But I’m the cutest. All the girls are super into me, you know? It’s not a trick, you know. I’m not playing with you, I’m not gonna activate Infinity or anything. I’ll even let you put it in!”
“Uwaa. Such a privilege.” Stop that, right now, Geto sternly tells his dick, which thinks this is all an excellent idea. It isn’t wrong. Still, it’s a matter of principle. “I really don’t care what girls think, Satoru. I’m not a girl.”
“Don’t worry, I know,” Gojo assures him, flipping over on his bed to stare upside down through the hole, his eyes wide and unseeing. It isn’t like he needs them, anyway, but he knows they have a pretty good effect on most people. “C’mon. I haven’t done it before, you know. This is a pretty big thing I’m giving you.”
Gojo is a virgin. Gojo wants to have sex, with him, his first time. Gojo Satoru, with those big, pretty eyes and those long legs and whipcord muscles and tiny waist…
Stoooop it, Geto tells his dick for the umpteenth time, and breathes out slowly through clenched teeth. Gojo is such a damned brat. He has to stand his ground on this. Being reduced to a plaything isn’t appealing, even if he doubts Gojo sees it that way. “Satoru. You’re showing your bad personality again. Ask more cutely, if you want it that badly.”
“You don’t have to be so stuck-up about it,” Gojo mutters crossly, his cheeks turning pink. “I asked nicely, I’m not gonna switch to Keigo or something, that would be weird. C’mon. Suguru. Suguruuuuu. We can even do it in my room. That should be good enough, right? Right? It’s not like you’re not getting anything out of it. It’s not cute to make someone beg, either!”
“When did you ask nicely?” Geto exasperatedly returns, pushing himself up onto an elbow to look back over at Gojo again, annoyed this time. “You told me we were having sex. You never asked. You’re such a punk, Satoru. You know what’s not cute? Not taking ‘no’ for an answer. Shut that door and go to bed.”
This is not how Gojo thought his very cool announcement would go. “You’re the worst,” he says sullenly, and shuts the door.
What the hell? Since when is Geto so precious about everything, anyway? Is it that much of a big deal, really? He opens the door again, adding, “It’s not like someone’s gonna get pregnant. And your family doesn’t matter, because they’re assholes, and mine doesn’t care, because I’m awesome. And I’m never bad at anything, so even if it’s the first time, I bet it’ll be really good.”
A weird, shadowy, wriggly tentacle slinks out, wrapping around the door. “Go to bed, Satoru,” Geto firmly repeats, and the summoned curse spirit yanks the door shut again in short order.
“In the middle of a conversation?” Gojo asks indignantly, and throws himself into the air, just to flop down firmly on the bed, huffing, knowing Geto can hear him through the wall. “Rude! You’re the rude one! Beat me in a fight before you turn me down next time!”
Geto sighs to himself, rolling away from the wall, and already pulling his cock out. This might as well happen. Again, it’s not like he wanted to say ‘no.’ Gojo is just the brattiest brat that ever did live, that’s all. There has to be a line drawn somewhere. “Good night, Satoru.”
This just won’t do.
It’s one thing if Geto had asked for it, and Gojo had turned it down. (He wouldn’t. But whatever.) And it would be another thing if he’d offered, and Geto wasn’t into it. But to have it be like this? No, it can’t be like this. And the worst part is, now that Geto’s said no, Gojo really wants to do it.
The thought haunts his dreams that night, dreams of Geto’s bangs dropping down and tickling his nose, Geto’s long fingers trailing down his chest. Dreams of Geto’s cock, which is…different. Gojo’s peeked on him in the showers, obviously, but Geto had pretty firmly refused to jack off in there, citing something about “decency” and “hygiene.” Nerd.
He wakes up still thinking about it, with morning wood. Grumpily, he pulls out a porno magazine he’d stolen from Haibara. The girls are round and shy and nervous-looking, and Gojo spends most of the morning with his eyes closed, thinking about how Geto might kiss him first if they did it.
No, not if. They’re going to do it. And Gojo isn’t going to beg. Maybe he just needs to be a little bit sexier.. The girls in the magazine are always biting their fingers or touching their chests or squeezing their thighs together. Gojo looks critically at the men in the magazine, and decides that they look boring. He’s not boring. Geto’s not boring. Honestly, this should be a no-brainer.
The next day is a combat lesson, which rocks, and a mission, which is boring. Not even a first grade, so they send Shoko with them, and Gojo sidles up to Geto when Shoko goes ahead, and whispers, “Wanna do it tonight?”
Ahhh, there it is again. It was only a matter of time.
Gojo thinks he’s really slick. He actually thinks that Geto has not noticed the way he’s been staring at him all day, no doubt, and that he’s being really, really subtle now by waiting until Shoko is struggling to light her third cigarette of the hour.
Geto firms his resolve, which isn’t hard, because they’re not in the privacy of their dorms, where Gojo could probably wheedle away at his defenses if it went on long enough. But—he’s horny, has been since Gojo planted this idea, and jerking off had not exactly helped. Made it worse, actually, because that’s how anything is when Gojo’s involved.
“Ooh, I can hear the question mark this time,” Geto idly retorts, shoving his hands into his pockets. “That’s an improvement. Do what, exactly?”
Gojo’s eyebrows raise over the top of his dark glasses. “Ehhh, you want me to talk about it louder? With Shoko right there? Suguru’s kind of a pervert after all, then. I don’t want to do it with her, though. I want to do it with you.”
“Don’t worry, Shoko doesn’t want to do it with you, either,” Geto mildly replies, tilting his head until his neck pops satisfyingly. Closer, Gojo’s getting closer. It’s actually very flattering to be pursued this aggressively, and at this point, Geto is going to bask in it. “But you’re right, I am a pervert. Use your words, Satoru. You know, cutely.”
“Shoko would totally do it with me,” Gojo sulks, though he’s pretty sure that’s not actually true. He frowns, and shoves his shoulder against Geto’s, deliberately deactivating Infinity in order to do it. “If you’re that big of a pervert, you don’t want cute. You want horny, right?”
Geto smiles wryly, swaying with that shove, but deliberately not shoving back. “You know, I want you to stop telling me what I want. I’m being pretty upfront. I want you to ask cutely.”
Gojo has heard, from many people, that it must be boring to get what he wants all the time. He disagrees! It’s absolutely awesome to get what he wants all the time. Which is why this is pissing him off so bad. He huffs, and nods at Shoko when she starts gesturing for them to split up, him taking the right wing, Geto taking the right. Without even thinking about it, he pulls out his phone, calling Geto and bringing it to his ear. Without an introduction, he says, as though there was no break in conversation, “I’m cute. You think I’m cute. So if I’m asking, it must be cutely.”
“You don’t know that I think you’re cute.” He does. He definitely thinks Gojo is cute. It’s probably obvious, because he doesn’t just put up with all of Gojo’s bullshit; he thinks it’s funny, and entertaining, and enjoyable. Maybe he’s transparent like that, but whatever. He switches his phone to his other ear, heaving a sigh as he keeps his eyes forward, constantly scanning, monitoring. “Satoru…I don’t know how to explain it to you any more than I already have. It’s not cute to tell someone that they’re having sex with you. Imagine if someone went up to a random girl and did that, they’d get arrested.”
“The girl should kick them in the nuts first,” Gojo agrees, hardly bothering to pay more attention to his surroundings than what Six Eyes tells him without trying. “But you’re not a girl.” He sighs, spies a level 4 curse drifting through a wall, and reaches out, killing it with barely a flick of his hand, a black flash spiking through the air. Heh. Hadn’t even tried. “If you were a girl I’d have bought you flowers or some shit. Well, no, I probably wouldn’t have, because that’s dorky. But I know you’re supposed to.”
“Pretty sure you’re supposed to do more than flowers,” Geto deadpans, clicking his tongue in vague irritation as he spies a curse flutter around a corner, and then disappear again. “You’re right. I’m not a girl. I don’t want you buying me flowers—but you could ask instead of telling. There’s a difference. You’re not stupid, I know you know what I’m talking about.” Then, he sighs again, because he knows very well—if he doesn’t throw Gojo some kind of a bone, he’ll moan and sulk and pout with no end in sight. “It’s not like I want to tell you no.”
“….ehhhh, now I have a boner,” Gojo complains, kicking down a door in frustration. Unfortunately, no curses lurk within that he can take out his frustration on. “I had a dream about you last night, Suguru.”
That’s distracting. He may too-aggressively summon a curse spirit, that rather voraciously tears into the much, much lower grade thing that he’d been tracking. “That’s interesting. What was I doing?”
“You were licking at my chest. In a hot way, not like, a dog way. And you were rubbing your junk on my hand. Hey, so, you’re about 11cm soft, right? How big is it when it’s hard?”
“…Why were you measuring it with your eyes. That’s creepy.” Geto pauses, considering, and then says in what he thinks is a very nonchalant way, “I jerked off last night. After we talked.”
Gojo’s breath catches, and he leans back against the wall, closing his eyes. “Yeah?” he asks, his voice coming out a little lower than usual. “Did you think about doing it with me?”
“I can literally hear you slacking off on this dumb job.” The way Gojo sounds is criminal. Geto begins to circle back, annoyed that he hasn’t run into more curses, but at the same time, relieved this seems relatively uneventful. It’s not easy to work when he’s horny, actually. “And yes, I did. Obviously.”
“I already cleared this wing,” Gojo complains, without any real rancor. “Shoko can handle a level 4, let her feel useful. I’m gonna jack off now.”
“You will not. Not here, that’s disgusting.”
“Huh. You telling me not to jack off made me even harder. Maybe you should push me around when we do it.” Gojo flicks open the first button on his trousers, absolutely unrepentant. “Come spit in my hand.”
“Satoru…” The exasperation in Geto’s voice doesn’t exactly sound sincere—it never does when Gojo is involved, and this is an even worse exception than usual. He inhales quickly to continue his scolding, but that lapses into nothing when he rounds the corner—and Gojo is there, only a few meters from him.
“…Shit,” Geto sighs, hanging up the phone and sliding it into his pocket. “This is probably an incomplete domain. I shouldn’t have looped back here.”
That should be more concerning, especially because Shoko is with them…somewhere, damn it. But Gojo is right there, and looks like he does, and Geto, also, is hard. “You’re not getting it, so let me rephrase. You need to quit ordering me around.”
“I just told you to order me around,” Gojo groans, reaching into his trousers to pull out his cock, almost entirely hard already. Fuck underwear. His eyes flick open, meeting Geto’s dark ones as he wraps his fingers around himself, stroking from root to tip. “If you don’t think I’m asking nicely, you’re not listening right.”
Half a dozen retorts die on Geto’s tongue.
Gojo is good at making that happen.
Calmly—at least, Geto thinks he’s doing it calmly—he steps closer, trying not to breathe heavily. “I’m listening just fine,” he softly says as he closes the distance between them. “And good on you for trying. But I want something specific. I told you, I’m a pervert.”
When he steps into Gojo’s personal space, he expects Infinity to not be there. He assumes, and he’s right, which is so intensely satisfying that it sends another jolt of arousal straight down his spine, pooling hot and simmering in his belly. “I want,” he continues on, pausing to spit in his hand before he shoves Gojo’s away, curling his fingers around Gojo’s cock with confidence driven from sheer stupid, teenage horniness, “you to stop telling me what to do, and how to do it, Satoru.”
His other hand slams into the wall next to Gojo’s head, and his breath escapes hot against Gojo’s skin as Geto leans in close, locking their eyes as his fingers squeeze, the heady arousal that comes from holding his best friend’s cock in his hand making him dizzy. “Try saying ‘please’ once in your life.”
Gojo’s head slams back against the wall, the sudden electric heat of Geto’s hand on his cock making him gasp so hard he nearly swallows his tongue. He shoves forward into Geto’s palm, biting his own bottom lip. There’s no reason it should be this much better than when he does it himself. It’s only a hand, after all, not even real sex, but the smell of Geto so close, the feeling of him, the subtle drag of rough skin against his cock, makes him buck and writhe, utterly unconcerned with their surroundings.
Heat creeps up his neck and into his face, and he groans, “Fuck, Suguruuuuuu, keep doing it…I’ll say it, okay? When I’m—right about to come, I’ll say it, keep going, ahh—“
“If you don’t, I will never, ever do this again,” Geto threatens, curling his fingers tighter as his palm drags upward, and his thumb rubs into the dip of Gojo’s cock. He feels the slickness beading there already, the way Gojo jumps and twitches in his grasp, and he huffs out a breath, unthinkingly grabbing for one of Gojo’s hands in turn and shoving it between his legs, against the very hard, very-much-larger-than-eleven-centimeters outline of his cock through his trousers. “You did that,” he roughly says against Gojo’s ear, breath hot and wet against his skin. “You say you’ve never done it before—but you walk around acting like a slut, Satoru.”
Gojo’s determination to wait until then end and then hiss “Penis” into Geto’s ear falters, then dies when he curls his hand around that hard cock through the fabric of his trousers. “Oh,” he says, swallowing hard, breath coming faster as he delves a hand inside, immediately rubbing his thumb over the tip. “I want…to hear more about you being a pervert. Surugu…yours is so hard, shit…”
The touch of Gojo’s hand against flesh makes his knees nearly buckle. “Who’s fault is that, huh,” Geto mutters, fumbling with his trousers to unbutton them further, and more easily shove himself forward into Gojo’s hand. He plasters himself against Gojo, unrepentant now that he has a hand on his dick properly, and turns his head, teeth catching the lobe of Gojo’s ear as his fingers stroke and squeeze, repeating whatever makes Gojo jerk and twitch. “You want to know what I jacked off about last night?”
Gojo nods fervently, bucking into Geto’s hand, feeling himself dripping already. The hand on his dick is good. The mouth on his ear is so much hotter, so much better, so much closer to sex, that he has to consciously suppress Infinity every second now, Six Eyes feeding him so much information about this moment that he sucks it up greedily. “Penis,” he blurts out, then laughs at himself. “Shit. Didn’t even mean to say that, I—tell me, I want it, tell me—“
“That is literally all you think about all the time, isn’t it?” Geto snorts, amused—because if he weren’t amused by Gojo’s bullshit by now, they wouldn’t be here, would they? “I thought about shoving you on your knees,” he lowly, softly says, making sure every single word brushes over Gojo’s skin, knowing full well exactly how overstimulated he must be right now, and that alone makes goosebumps prickle over his own flesh, “and making you suck me off. And coming on your face and getting it all over those pretty eyelashes of yours.”
“Fuck—“
Gojo’s back arches, and he comes faster than he expects, spurting over Geto’s hand in hot, eager pulses, his whole body shaking down to his bones. He wheezes as he sucks in air, eyes squeezed tightly shut, not that it helps cut down on the information flooding into him. “Ahhh, fuck, my bad, I really did mean to do it before…”
He sucks up what energy he has, feeling boneless and warm and comfortable and delicious, and curls his hand, stroking Geto’s thick cock faster. He lets his glasses fall down his nose, until he can look over them, turning to meet Geto’s eyes. “Please,” he whispers, less than an inch from Geto’s lips.
Seriously, is there anything better?
Gojo touching his cock—fine. Gojo coming in his hand—better. Gojo looking at him like that, doing as he’d asked—that’s the best. A low, hungry noise wells up in Geto’s throat, his hips thrusting forward into Gojo’s hand as he turns his head and seizes Gojo’s mouth with his own, surging up into a messy, hungry, unpracticed kiss.
It’s too rough, enough that their teeth click, that he thinks he cuts his tongue, but fuck it. Gojo’s mouth is hot and sweet and Geto groans as he sucks on his tongue, the way he’s wanted to for—too long, he vaguely registers, and muffles a breathy grunt against Gojo’s lips as Geto’s cock pulses against that pretty hand, hair-trigger now that Gojo actually did as he’d promised.
Coming makes him feel like he’s floating, his pulse pounding in his ears. “…Good boy,” he rasps, shuddering as he drips over Gojo’s fingers.
“…Good boy?” Gojo echoes, his nose wrinkling, even as his limp cock gives a twitch. “Wow, you really are a perv.”
He returns the kiss, then wipes his sticky hand on Geto’s shirt. “C’mon, we should find Shoko. She’s two floors down, in the other wing.”
“…Did you just—“ Geto inhales and steps back, resisting the urge to be childish for about two seconds before he reaches out to wipe his hand in Gojo’s hair. “Oh, whoops, sorry.”
“Bitch!” Gojo protests, and grins. “Fuck me tonight. I’ll wash my ass first and everything.”
Geto buttons up his trousers, then sighs and scrubs at his shirt with the back of his hand. “Show up being needy and cute and I’ll think about it. Damn, Shoko’s going to be pissed.”
For just a second, Gojo wants to ask.
Don’t you get it?
Don’t you know how many times I had to stop myself from shoving you away, because being that vulnerable with someone is fucking terrifying?
Don’t you know how many times my family has offered me wives, prostitutes, concubines?
Don’t you know you’re the star of the only wet dream I’ve ever had?
But, like, gross.
“Maybe we got stuck in the incomplete domain,” he says instead, with a shrug. “You were, at least. I was just fucking around. She’d never believe I did something so pathetic and stupid.”
“Oi. Are you trying to frame this as me being pathetic and stupid? Because she won’t believe that, either. She’d believe you were being an idiot faster than that.”
Geto sighs again, pulls out his phone, and dials. “Yo, Shoko.”
“Did you two die?”
“No, Satoru’s just slow today. We’re coming out—“
“I heard your conversation before, no kidding.”
Geto’s mouth snaps shut, he scowls at his phone, and he closes it abruptly, ending the call. “Never mind, she’s fine,” he mutters, side-eyeing Gojo for a moment before he turns away and starts walking. “So you’ve seriously never done it before, huh. I’m not surprised.”
“Which is why you should be so proud you made the cut,” Gojo says, belatedly fastening his own trousers, then strolling after Geto. “Haha, did Shoko see us jerking off or something? You started blushing.”
“I’m not blushing,” Geto immediately retorts, shoving his hands back into his pockets. “No, she didn’t see it. She overheard us before. I am flattered, by the way.”
“Good. Man, she’s gonna be annoying. What did I say before? Don’t remember.”
Gojo slides an arm around Geto’s waist, tugging him close with a grin. “So, how many times have you done it before?”
“Well,” Geto begins, then loses his train of thought for a moment when Gojo slithers up to him like that. The first time Gojo had flopped on him out of the blue had been a surprise; a few months after they had come to this school at nearly the same time, and it was so obvious that it took effort. Mental, and physical effort.
He unearths a hand from his pocket and slides his arm around Gojo’s waist in turn, fingers curling against his side. “Well,” he tries again, “you asked me if I wanted to do it when she was right in front of us. You know she pays attention to everything.” Then, he exhales through his teeth. “I’ve done it enough to know that I don’t like girls.”
“That doesn’t explain anything. I know I don’t want to do it with girls, and this was my first time.” Gojo beams, and leans up to lick Geto’s ear, not even trying to be sexy. “Maybe you’re just a slow learner.”
“Fuck—you’re like a weird slug when you do that,” Geto protests, shoving a hand into Gojo’s face unrepentantly. “You ever heard of comphet? Not everyone gets raised being told they can do whatever and it’s ‘totally cool and fine, sweetie.’ You’re spoiled.”
“My family knows how good they’ve got it, spitting me out. Also, no, never heard of it. What is it?” Gojo pauses, then starts poking into Geto’s pockets. “I’m hungry, have you got snacks?”
“Your family sure did luck out,” Geto deadpans, half-heartedly batting Gojo’s hands away before producing a still unopened bag of gummies. “Here. We can go grab food before we go back. Comphet, it’s short for compulsory heterosexuality. It’s all the rage with normies.”
“Ahhh, there you two aaare.”
Shoko, fortunately looking no worse for wear, stands at the bottom of the stairwell, gazing up at them with raised eyebrows. “You two look sweaty.”
“Did you get rid of the level 2?” Gojo asks, tearing into the gummies and stuffing them into his mouth. “I met a few loser level 4s, nothing interesting.”
Shoko pauses, and lights a cigarette. “Nope.”
Geto rolls his eyes, unwinding his arm from around Gojo. “We’re bad at our jobs today.”
“Y’know, Suguru…comphet is usually referring to women. Lesbians. Are you a lesbian?”
“Shoko, I’m going to feed you to the next curse I see. Are you a lesbian?”
“Eh, hard to say.”
“Nah, pretty easy,” Gojo disagrees. “Watch. I’m a lesbian! That’s not hard to say at all.”
Geto elbows him in the gut.
“Ooh, nice shot, nice shot.”
“I could have stopped that,” Gojo says with a sigh. Then, his eyes widen, and he lowers his sunglasses, the full effect of Six Eyes coming out. “Shit. The Curse.”
As soon as they’re looking, his leg shoots out, catching Geto in the hip.
“You piece of—“
“Byyye, good luck,” Shoko calls over her shoulder, trotting off without hesitation. “I’m gonna go get takeout, Yoshinoya time~”
“You go kill the thing, I don’t want to,” Geto grumbles, hobbling away. “I’ll lose my appetite.”
“Don’t leave me alone,” Gojo whines, trailing after the two of them. “Hey, hey, I’ll get rid of the curse if you buy me dinner. Deal?”
“Done,” Geto says immediately.
“The usual?” Shoko idly asks. “And there’s the taiyaki stand next door.”
“I’ll even get you taiyaki, Satoru.”
“Oooh, a generous husband...”
“I want a red bean, and two of the custard,” Gojo says immediately. “And also maybe another red bean, I’ll decide later. Start carrying better gummies.” He pushes his glasses up onto his head, then inhales, lips spreading in a wide grin as his eyes blaze. He turns to face the asylum, and whispers, “Blue.”
Reality folds in on itself, collapsing into the opposite of the universe, shrinking to a point somewhere two floors down, in the east wing. The resulting implosion shakes the foundations of the old building, and Gojo immediately turns back, putting his glasses back on and hopping onto Geto’s back. “Also, you should carry me, because I’m cute. Curse dead, let’s eat!”
Geto doesn’t react beyond a grunt, and reaches back to heft Gojo’s legs up, hoisting him up easily. “What, are the cola ones bad now? You liked those last week.”
“He wants the fettuccine ones,” Shoko advises, yawning as she strolls forward, leading the way.
“Ahh, that’s fair, those are the good ones. My bad. Still no red? Wow, Satoru, you weakling.”
“Red isn’t better,” Gojo protests. “It’s just the Reversal Technique, I didn’t fail at using it. I used Blue on purpose, it’s better for buildings no one cares about. No debris going flying. The cola ones are fine, but she’s right, fettuccine, fettuccine!!”
“I’ll remember that the next time you can’t do it. And I’ll have the right gummies on hand for when you’re pouting.”
Dinner (and snacks) achieved and report filed (thank you, Shoko), Geto finally considers ridding himself of his ‘package’, though with great reluctance. “If you eat while you’re still attached to me and get it in my hair, I’ll kill you,” he informs Gojo as they step back onto the school grounds. “Less important, my arms are tired.”
“Oh, so, you’re concerned about getting stuff in your hair now? After what you did to my hair? After what you think about doing to my eyelashes? That’s rich, haha!”
Gojo hops off of Geto’s back, then tugs on his sleeve. “…Come to my room,” he says, as though they would be going different directions, instead of to the exact same dorm, one door down.
“At least your hair is white and hides things,” Geto snidely points out, stretching his arms over his head with a satisfied exhale. The invitation makes him shiver, the little acquiescence again—Satoru’s room, his personal space, his bed, no one else is allowed there—making his pulse jump oddly. “All right.”
Just like that? Really? Fuck yes.
In his room, Gojo pauses, then turns on the light. He never uses it, on his own, but for Geto’s comfort, he doesn’t mind, even if that makes everything a little more overwhelming in a place that’s usually solace against that. “I really thought I could do Red today,” he grumbles, pulling off his sunglasses and setting them on the table, rubbing at the bridge of his nose.
Geto briefly pauses in the doorway before stepping inside and pulling it shut behind himself, turning the lock. “You were distracted, and overstimulated,” he simply says, and flicks the light off again after a moment. It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the lack of light, but that’s fine. “It’ll come. Better to not force it.”
“Wow, you’re being nice to me,” Gojo remarks, and grins, then delves his hands under Geto’s shirt, sliding up to grope him eagerly. “You must really wanna do it, huh?”
Geto rolls his eyes and grabs Gojo’s wrists, stilling him with a squeeze. “Yes,” he bluntly says. “But also, maybe you’ll be less of a shitty brat if someone’s nice to you for real and not for show. At least, that’s my operating theory at this point…”
“Ehh, don’t do it with me if you’re only doing it to make me better,” Gojo says with a laugh, shaking his head. “That’s impossible. Hey, hey, hmm, but, I like the idea of you being nice to me for real. You should spoil me a little.”
“Don’t be stupid, Satoru. I’m too selfish to do it just for that, obviously—that’s why we get along.”
Geto gives him a shove backwards towards the bed. “You’re a virgin, what do you even think spoiling looks like in this context?” he asks, amused. “You’re plenty spoiled otherwise. I know, I contribute.”
In a split-second, Gojo considers catching himself on one hand, doing a flip off the bed and the side of the wall, and landing behind Geto. He could do it. It would be easy.
No. No point. Getting on the bed is what he wants, after all.
It’s hard to banish that instinct and let himself be pushed, but he manages, collapsing gracelessly backwards, his hair falling into his eyes. “Don’t act like I don’t know what sex is just because I haven’t done it, you’ve borrowed my porn.”
“It’s bad porn,” Geto dryly says. He sure did borrow it, though—because it felt a little bit like mutual masturbation, with Gojo gleefully handing something off to him that he had probably jerked off to the day prior. Gross, but hey, he’s only human.
He follows suit, pulling his shirt off like he’s wanted to for the better part of two hours, ever since Gojo had wiped his dirty, sticky fingers on it, and tosses it to the ground as he sets a knee to the side of the bed, exhaling a little breath as he looks down at Gojo. Boys, he thinks darkly, are not supposed to be this pretty. That makes them problems. “All right, Expert-sama. Tell me how you want to be spoiled, then.”
Gojo considers, then holds up a finger. “You should put your mouth on it,” he suggests, as though he’s winning a prize. “I want to be spoiled with a blowjob.”
“Eh…that’s not what I thought you were going to say…” Amusement flickers over Geto’s face, and he shrugs, reaching up to unbind his hair. “If you want. Dunno if I’ll be any good at it, but I definitely don’t have a gag reflex, so that’s a start.”
“Ehh? I don’t want it done by someone who doesn’t know what they’re doing,” Gojo complains, shimmying out of his trousers, tossing his shirt to the side. “I thought you had done it tons of times. Hey, are you a super selfish lover? That’s way uncool.”
“You sure do hear what you want to hear. Who said I’d done it tons of times?” Geto snorts, stripping the rest of the way as well. “I told you I’d done it enough to know I didn’t like it with girls—it was a couple of times, and not with a guy. Also, that’s a shitty double standard. What if I didn’t want to do it with someone who didn’t know what they were doing, huh? You’d be out of luck.”
“But you do want to,” Gojo points out, reaching out to poke Geto with his toes. “Because you’re a pervert. And you wanna hear me ask you cutely to fuck me, right?”
“…For better or for worse,” Geto dryly replies, grabbing Gojo’s foot and capturing it for a moment, dragging a thumb up the arch of it. “I’ll suck you off if that’s what you want. I’d much rather fuck you, though.”
“Oh, we’re definitely doing that,” Gojo says, jerking his foot away from the first touch, then forcing himself to relax. “I, ah. That’s….”
Weird, no one ever touches him there, and it’s not a sexy place, but Gojo finds himself squirming at the contact. “You’re not a foot perv, are you?”
“No, but you’re squirming like you are.” Geto’s eyes flash in amusement, and he shifts, settling on the bed to better crawl up between Gojo’s long legs, his fingertips dragging up the lean, pale expanse of one from ankle to knee. “You’re already breathing so hard. And I can feel your goosebumps—“ His hand creeps up further, smoothing over the flesh of Gojo’s thigh, softness over steel with just enough give for him to sink his fingers into. “—every single time I touch somewhere else.”
Gojo’s breath comes faster and faster, even if he thinks it might be cooler to act like Geto isn’t affecting him at all. It’s only that he can’t think of a reason to, not really. It’s Geto, not someone he has to impress.
(Even if he always wants to impress Geto, would do just about anything to impress him.)
“Not about feet,” he mutters, as his skin ripples at the contact, his whole consciousness concentrated on where Geto is touching him, like he’s only alive in those spots. “It’s just…you. Y’know, it’s…better. When it’s someone else.”
“Mmm. Just because it’s someone else? Or because it’s me in particular?” Flattery to that extent is kind of like being high. Gojo Satoru, who is objectively gorgeous and stupidly powerful, getting this riled up from him—heh, well. That’s the pipe dream, isn’t it?
Geto slinks closer, his own breath catching as their skin presses together when he kneels between Gojo’s legs. His cock drags against Gojo’s hip, just as hard as he was earlier. “You’re really hot,” he murmurs, catching Gojo’s chin in his hand, the pad of his thumb dragging over his lower lip. “I know you know it, but I’m telling you anyway.”
Gojo squirms, eyes wide and overwhelmed, as sensations burst through his body, one after the other after the other. He hasn’t been this overstimulated in years, not since he learned to control, sort of, his cursed techniques, mostly. “Suguru,” he whispers, and it’s a plea, and sort of an order, and definitely a whine.
The way Gojo says his name is a crime, a love letter, and a shot of arousal-laced adrenaline all at once.
The realization of what he holds in the palm of his hand—literally—is overwhelming in and of itself for a moment. Shit, Geto cheerfully thinks. That’s a lot of responsibility, being the one in charge of someone who never, ever gets touched, never, ever has had this done before, and is already so overstimulated from being petted a little that he’s trembling.
…But, that’s also hot, and it’s not like he doesn’t like being in charge, so…
“Mm?” Geto lurches up, pulling Gojo’s face to him to be kissed—not so urgently as when they were on their mission, at least, at first…but shit. Having his mouth on Gojo’s makes him feel like it’s stupid to not have it there all the time, and Geto drags a hand down Gojo’s stomach, ghosting his fingers over Gojo’s cock. “I’ve got you, Satoru. Your only job is feeling good.”
It’s Geto’s stupid sweet polite voice, is what it is. That, and his surprisingly skilled hand. That, and the weight of him on top of Gojo, when he’s never let anyone get anywhere near that close before. That, and his kisses, and Gojo is pretty sure he asked for sex, not kisses, but he’s too drunk on them to complain.
That’s what it is, all of those at once, that make him gasp and come against Geto’s pretty fingers, his hips snapping up again and again and again, until he’s sinking into pleasure. “I’m….nnnh…so good at my job…”
“You really are, aren’t you?” Geto says with a little, breathless laugh, his voice hitching as he feels the stickiness over his fingers for the second time that day. Emboldened, he drags his fingers back through Gojo’s hair, pulling enough to pull his head back, his mouth dragging down from his lips to his throat. “I barely touched it, and you came,” he murmurs, kissing just over Gojo’s rapidly thudding pulse before he bites, then sucks, unapologetic about leaving a hickey. Gojo can beg Shoko to make that go away later, if he really doesn’t want it. “That’s kind of slutty, Satoru. Ah, and you’re already getting hard again.”
His knees shove Gojo’s legs further apart, his fingers avoid curling directly around Gojo’s cock this time, trailing up through the mess on his stomach up to his nipples. “You’re being cute, by the way,” he cheerfully tells him, and drags a thumb over one hard nipple just to gauge Gojo’s reaction before being too intense about it. “This was what I wanted.”
Gojo lets out a squawk, slapping weakly at the hand on his nipple as he twists, doing his best to keep Infinity down, to not simply throw Geto not only off of him and through the wall, but doing so many things at once just makes him feel sort of helpless, which is not something he’s used to feeling. “Get yours out,” he groans, throwing an arm over his eyes, not that it helps. He can see everything even without them. “Put it in already, you’re such a dickhead.”
“Because I made you come already, I’m a dickhead?” Geto mildly asks, surging up to grab Gojo’s arm, prying it off of his face and pinning it over his head. Sure, Gojo could throw him off with a flick of a finger—if he wanted to. He doesn’t, and he won’t, and knowing that makes Geto squeeze Gojo’s wrist, keeping him firmly pinned. “It is out,” he softly says, gently pinching that nipple again. “And I am going to fuck you. I bet you have wet dreams about being so full of my cock that you forget how to live without it. Let’s make that a reality, shall we? Mm, you’ve got lotion somewhere, don’t you?”
Holy shit. Is this really Geto?
“That’s more like twenty centimeters,” Gojo mutters, his cheeks flushing with heat at the idea. “It, ah, fuck, didn’t look like that in the showers.”
He fumbles at the nightstand, and a squeeze bottle shaped like an erect dick. “You push down on the head, and it comes out.”
“…You’re ridiculous,” is the sigh that follows, but Geto takes it with a roll of his eyes all the same. “You know, you grabbed my dick earlier. I’ll just assume you were so overwhelmed that you didn’t notice then. Have you fingered yourself before?” If he wasn’t already certain without a shadow of a doubt that girls were not for him—the sight of Gojo Satoru flushed and shivery and horny underneath him really has sealed the deal. Better than any porn, Geto dimly thinks, barely resisting the urge to grab his phone and snap a picture for later.
Gojo makes a face, and shakes his head. “I tried it once, I guess. When I figured I liked guys, I was like, let’s find out if I want something up my ass! But people kept walking in on me in the shower.”
Geto’s eyes roll again, so hard that he worries they might fall out of his head. “Maybe do it in the privacy of your own dorm next time,” he deadpans, coating his fingers with lube and tossing the bottle back up next to Geto’s head. “You know, like a decent human? Ahh, whatever, I’m doing it for you. Actually, turn over. You’re already twitchy, let’s not play contortionist on top of it.”
“I’m not twitchy. You’re twitchy. You twitcher.”
Despite his stupid protests, Gojo turns over, sort of grateful for the opportunity to hide his face. “You don’t have to worry about hurting me, at least. I mean, you’ve kicked me through a few walls before, I doubt your dick is gonna be worse than that.”
“Satoru, your pain tolerance is the least of my worries.”
Geto rakes his hair back from his face with his other hand as he straddles Gojo’s thighs—knowing, before he even does anything, that keeping Gojo in one place is going to be the far bigger struggle. Honestly, it really is better to not have Gojo’s face to stare at while he’s doing this; that would be too much, he’d probably rush, or fuck something up, and he’d never hear the end of it.
Lube-slick fingers drag down the cleft of Gojo’s ass, delving further to find his hole. “My dick,” he lowly says, leaning forward to kiss the back of Gojo’s neck as he presses that first finger home, “is going to be a hell of a lot more than fingers. So let’s see what you think of that first, hmm?” This is so much hotter than touching a girl his mind unhelpfully supplies, reminding him exactly how homo he definitely is, which is fine, because burying his fingers into Gojo’s tight ass is what fantasies are made out of, especially when like this, he can feel every single twitch and sigh and clench and shudder.
Every rude retort and funny line dies on Gojo’s tongue. Ooh. That’s a lot. And weird. Really weird. Like shitting backwards, but not…shitty.
“Like when you talk about your dick,” he mumbles against the pillow, fingers sinking into it, deliberately breathing and instructing his body and soul that this is not a threat, he doesn’t need to destroy the man behind him, this is a good thing, even if it’s weird and vulnerable and makes him way more nervous than he thought it would. “Hey…Suguru…I have a great ass, right?”
“The best ass.” Some compliments are absolutely necessary, even if they mean inflating Gojo’s already enormous ego all the more. Geto can feel the barely tamped down tension rolling off of Gojo in waves, and he leans forward, mouthing another kiss over Gojo’s neck, lightly scraping his teeth against the shell of an ear as he lowly murmurs, “It’ll look even better spread out around my dick.”
The image is a good one—one he’s definitely gotten off to more than once, Geto has to admit, and his cock twitches where it rubs against the back of Gojo’s thigh. He slips in a second finger when he feels Gojo breathe in, and presses deeper—curling them back—casual Google searches have been educational enough—and hums as he finds what he’s looking for, textured and just within reach of his fingers. “Oh, you’re just going to need me all the time—no way would you be able to play with this on your own.”
“Oh fuckifuckghgwhat the fuckingshit—“
He doesn’t mean to. He really doesn’t. He means not to, in fact, but that bright-hot sudden spark of pleasure whites out his brain, until Infinity activates, shoving Geto’s fingers out of him with the truly obnoxious power of math.
“Fuck,” Gojo curses, in a very different tone than before. “Shit. I didn’t mean to. Put it back in.” Infinity deactivated, thanks.
“…You’re going to need to make a pact about this or something,” Geto says, amusement heavy in his voice as he reaches for the lube again. “Because if you do that when my dick is in you, I’m going to be annoyed. All right, here we go, do not activate it again.”
His fingers sink in again, pinpoint accurate this time—and his other hand curls against the back of Gojo’s neck, a gentle, but insistent warning to keep himself grounded. “You obviously like it, so there’s no reason to push me away,” Geto says, rationalizing it for Gojo’s subconscious more than anything. “Relax. Let me do what I want to you.”
Right, right, he wants this. He likes it. It doesn’t feel nearly as gross as it sounds. Maybe that’s just because it’s Geto, and he’s better at everything, keeps up better, can stand beside Gojo better, gets his jokes better, than anyone else. Gojo breathes in deep, and nuzzles back against that hand, nodding. “Y-yeah. That’s….that’s good. You can do it now.”
Geto’s fingers drag up through Gojo’s hair, petting, kneading, more like one would a cat than anything else. “Good boy.” Gojo can scoff at that all he wants, but it made his dick hard earlier.
This time, it’s three long fingers that sink inside, and the hand against the back of Gojo’s neck tightens, a warning again to stay grounded as Geto works him open from the inside out, finding his prostate very quickly this time. “If this is too much—then you’re really going to lose your mind when my dick’s in you,” he conversationally says, curling his fingers back in a long, stroking press. “You’ll look good squirming on it from this angle. Maybe I’ll take a pic and make it my phone wallpaper.”
Gojo turns, casting a hungry, eager look back over his shoulder, then sticks his tongue out, mouth gaping open. “Blehhhh. Get one of me like that. Suguruuuu, I can’t take much more, I’m gonna lose it. I wanna do it already, and I asked all cute, so fuck me!”
“Nah, I’ll get one once I’m in you,” Geto dismissively replies, casually shoving Gojo’s head back down into the pillow. “You did ask cutely. You’re sure you’re not going to launch me across the room? I will be so pissed, Satoru.”
“No launching. I could. You know I could. But I won’t.” For once, his voice even sounds serious. Gojo gives him a small, almost shaky smile, that he probably can’t see in the dark anyway. “I just have to remember…I don’t trust just anyone this much, you know?”
The sound of Geto’s breath catching faintly sounds especially loud in the dark of the room, for some reason. Nothing like being reminded this is a privilege—not because Gojo is all of the fancy, talented, beautiful things that he is, but because he’s Gojo and he’s a neurotic mess that’s actually letting this happen, by an invitation extended only to Geto.
“…Mm. Yeah. Because I’ve got you, and you know it.” The words are a reassurance as much as a tease, and Geto withdraws his fingers, grabbing the lube again. “If it sucks, I will stop. Just use your words, not your kicky feet or Infinity.”
“You blast a guy’s fingers out of your anus with Infinity once and he never shuts up about it, yeah, yeah, I got it,” Gojo grumbles, wrapping his arms around a pillow and squishing it tightly to his chest. “It won’t suck. It’s you. Make me feel like the girls in porn.”
“…What does that even…sure, all right,” Geto says with a snort, and hikes up Gojo’s hips. “I’ll make you feel better than that, they’re faking.”
Normal people would not be fine with this level of pressure and responsibility, Geto wryly thinks, but eh—he’s not normal. If he didn’t have a god complex, too, then they wouldn’t get along, so who could be better for the job? Dragging his slick cock against the curve of Gojo’s ass makes his breath hitch, his fingers bite into Gojo’s hips, and the urge to not be so nice well up sharply. “I’m not using a condom, by the way,” he casually says, and he presses forward, that first, impossibly tight squeeze taking his breath away.
Gojo is about to say something, really, he is, but then—
Well, then Geto is fucking him, and he isn’t a virgin anymore, and that’s honestly outstanding.
Geto feels huge, stretching him out until he’s writhing weakly, pinned like a bug on a pegboard, unable to do anything except pant and squirm and wiggle on that big cock up his ass, his own erection entirely forgotten beneath him.
This doesn’t feel like jacking off. This doesn’t even feel like that time earlier today when they’d jacked each other off. This is something totally different, totally new, something that he wants to experience over and over and over, or maybe just never stop experiencing, and maybe he can live in this instant where Geto is shoving into him forever, until reality breaks apart around them.
But that’s embarrassing. Even with a dick up his ass, Gojo isn’t going to say shit like that.
So instead, he musters his energy, shoving at the bed, wiggling his hips back and against Geto with every thrust. “You…can tell me. That my ass is the best. I know it is.”
Geto isn’t sure what he expected—but this is better, anyway. Reality with Gojo always is.
Those words make him laugh, low and breathy as he gives into the urge to shove in deep, working his cock in until he bottoms out with a grunt of effort, his hips pressed to Gojo’s ass. “Yeah—you’re right,” Geto mutters, gripping Gojo’s hips tightly to pull him back when he shoves forward, exhaling hot and ragged with the sensation of being gripped by slick, tight heat again and again. “You have the best ass. You’re—nhh—too good at taking my dick, you know that?”
One hand drags up Gojo’s back, then fists into his hair, pulling until his back bends at a sharp bow. “This is going to be a problem,” Geto breathes, leaning forward to leave another hickey on the side of Gojo’s neck. “You’re already so fucking distracting, and now there’s—mm—this.”
“Hah?” Gojo demands, only vaguely hearing what Geto is saying, something about a problem, when nothing could possibly be a problem, because this feels fucking incredible, and it also totally hurts because Geto is stupidly hung, and he can’t think of anything else in the world except how he’s getting railed by his favorite person right now. “Problem? Nnnh…but….”
He shakes his head vaguely, rubbing his face against the pillow, feeling it get damp with sweat immediately. “We can do it again. Gonna need it….again. Keep—keep going, that’s good….”
“Mm? That’s good? Or—“ Geto is good at reading Gojo by now. If he weren’t, they would have been fucked up a few times over by now. With every twitch and clench of Gojo’s body, it’s pretty easy to tell when he’s at a good angle—or a better angle, or the best one, which is what he finds after adjusting where he sets his own knees before his next thrust. “That?” he lowly presses, his breath coming in hot ragged pants against Gojo’s shoulder.
“Fuuuuuuuck youuuuuuuu,” Gojo groans, and several brand new colors burst behind his eyes, colors he’s pretty sure he’s never known existed before. It feels like Gojo is hollowing him out, like every pull backwards is going to take his guts with it, like every push inwards is forcing his organs to rearrange. Lust swells through him, starting at that spot Geto keeps slamming his cock into and radiating out through his body, until he’s a shivering, twitching mess already, and desperately hard again. “Fuck….me….”
Ahhh, well. Self-control was a nice thought.
“Already am,” Geto grunts, shoving Gojo’s face back down into the pillow as he leans over him, every long, deep, powerful stroke of his hips keeping his cock buried deep inside. He barely pulls out—why the fuck would he ever want to—all the better to feel Gojo twitch and shudder around his cock every single time he as much as rolls his hips, or presses in just a bit more, the grinding of their skin against one another almost as maddening as the way Gojo’s body feels around his cock.
An off-hand thought makes Geto reach around and drag his fingers over Gojo’s cock, and he laughs, husky and breathless against Gojo’s back. “Look at you. You’re so hard, getting fucked like this—now who’s the pervert, huh?”
“You’re the…pervert, touching my dick…you pervert…”
The words don’t carry too much weight, admittedly, when Gojo is squirming around pathetically, having the air repeatedly punched out of him by his best friend’s thick cock. But what else is he supposed to say, when every single move Geto makes is enough to make his cock dribble all over the bed?
Gojo gives up, honestly, gives up on all the funny words, gives up on being able to move the way he wants to, and just sags down, letting Geto use him. “Tell me it feels good,” he says softly, squeezing the pillow tight.
“You feel—perfect, Satoru…”
Geto buries his face into the back of Gojo’s neck, inhaling deeply, obsessed with the scent of him when it’s both of their sweat mixed together, far more intimately than it ever has been before. Sweat, and sex, and hormones—he’s pretty sure he can smell all of it, and it makes him feel high when he grinds in deep, squeezes and strokes Gojo’s cock, and wrings out every single little twitch and pulse he can from his favorite person’s stupidly gorgeous body that feels so good on his cock that it’s maddening.
Again, self-control is a fucking pipe dream at this point. Geto’s breath stutters once, and he groans against Gojo’s hair, gritting his teeth as his cock twitches, then spills, buried to the hilt in that perfect, tight ass when he comes, coming so much and so hard that it makes his chest heave for a full breath. “Fuck,” he mutters shakily, slamming a hand down onto the bed next to Gojo’s head for support as his limbs suddenly turn to jello.
The girls in porn haven’t got shit on the way Gojo feels right now.
Every motion makes his whole body flash, sparks of dancing light bursting behind his eyes, a strange cramping fullness making him gasp for air, making him paint the bed below him with come. He tries to remember how to breathe, but only manages a wheezing, panting gasp, overstimulated to the point of losing consciousness. “Su…gu…ru…”
“Mmn?” Geto’s head thunks down against Gojo’s back, another ragged, shaky exhale leaving him as he starts to catch his breath—sort of. Maybe. Shit. “Ahhh…you came a lot,” he dazedly remarks, dragging his hand away from Gojo’s cock and wiping the sticky mess onto the bedsheets before he slowly heaves himself sideways, dragging Gojo with him. “Gross. Don’t pass out in your wet spot.”
Gojo curls his arms around Geto’s, holding it almost like a stuffed animal. His eyelids feel impossibly heavy, dragging him downwards, into a relaxation so total it only seems possible when Geto is near him. “Don’t go.”
Geto almost hesitates. Almost, almost, because it’s kind of terrifying, being the sole focus of so much obvious affection from someone who would never, ever show it elsewhere.
At least, Geto hopes that Gojo wouldn’t.
Which is why, ultimately, he sinks down with a deep sigh, winding his arms around Gojo and pulling him firmly back into his chest, his lips pressed into his hair. “Not going anywhere,” he murmurs. “Sleep, I’ve got you.”
For the first time he can remember in recent years, Gojo sleeps. Fully, and without waking at all in the night, hypersensitive and hyperaware. He sleeps, cradled in Geto’s strong arms, until his cell phone starts blasting the Digimon theme at full volume as his alarm.
He groans, and grabs at it, banishing the horrible sound, then freezes as the motion makes his body stretch and ache in new, super weird ways. Oh. Oh. Right.
“Fuck, that’s so loud,” is Geto’s sleepy mumble from behind Gojo still—unmoved from where he’d spooned Gojo the entire night and into the morning. “I thought you liked Digimon. They say setting something to your wake-up alarm is the best way to hate it.”
He pauses, and then idly slides a hand up to Gojo’s neck, firmly thumbing over a sizable hickey. “Oho. I did a good job.”
Gojo is all set to squawk and grumble, but the words die on his tongue the second he feels Geto’s fingers press on that bruise. He sucks in a breath, leaning into that touch, his eyes lidding as arousal shoots through him. “Hey,” he says, almost conversationally. “I wanna do it again.”
Not getting launched from the bed first thing in the morning after poking hickeys he left is a great start. Gojo’s actual response is an even better one. “Mm? Right now?” Geto flops his arm back over Gojo’s waist, pulling him back with a little tug. “We can do it.”
There’s nothing Gojo feels like so much as a fresh-born addict chasing a second fix. He rubs his ass back, grabbing at the hard bar of Geto’s arm around his middle, feeling the really gross, stinging ache of his ass. “Want me to shower first?” he offers, even if he really doesn’t want to. “You jizzed in me.”
“It’s mine, why should I care?” Geto asks with a laugh, nuzzling up behind Gojo’s ear as he slowly rocks his hips forward, rubbing his half-hard cock against Gojo’s ass. “You’ve got a cute sleeping face. It’s like all the bad personality leaves and you just look pretty, not horrible.”
“You should be at least ten times nicer to me,” Gojo growls, even as he starts to move with Geto’s rocking, goosebumps prickling up his arms, the anticipation making him tingle. “You liked it a lot last night, I know you did.”
“Yes, yes, whatever you say, Gojo-sama,” Geto sighs, entirely unfazed by his best friend’s complaints as he fumbles around for the lube. “Rub back like that again, that’s nice. You really do have the best ass.”
Gojo’s irritation vanishes immediately in the face of compliments, and he squirms back better, in a way he hopes is kind of sexy. Sexy isn’t really something he’s tried to be, before. “Is this erotic?” he asks, sliding his ass up and down against Geto’s hardening dick, turning to look back over his shoulder. “Be honest.”
Geto isn’t sure there’s much that Gojo could do that he wouldn’t find sexy, even in some weird way. The way his cock immediately hardens fully is an indication in and of itself, as is the way his hand slides to grip Gojo’s hip, squeezing so hard that he probably ends up leaving bruises. “I can’t remember the last time I didn’t think you were sexy,” he bluntly answers, slicking his cock with lube, and the next time Gojo wriggles back, he angles himself to let it catch against his hole, then slowly sink in. “So—yeah. Shit, you’re still this tight…”
“Owwwww ow ow ow ow,” Gojo complains immediately, when Geto sliding into him feels like it comes with a thousand pins and needles on his sore hole, stretching it wide when it definitely does not want to do that. Once he’s in, though, some of that discomfort subsides, leaving him just gasping, gnawing vaguely on his pillow as he’s stirred up inside. “You’re such a dick,” he groans. “With a big one.”
“You like it,” Geto says with a grunt as he rolls his hips forward, burying his cock entirely with a last little thrust. He sighs, looping his arm around Gojo’s waist to haul him back, staying mostly buried inside as much to savor how tight Gojo feels around him as to give him a second to adjust. “Not my fault you’re a tightass. Hey, were these a hard no yesterday, or were you just s~o overstimulated?” he idly asks, and slides a hand up to Gojo’s nipples.
Gojo’s breath catches, and he swallows rapidly, squeezing his eyes shut as Geto moves in him. How absolutely intimate, how weirdly close, to think that Geto, his best friend, the only person he can truly rely on, is inside of him right now. That’s so much more than just the idea of sex.
“Not…” A single pinch to one nipple makes his whole body tense up, which makes him squeeze down on Geto’s cock, which makes him groan from how tight that stretch is. “Not—not a hard no.”
The way Gojo squeezes down makes Geto inhale sharply, his fingers pinching harder before he can stop himself. What is it about Gojo that makes him feel absolutely unhinged, anyway? “When you do that, it makes me want to seriously mess you up,” he mutters, turning his head to mouth at the side of Gojo’s neck again, sucking on a patch of skin not yet marked up. His hips roll forward slowly, grinding against Gojo’s ass, barely pulling his cock free each time—just enough to add a little friction, to feel the squeeze every single time he sinks back in completely. “Satoru…you feel how hard you made me?”
“I’d have to be pretty fucking stupid to miss it,” Gojo chokes out, feeling as though he can hardly breathe around the massive intrusion inside of him, shoving against something deep inside that makes him dumb. “I—fuck—nnnh—“
Words fail him, and those eager little rocking motions, never big enough that Geto’s cock slips free, makes Gojo crazy, makes him grab at the bed for purchase, until he spills against it, aftershocks of pleasure rippling through him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck me—“
“Uwaa…that was fast,” Geto says with a breathless laugh, pausing for a moment to feel the way Gojo squirms and clenches as he comes, squeezing down so tightly around his cock that it makes his own vision falter. “You know—when you’re that tight, I can barely move,” he grunts, and promptly rolls them, shoving Gojo facedown again and hiking up his hips as he settles up to his knees behind him. “You just—love making things difficult, huh?” He drops a hand next to Gojo’s head for leverage, and shoves in hard, hissing out a breath of satisfaction. “Ahh, that’s better. You can take it, right, Satoru? You asked for this.”
Did he? He did. Yeah, he did, because it hurts, and it’s hard for him to suppress Infinity for this long, and nothing in the world is ever going to feel like Geto moving in him again as long as he lives. “I can take it,” he whispers, for once feeling very human, and very young, and very overstimulated. “Gonna fucking come again, though…”
“Is that supposed to be a threat?” Geto breathlessly asks, his eyes lidding as he fucks in slowly, taking his time to enjoy Gojo’s body without the blind need of the day prior—and hey, Gojo already came once, he’s pretty much absolved of responsibility. “Or a promise? My phone’s over your head, grab it and pass it back.”
Gojo is reaching before the words sink in—not only the words, but what they mean, the promise that Geto is going to actually take a picture of him. “You’ll ruin my future,” he says in his best schoolgirl impression, breathy and eager, his cock dripping freely. “Like you’re ruining me with your huuuuuuge cock.”
“You’re doing that yourself by being such a slut,” Geto cheerfully tells him, leaning back once his phone is in his hand. The sight of Gojo makes him shiver, his cock twitching hard where it’s buried in Gojo’s ass, and he drags his fingers down Gojo’s spine over the dip of his lower back, then where they’re connected, where his cock stretches Gojo’s body around his cock, twitching, shivering every single time he as much as thinks of moving. “Want to see what it looks like?” he casually asks, taking a picture—thankfully, his hand doesn’t shake—and then leaning forward again, covering Gojo with his body as he dangles the phone in front of his face. “You’re so hot, Satoru…”
Gojo doesn’t bother telling Geto that he doesn’t need to look, he knows what he looks like, he knows what everything looks like. No one wants to hear that, not even Geto.
So he looks, and fuck, even if he knows what it’s going to look like, seeing himself from Geto’s point of view still makes him tense and come again, biting down on his lower lip. “Fuck, fuck—that’s—what you see? When you look at me?”
“Did you just—again?” The question is a touch incredulous, a lot amused, even more turned on. “You’re going to be so dehydrated,” Geto laughs, and he drops his phone as he mouths a wet kiss behind Gojo’s ear, and thrusts forward and through those clenching muscles, gripping Gojo’s waist to hold him still as he builds up a fast, intent rhythm. “Mm, yeah, that’s what I see—though the real thing’s way better than a picture,” he murmurs, his hair spilling forward to stick to Gojo’s shoulders as he ruts forward, his breath hot against Gojo’s neck. “Still thinking about making it my wallpaper, though—“
Geto slams in to the hilt, groaning as he finally spills again, vision blurring out for a moment as he grinds forward through his orgasm, savoring how incredibly slick Gojo is once more.
Gojo has to very seriously consider whether it is in fact easier to get thrown through a few walls than to bottom to a dude—at least, to a dude with such a great dick. “Oh my god,” he groans, slumping down bonelessly onto his stomach. “I’ve literally been hit by trucks and felt more normal afterwards.”
“Taking that as a compliment,” Geto dazedly says, slowly slumping forward to lie on top of Gojo. “Give me a second and I’ll pull out. Though I really don’t want to.”
“…Reaching kind of a critical mass on dick in my ass,” Gojo admits, grimacing as the sensations start to pile up over and over each other.
“All right, all right, hearing you loud and clear,” Geto exhales, heaving himself up with renewed strength. “Try not to kill me when I pull out,” he says, only half-joking, and with as much care as he can, he withdraws, biting back a hiss of his own at the sting.
“…I do not want to do it again right now,” Gojo announces, slightly dazed. “I want to be bathed.”
“I think you need to drink some water,” Geto wryly says, pushing his hair back out of his face again. He swings his legs over the side of the bed, and picks up a half-empty sports drink, discarded from who knows when the day prior. “I’ll carry you to the showers, if you drink something.”
“I’ll open my mouth,” Gojo reasons pragmatically, ignoring the fact that he is lying facedown. “You figure out how to pour it into my mouth.”
“Uh huh. I’m going to turn you over,” Geto warns, wiggling his fingers in Gojo’s direction. “You’re lying in your wet spot, anyway. Which is, uh, a lot. Here we go, turning—“ He flops Gojo over, with his head onto a pillow. “And now, pouring,” he says, dangling the bottle forward. “I’m assuming you remember how to swallow.”
Gojo attempts to make a very rude gesture, but mostly manages to swallow a few mouthfuls, while dribbling a sizable amount all over his pillow. “Close enough. Bath.”
“Yes, yes, Satoru-bocchama,” Geto deadpans, pulling away to grab up his discarded clothes from the day before. Damn, they’ve been at this for what feels like eons. Oops. “So, what’s the excuse for why you can’t walk yourself there?” he idly asks, twisting his hair up into a knot and yanking up his pants. “Just so we’re on the same page.”
“I got hit by a Coccygodynious Curse. Obviously.” Gojo narrows his eyes. “Are the loose pants just to hide the big dick?”
Geto cocks his head at him, but doesn’t confirm or deny…which is a statement in and of itself. “Sit up and put your arms around my neck so I can pick you up easier, or I’m throwing you over my shoulder like a sack.”
“No sack. Be delicate,” Gojo demands, twining his arms around Geto’s neck. If he wanted to, if he felt like it, he could absolutely turn a few backflips and end some evil creature’s life with one hand tied behind his back right now. Buuuuuuut it sounds like a lot more fun to be carried around like he’s a kid again, being doted on and cared for.
“Mmhm, as you wish,” Geto says with a placating sigh, sliding an arm underneath Gojo’s knees to heft him up against his chest with only a little grunt of effort. He pauses, and turns towards the nightstand, nodding. “It’s still early, but the sun’s about up. Grab your glasses.”
Gojo bends backwards, snagging the dark glasses off of his bedside table, setting them delicately onto his nose. “Make sure you say the Coccygodynious thing to Shoko, if you see her. She’ll think I’m hilarious.”
“I’m going to leave that up to you,” Geto dryly says, turning towards the door. He briefly juggles Gojo in his arm to grab his towel hanging by the doorframe, flops it on top of Gojo, and then unlocks and pops the door open. “Your joke, your privilege. Shit, I hope we don’t have any work today.”
“Can’t do it,” Gojo says immediately, snuggling into Geto’s chest. “Walk smoother, wow.”
“I’m barely moving, princess.” And yet, he makes more of a concentrated effort to barely jar Gojo when he walks. Stupid. Being this whipped sucks. No one can know.
Thankfully, it’s early, and no one in their right mind is up and about, having undoubtedly been out late working if they were out at all, or enjoying the relative peace and quiet of the morning. Geto settles Gojo down onto one of the benches in the shower, hangs up his towel, and pulls off his glasses with the hook of a finger to set them atop his own head for safekeeping. “An onsen would be so nice right now,” he wistfully says, turning on one of the showers. “Ah, well. At least the water’s hot. I’ll strip your sheets later, you can crash in my bed in the meantime.”
“If I could master teleportation, we could go to an onsen,” Gojo mutters, somewhat rebelliously. “Soon. Mm, if I feel like doing it again tomorrow, can we do it in your bed?”
“If you want. Master teleportation another day, I’m doing a conbini run after this and then we are crashing for the day,” Geto wryly says, readjusting the shower head to let Gojo bask underneath the spray with minimal effort. “Locked dorm room doors, snack stash, doing absolutely nothing…”
“I want conbini!” Water splashes over him, and Gojo shivers, still overstimulated to the point of feeling pins and needles all over his body, all over his soul. He opens his mouth, and water splashes in, and he swallows, making a face. “Some of those fettuccine gummies. You know the ones.”
“I do. I was going to get them anyway. I’m also getting you some nikuman, you literally need to eat protein or you’ll die,” Geto sternly says. He strips, and then steps underneath the water as well, tilting Gojo’s head back with a firm touch, and helping to thoroughly wet his hair. “Hmm. Your neck is pretty bad looking, whoops.”
“Get Shoko to fix me.” Gojo lowers his eyelids, water beading on his lashes, slumping down against Geto’s chest. It’s broad and warm, and he curls up even standing up, feeling as wrung out as an old rag. “But I like the way it feels. Hey, what sweets have protein? Gotta be something.”
Geto is not going to get Shoko to fix Gojo, not in a million years. One, explaining that would be horrible. Two, he likes looking at it too much. “Nothing enough to sustain the sheer amount of energy you put out,” he dryly replies, taking the time to thoroughly rinse Gojo clean—partially, because there is a deep satisfaction in being the one Gojo trusts to be taken care of by, but also, there’s no way he’s letting Gojo into his bed when he’s the slightest bit grungy. “There. That’s better.”
He turns the shower off, wringing out his own hair without concern, and bundles Gojo up in a towel before toweling himself off, redressing, and hefting Gojo back up into his arms, one-handedly setting Gojo’s glasses back onto his face. “You can just pass out. I’ll wake you up when I get back with food.”
“I don’t need to sleep that much,” Gojo objects, but he doesn’t do too much protesting, not when he’s being carried and doted on like he wants, and also promised sweets. “Put me in your bed. I wanna smell it.”
“It doesn’t matter if you need to or not, Satoru. Maybe you should for a change.”
The trek back is short and sweet, and Geto shoves open the door to his room with a grunt. “I don’t think it smells like anything, for what it’s worth,” he wryly says, kicking the door shut behind them and resisting the urge to throw Gojo into his bed like he normally would. Instead, he sets him down carefully, and then flops a blanket over him. “It’s clean, that’s the important part.”
“Smells like tobacco, though.” With the way Gojo wraps himself up in the blanket, snug like a little burrito, he obviously doesn’t seem to mind so much. “And you.”
So help him, he is already reaching for his cigarettes next to the bed. “…I do try to not smoke in here,” Geto grumbles, stuffing them into his pocket before he grabs a clean shirt. He pauses, then slowly sits onto the edge of the bed, leaning over Gojo. “Hey. Look at me for a second?” Not with Six Eyes, with your face, is the obvious implication.
Gojo immediately opens his eyes behind his glasses, all of his weariness forgotten, coming entirely awake all at once. “What’s wrong?”
Ah, damn. Damn, damn, damn. Gojo is pretty. Like, stupidly, distractingly pretty, and it doesn’t matter how many times Geto looks at him—it’s the same feeling of having the air punched out of him.
“…Nothing.” Geto hesitates, then smiles faintly, shrugging a shoulder before he leans away again. “Don’t make fun of me. I’m going to say something stupid.” He pauses only for a breath, not letting Gojo have a moment to think of a quip. “You look good in my bed. That’s all.”
“…Gay.”
Geto exhales a breath, and shoves a pillow over Gojo’s face, holding it down. “Die.”
Gojo cackles, allowing himself to be smothered for a moment, his legs kicking. “Go get me gummies!”
“Go fuck yourself,” Geto cheerfully says, grinding the pillow in a moment longer before releasing it and hopping to his feet. “Bye. Oh, I’ll throw your phone in here before I leave.”