Chapter Text
Gojo pops into his dorm to pester him, as per usual.
“Oi.”
Geto grunts in half-hearted acknowledgement, sipping tea as he reads his captivating novel. It’s a real page-turner.
“I want you to bitch me.”
The book and teacup tumble to the ground, the latter breaking when it collides against the hardwood floor and spilling its liquid contents everywhere.
“What—” Geto chokes and coughs violently to expel the liquid from his windpipe. He nearly gives himself whiplash by how quickly he twists around to stare at Gojo with bewildered eyes. “What the hell did you just say to me?” He rasps incredulously.
“Don’t play dumb,” Gojo sighs, crossing his arms. “I know you heard me.”
“Then I must have heard you wrong,” he grimaces, immensely irritated by this stupid joke—and it has to be a joke—because the pages of his book are soaking up tea and staining the paper. He takes in the whole picture of this mess on the ground and groans in resignation, pressing his thumb against the spot between his eyebrows. He’ll deal with it after Gojo leaves.
Bristling, Gojo scoffs, “Get your ears checked.”
“No. I’m serious. There is no way that I heard what I thought you just said.” He deadpans.
“I hate repeating myself,” Gojo groans into the air like he is put upon. However, he does relent to explain again, “Fine, but pay attention this time. I said that I want you to bitch me.”
Fuck.
Is he serious?
He looks serious.
“You want me to bitch you,” he repeats with caution, noting how foreign the syllables feel in his mouth.
Gojo Satoru is, basically, one of the most alpha of alphas out there. In Geto’s humble opinion, Gojo is too aggressive about how much of an alpha he really is—flaunting his scent like he owns the place, posturing and speaking over others, making people uncomfortable with his shitty attitude. Gojo is also particularly keen to remind others that he is an alpha and isn’t subtle about it, and for some inexplicable reason it has always rubbed Geto the wrong way.
It is a genuine shame that his pretty face is attached to such a horrible personality.
Yet, Gojo and he have sort of an odd… hot-and-cold relationship, if he was to try and describe it. In one moment, Gojo couldn’t keep his hands off him and craved his attention; in the next moment, Gojo didn't want anything to do with his whole existence. In truth, it doesn’t really bother Geto that much. He’s not going to pine over an asshole who readily jumps at the chance to dominate him whenever he feels the need to prove something to himself.
Being an alpha himself, Geto never gives Gojo that chance.
Whatever bullshit that goes on in his head is probably why they haven’t fucked yet. Never mind ruts. They are far, far beyond being civil enough to help each other through ruts because it would get real violent, real fast. Someone’s throat would get torn out before either one of them got off. Geto has his own biases, but his money is on Gojo’s throat.
“You’re going to do it, right?” Gojo raises his proud chin, expecting Geto to give in to his demand.
Honestly, this whole situation is so fucking crazy that it’s unbelievable, but it sure is happening.
“Don’t be so presumptuous,” he scowls and steels himself for a potential fight, standing from his seat and glaring at Gojo. “In fact, get out of my room. I’m not in the mood to deal with you, so take your bullshit somewhere else.”
Gojo sneers and remains in place, looking tense and ready to fight, but Geto scents something in the air that is distinctly unfamiliar. It’s nervousness, and it’s coming from Gojo. It’s enough to make Geto pause, to take a good long look at the other alpha. Nervousness, anxiousness, desperation.
He really is serious.
Eyeing Gojo warily, Geto doesn’t relax but he does ask, “Why are you asking me to do this?”
Gojo huffs out a sarcastic laugh. “What alpha wouldn’t die for the chance to bitch the Gojo Satoru?”
After processing the response, Geto exhales a long suffering sigh. His temples are throbbing, and he could really use a cigarette. “You know I don’t give a shit about any of that, Satoru.”
Then, Gojo does something entirely unexpected: he averts his eyes, cutting off eye contact with him entirely. It stuns Geto to his core, commanded by some fucking primal instinct in his brain to relax.
“That’s why it has to be you,” Gojo murmurs, his voice nearly imperceptible.
He still doesn’t understand why Gojo wants this, but he does know that he won’t receive an actual answer. At least, he won’t receive an honest one. But for some reason, Geto keeps talking.
“... This really that important to you? You actually want me to bitch you?”
Gojo only nods.
Geto wants to wake up from whatever fever dream he must be having, but he is viciously reminded that this is, in fact, reality.
“Prove it,” Geto says, the words slipping out of his mouth before he realizes he said them.
God fucking damn it.
“How? You want me to get on my knees and present to you, alpha?” Gojo grins derisively and mocks him.
“No. You can prove it to me by cleaning up your mess,” he says with a frown and gestures to the ground, cocking a single eyebrow questioningly at him. Geto doesn’t think he’ll actually do it. Gojo is too prideful.
It is Gojo’s turn to frown. He seems… puzzled, confused, like he had preconceived notions of how he thought Geto would act. He just stands there, uncertain and lacking direction.
With another heavy sigh, Geto thinks that he is too nice sometimes. “Just… go grab a hand towel from the kitchenette and clean up the tea from the floor.”
He narrows his eyes at Gojo as he remains in place, and for a split second, Geto feels victorious for calling his bluff. It’s really just a joke, an elaborate prank.
Much to his surprise again, Gojo does as he is told, leaving to retrieve a hand towel from the kitchenette. When he returns, Gojo approaches the mess on the floor, and while he hesitates, Satoru does bend to clean up the mess. Before the other alpha could make contact with the ground, Geto snatches Gojo by his bicep.
“Listen, I’m not that kind of alpha. You don’t actually have to do that,” Geto says calmly as he takes the towel from him before Gojo could retaliate and snarl at the sudden, invasive touch. “You’ve proven your point to me, so… I believe you. You want me to bitch you into an omega.”
When Gojo looks at him with those killer blue eyes, Geto feels his resolve crumble into dust. This insufferable man riles him up into doing too much dumb shit.
“... So, fine,” Geto groans reluctantly. “I’ll do it.”
“Really?”
“... Yes, really.” Geto releases his arm. “But we’re doing this my way. If you act up just once by going all ‘big alpha’ on me, then we’re done. It’s not cute and I’m tired of that shit. You have to really want this.”
“Yeah.” Gojo swallows hard. “Sure.”
“So… I guess…” Geto exhales in disbelief, and it comes out as a weird, garbled noise from the back of his throat, “I'm courting you now.”
They both stare at each other in an awkward silence. That tension from earlier is gone, replaced by some weighty feeling of finality.
Mercifully, and because he also really wants time alone to process this bizarre situation while salvaging the rest of his evening, Geto gives Gojo an out by mumbling, “I’ll text you later?”
“Oh, uh, yeah,” he stammers. “Yeah, sure. Text you later, Suguru.”
Gojo exits his room as quickly as he had entered, leaving Geto in a state of…
Well, he doesn’t really know exactly what he’s feeling, but he sure is feeling some kind of way and there sure is a mess on the floor to clean up.
What the fuck just happened?