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Higuruma stops halfway to the theatre doors, his back to Yuuji. “Are you planning to go out like that?”
Yuuji looks down at himself. He’s grimy and a bit beat up, with a few splinters here and there. But he’s pretty sure that’s not what Higuruma is talking about. He did tell Yuuji to put his clothes on before they talked, and Yuuji tried, but he yanked a little too hard at the hoodie trapped under a pile of shattered chairs and tore the hood clean off. The rest of the hoodie and the jacket are both under that pile, probably all torn up and messy. Digging them up doesn’t seem worth it.
Plus, it was kinda funny watching Higuruma figure out where to look while they talked.
“I guess,” he says, patting the scrap of useless fabric in his pocket. He’s not looking forward to walking around shirtless in the chilly air, but maybe— “You have any clothes I can borrow?”
Higuruma lets out a full-body sigh that Yuuji sees more than hears. For a moment, he’s still. Then he turns around, and somehow, he looks even more tired than he did a second ago.
“I keep some in one of the backrooms,” Higuruma says, walking back toward Yuuji. “You can look.”
“Oh, cool.”
He follows Higuruma through the rows of chairs. Yuuji was preoccupied before, but this is a pretty big place. Fancy too. He’d feel bad about all the destruction, but the whole city is a lost cause, isn’t it? Maybe the whole country. Wrecked property without bloodstains is a welcome sight now, and the only blood he can see here is his own, and most of that’s smeared on his own skin—a few scrapes, nothing major.
Higuruma is a more interesting sight. Thirties, he said, but he looks even older. He looks tired.
He reminds Yuuji a little of Nanami.
His mind skitters away from that line of thought. Yuuji yanks it away, really, refocusing on Higuruma. Tired, slumped, lanky—he doesn’t look like a fighter. But Yuuji felt the power in that body, meat and bone soaked in cursed energy. It’d have been a fun fight in less dire circumstances.
“You’re staring.”
“Sorry,” Yuuji says automatically.
But he doesn’t manage to look away, and then Higuruma’s opening a door hidden behind a thick curtain, standing back so Yuuji can head inside first. Giving his back to Higuruma isn’t the most comfortable feeling, but Yuuji does it anyway, stepping into a dark room. He can sense Higuruma following him inside, the not-sensation of something solid almost touching him.
There’s the quiet noise of a switch being flicked, and overhead lights come to life, revealing a sparse but spacious room with a suitcase tucked into one corner and a mattress lined along the far wall, plus some miscellaneous items scattered about.
“You live here?” Yuuji asks dubiously.
“Where else?”
“I don’t know—a hotel or something?”
Higuruma shrugs, leaning against the wall to Yuuji’s left. “This is enough. There are clothes in the suitcase. Pick something.”
Yuuji walks toward it and kneels down, hesitating with his hand on the zip. “Is it okay for me to just look through your stuff?”
“It’s just clothes.” There’s a thread of something light in Higuruma’s tired monotone—amusement, maybe. “My shirts won’t fit you, but there’re a few t-shirts.”
Yuuji finds one without much digging, a plain black one made of decently thick fabric. It looks and even smells clean.
Yuuji is definitely not clean.
He stands up, pulling the torn-off hood out of his pocket to wipe the sweat and grime off his body. It catches on the splinters, more irritating than painful. He pulls them out one by one, and the whole time, he’s aware of it—eyes on his body, heavy with intent.
“Now you’re staring, Higuruma-san.”
There’s a soft huff. “I’m sorry about your injuries.”
“This is barely anything,” Yuuji says honestly, turning around to face Higuruma while he continues scrubbing himself with the hood. “You held back.”
“Only from killing you,” Higuruma mutters. His eyes are on Yuuji’s face now, somewhere near his mouth, and then they drop; it makes them look even tinier. Higuruma’s eyebrows shoot up for a moment before his expression returns to its usual pensive blankness. “You’re…excited.”
Yuuji was hoping he’d ignore that. But his dick isn’t being all that subtle, and these pants don’t compress anything. “That happens after fights, sometimes. A lot of the time. My teacher called me Pavlov’s dog, and I thought it was an insult—not in a bad way, he just says these things. I looked it up though, and no, he was just—I mean, I guess he was right, but it’s really—”
Yuuji swallows the rest of everything that wants to tumble out of his mouth. Higuruma’s expression is still studiedly blank, and he’s looking carefully away from Yuuji—except his eyes keep flitting back, just never to Yuuji’s face.
And Yuuji continues to clean himself, but he slows down. He wipes places that are already clean and de-splintered. He twists and strains more than he needs to, never looking away from Higuruma, and he shouldn’t, not when Fushiguro and a whole fucked-up city are out there waiting for him, but he still does it.
“Itadori,” Higuruma rasps, “put the shirt on.”
“I could.” Yuuji shrugs with a nonchalance he doesn’t feel, dropping the messy hood. “Do you really want me to though?”
Higuruma looks briefly pained. But he’s still looking. “What do you think you’re doing?”
Direct approach then. Not that Yuuji knows anything else, but he usually doesn’t have to use his words, just his body. “Do you want to have sex, Higuruma-san?”
Higuruma gets a little bug-eyed, almost as expressive as he was when yelling at Yuuji about darkness and light and people. “Itadori.”
“I don’t mind,” Yuuji assures him.
“That’s not the—” Higuruma briefly closes his eyes, raising a hand to grind two knuckles into the space between them. “How old are you?”
“Fifteen.”
There’s a low, strangled noise. “Do you usually go around propositioning men over twice your age?”
“Not really,” Yuuji says. It’s mostly true. Half true. “I don’t get it though.”
For a moment, Higuruma almost looks him in the eye. “You don’t understand why I wouldn’t want to fuck a child?”
“When you put it like that…” Yuuji takes a testing step forward, and Higuruma tenses but doesn’t move. “You were ready to kill me earlier, right? This can’t be worse.”
Higuruma looks genuinely shocked for a moment. Yuuji closes the distance between them, and he’s not big enough or strong enough to pin Higuruma, but Higuruma flattens himself against the wall, as stiff as a board, like Yuuji has done just that.
Yuuji should stop. He would stop, except Higuruma’s still staring at his bare skin, and Yuuji knows what it means when someone looks at him with so much hunger.
He still shouldn’t, but—
He’s missed this. The warmth, the touch, the connection. It feels good to be wanted, and it feels even better to want, and ever since Shibuya, Yuuji hasn’t—
He pushes up on tiptoes and kisses Higuruma.
It’s allowed.
Higuruma has thin, dry lips. Yuuji’s never kissed a mouth like this. It’s not bad, just new. And Higuruma doesn’t really kiss back, but his mouth stays pressed warmly to Yuuji’s. He doesn’t seem to be breathing.
Yuuji pulls back after a few seconds, settling on his feet, and waits.
Higuruma’s eyes are wide open and unseeing. He’s still not breathing.
Then—
A shuddering rush, flared nostrils and slumped shoulders.
“Why not?” Higuruma asks without asking. “I already hate myself enough.”
“Uh, that’s not really—”
It’s different, Yuuji realizes the next second, when Higuruma’s kissing back. His hands are warm on Yuuji’s face—a little damp too, sweat mixing with sweat. And his mouth is gentle but firm. Weirdly polite. Yuuji’s never been kissed like this either, and he doesn’t know how to return it in kind, so he doesn’t, pulling Higuruma closer by the collar to kiss him how he knows—with tongue and teeth and hunger.
Eat me alive, Gojou used to say, and that’s what Yuuji learned to do.
Higuruma doesn’t seem to mind. His lips part easily around Yuuji’s teeth, greeting his tongue with a flick of his own before simply letting Yuuji taste him as much as he wants, and that’s nice. Higuruma tastes like mint, artificial and sharp, and Yuuji kisses him just long enough to get to the bland warmth of human flesh underneath. He bites Higuruma’s lower lip as he pulls back, tugging a little. And Higuruma doesn’t make a sound or claim his mouth again, but his fingers twitch against Yuuji’s face.
Yuuji catches sight of closed eyes and lightly flushed cheeks before he drops to his knees, Higuruma’s hands falling away from his face.
“Itadori,” Higuruma breathes, not really a question.
“This alright?” Yuuji asks, sliding his hands under Higuruma’s jacket to finger his belt.
“Are you—” Higuruma cuts himself off with a harsh exhale, his lips thinning. “Do whatever you want.”
Not the most encouraging phrasing, but Yuuji will take it, especially when the red tinge to Higuruma’s cheeks and the way he’s braced both hands on the wall seem more honest than his tepid words.
The rest of his body’s honest too, his cock already half hard when Yuuji gets his hands on it.
It fills up all the way in his mouth, weighing down his tongue and sliding deep into his throat. And Yuuji’s done this a lot, but he’s only done it with one man. The taste is new, the scent is new; even the way Higuruma fills him up is new.
Not bad. Just new.
Yuuji closes his eyes.
His senses narrow to taste and scent, alien notes of warm musk flooding his nose and filling his mouth. Higuruma doesn’t do much, as still as a statue. His hipbones dig into Yuuji’s palms through the smooth fabric of his pants, and he’s not really trying to keep Higuruma still, but that’s how it works out, Yuuji pinning his hips to the wall and sucking his cock while Higuruma breathes like he’s rationing air and trembles with stubborn restraint. Yuuji does try to make him react, mostly to figure out what he likes and what he’s just allowing.
The answer seems to be everything and everything—or nothing and nothing.
Mouthing the exposed head earns him the same measured breaths as taking in the whole length, even when Yuuji swallows around it over and over till his throat convulses in a desperate bid for air. He uses his hand and his mouth both, stroking and squeezing the base while he suckles the tip, prodding the slit with his tongue and playing with the foreskin, but Higuruma just breathes quietly through that too. Sometimes, he stops entirely, and when Yuuji looks up, he finds closed eyes and a pursed mouth, better suited to a man with a headache than someone getting his cock sucked.
But like before, Higuruma’s body is more honest. His cock is hard and hot in Yuuji’s hand, his mouth, and it drips on his tongue, the precome a little less bland than he’s used to—a sharper, stronger taste. And it’s a nice cock, really, dark and curved, the head a ruddy red. It feels good in his mouth and slides easily down his throat, and it tells him everything Higuruma won’t.
Still, Yuuji can’t help pulling back to ask, “Higuruma-san, are you sure you want this?”
Higuruma opens his eyes; it looks like it costs him. “The problem is that I do.”
“Huh.” Yuuji gives an impulsive lick to the head, messily licking up the precome gathered there, and this time, he gets to see Higuruma’s eyelids flutter, those tiny pupils vanishing from view for a second before he pries his eyes back open. They look a little darker, a little deeper, as they peer down at Yuuji. “Guess you’re just a quiet guy.”
That’s not it. At least that’s not all it is. Yuuji says it anyway, and Higuruma makes a noise that could be a laugh if you clamp your ears shut and pretend very well, and Yuuji decides he’s better off sticking to just taste and scent, closing his eyes and shoving that cock down his throat to keep it there till the thundering of his own heart drowns out everything else.
His name pulls him out of that desperate trance—his name and a touch, bruising fingers clamped on his shoulders.
“Itadori,” Higuruma is saying, “you should—or I’m going to—Itadori—”
Yuuji shoves Higuruma’s hips harder against the wall, chasing him down with his mouth, and Higuruma stops his half-hearted attempts to yank Yuuji back, but his hand stays, digging into Yuuji’s bare shoulder. It’s good, the pressure and its ache, and Yuuji lets himself feel with every one of his senses as Higuruma falls apart in his mouth.
It’s as furiously quiet as the entire rest of this affair has been, but there’s heat on his tongue, dripping down his throat.
The taste isn’t pleasant, but Yuuji’s swallowed worse, and he likes how Higuruma’s cock softens as it spends itself, growing less full and less heavy right there on Yuuji’s tongue.
He swallows everything it has to give and sucks on its softening length until the fingers digging into his shoulder start feeling like claws, the nails saying everything the man won’t.
Yuuji’s tempted to keep at it anyway, see if it’d get Higuruma a little loud, a little violent.
He doesn’t in the end, letting Higuruma’s cock slip out of his mouth, which feels hot and empty in the aftermath. He swallows a few times, but the taste lingers, ripe and biting.
The hand on his shoulder falls away.
Yuuji busies himself with tucking Higuruma back in. He almost kisses the limp cock, all unthinking habit, but catches himself on time.
Wrong place for that. Wrong person.
He can’t figure out why that’d feel like a betrayal when kissing another man and sucking his dick didn’t, but he doesn’t dwell on that either. What he had with his teacher had been shifting and nebulous even when it’d been just the two of them and that basement, and it didn’t get any clearer after, when Gojou treated him like a student one moment and like a lover the next, and Yuuji’s not going to sort that out while on his knees for someone else.
He stands up and finds Higuruma just as he left him, plastered against the wall like he’s trying to merge with it.
But his eyes are wide open and staring right at Yuuji—almost. He’s avoiding Yuuji’s eyes, even though it seems like he’s looking right at them. Yuuji knows the real weight of eyes this intent boring into his own, and this isn’t that.
Sorcerers are weird. Guess the newly made ones aren’t any different.
“Your, uh, shirt still on offer?” Yuuji asks, pointing a thumb in some vague direction over his shoulder.
Higuruma’s silent for a moment. His body seems a little less tense though.
“Yes,” he says finally. “First things first—do you want my mouth or something else?”
Yuuji blinks, trying to process that.
“I mean,” he says slowly, trying and failing to catch Higuruma’s eyes, “you don’t have to. I’ll jerk off in the restroom or something.”
He probably won’t even need to. He can’t see his boner surviving the awkward moments that’ll follow this.
Higuruma’s expression does something complicated. Yuuji can’t read half the things that go through it, but he sees enough to know that he’d like to see what it’s like when this man smiles.
“I already feel like a creep,” Higuruma tells him matter-of-factly. “I’d rather not make it worse.”
“You really don’t have to—”
“Itadori,” he cuts in, “I’m offering.”
Yuuji bites the inside of his mouth, considering the said offer. Higuruma seems to mean it. Yuuji doesn’t know him nearly enough to tell why he means it, but that’s nothing new. Maybe it’s not even important; he’s never managed to figure that out.
Higuruma’s waiting, patient and oddly relaxed.
Yuuji looks at his mouth and the thin lips that have already grown on him; they suit this guy and his sharp, severe face. He looks at Higuruma’s hands too; they’re long and rough-looking but without a single callus.
He wouldn’t mind either of those on his cock. It’d be something new, probably something good.
And then he’d never see Higuruma again.
Well, how Yuuji fucks him doesn’t really have anything to do with that. It’s just that everything about Higuruma tells him this man will leave soon. Yuuji should probably let him, but—
Nanami told him, not all that long ago, that he could get stubborn about the worst things. Yuuji argued on principle, but deep down, he knew Nanami was right.
“Can I fuck you?” he asks Higuruma, watching him carefully.
And he sees the answer before he hears it—the light shiver, the flexing hands.
“Maybe I was wrong,” Higuruma mutters, “about not feeling like more of a creep. Not that it matters.”
He slides past Yuuji, careful not to touch him, and strides over to the mattress. His jacket hits the floor before he’s even there, exposing a slim back clad in a thin white shirt. For a moment, Yuuji just watches how Higuruma’s arms and shoulders move as he unbuttons his shirt.
Then he says, “That’s not an answer, Higuruma-san.”
Except it is, and they both know it, and Higuruma doesn’t dignity it with a response, only bending down—now shirtless—to take his shoes off. Socks too. The pants follow. And then he’s naked, standing there facing his mattress, with his back to Yuuji.
“This might be too much,” Higuruma tells him, still facing away, “but that’s my last good suit, and I’d like to keep it that way.”
“That’s fine,” Yuuji says, already moving.
Higuruma doesn’t have a powerful body. Yuuji could tell already, but it’s even more obvious like this, when it’s smooth skin and soft fat under his hands. There’s some muscle definition, especially along the shoulders and legs, but these days, Yuuji’s used to the bodies of sorcerers. Even Fushiguro, who looks so delicate, has a pretty strong body. Then there’s Okkotsu, who keeps saying he’s physically weak but still has a swordsman’s build and skill.
He presses closer to Higuruma, tucking his face into the space between his shoulder blades and just…touching him.
The soft give of his belly, the hairy stretch of his arms, the limp curl of his cock—there’s something thrillingly new about it all.
“Itadori,” Higuruma says, his voice strained, “what are you doing?”
“Touching you?”
“That’s not what you asked for.”
“It’s not like I can just shove it in!”
Higuruma’s silent for a moment. Yuuji continues groping him.
And it’s not like Higuruma stops him. He’s just standing there in Yuuji’s arms, his breathing harsh and shallow.
Finally, Higuruma says, “I don’t have anything fancy. You’ll have to use spit.”
“Alright.”
“It’s fine if it hurts. Don’t worry about it.”
“Mmhm.”
“…Get on with it, Itadori.”
Yuuji sighs and gets on with it.
It’s an awkward descent of limbs onto the mattress, and Yuuji’s not surprised at all when Higuruma arranges himself on all fours, head hung low. At this angle, the knobs of his spine protrude a little, especially toward the base, and Yuuji finds himself fascinated, touching them with his free hand while the other pumps a couple of fingers in and out of Higuruma.
He’s not relaxed at all, and Yuuji’s got no damn idea whether he’s opening him up or winding him tighter, but a few experimental thrusts let him find the spot that makes Higuruma’s walls clench up hotly, and when he shifts his fingers to a better angle and massages that spot, he earns himself faint twitching motions, like Higuruma’s trying hard not to fuck back into it.
Yuuji settles into it, playing with Higuruma’s spine and prostate both. His cock, still tucked away in his pants, is throbbing, but it’s pretty easy to ignore it when he’s got another body to watch and touch and learn. Yuuji isn’t exactly patient, but in this, he is—sometimes, in some ways.
The wrong ways, Gojou would say, laughing; it always sounded fond.
“Itadori,” Higuruma rasps, and Yuuji knows what he’ll say even before he hears, “Enough. I’m good. Put it in.”
“Alright,” Yuuji says gamely, and he almost tells him to turn around, but some instinct flares, shutting him up, and Yuuji acts instead, pulling his fingers out—a ripple of wet flesh, a fluttering grip—and flipping Higuruma over in that moment of weakness.
Dark eyes stare up at him, so sweetly shocked.
Yuuji loosens his belt and shoves his pants down to free his cock, leaning over Higuruma. He reaches for Yuuji but doesn’t touch him, his fingers curling in thin air before the hand drops, fisting in the sheet draped over the mattress.
Yuuji spits into his palm, and Higuruma jolts as if struck.
“Sorry,” Yuuji says absently, biting the inside of his lip as he slicks up his cock. His hand feels good—too good, a screaming temptation to just keep going till he comes all over it. “I know it’s gross, but—”
“Just do it.”
Something about Higuruma’s tone makes Yuuji clamp his hand tight around the base of his own cock. It’s still that dull, apathetic thing, breathless and hoarse in a way that’s only physical, but Yuuji still heard something in it—a quality he hasn’t heard from this man before and can’t put his finger on. His body likes it, heart racing and cock pulsing.
He yanks Higuruma’s hips onto his thighs, those long legs splaying wide around his body. It’s ridiculously easy to move him, even with Higuruma all stiff and wide-eyed. Honestly, he looks kind of spooked.
Yuuji frowns. “You’re not a…” The hell does he say? Ass virgin? “You’ve done this before, right?”
“Yes,” Higuruma bites out.
“Oh. That’s good. Relax?”
“Just—”
“—put it in, yes, yes, I get it.”
It’s a bit of a rough entry. Higuruma is definitely not relaxed, and spit never allows smooth sailing anyway. Yuuji’s used to shoving past the resistance, basically punching in with his cock till he’s balls-deep and burning, but he’s got enough sense to know that should be saved for one particular person, no matter how good and hot and tight Higuruma feels around his dick, sucking him into slick, searing heat.
Higuruma doesn’t make a sound—not willingly. But his breathing is harsh enough to make Yuuji’s nose ache in sympathy, and every exhale lashes in the air between them. His eyes and mouth are both tightly shut. Yuuji keeps watching his face for any sign of pain or regret, but there’s only a frown a degree or two deeper than Higuruma’s usual, plus a darker flush on sunken cheeks. And Higuruma’s as tense outside as he is inside, but Yuuji can’t see any real difference between it and how he’s been the whole time.
This guy could probably use a massage. Yuuji’s never done that and doesn’t really want to learn, but he can give him this.
He bottoms out with a groan, sheathed in tight, clenching flesh.
For a moment, there are only the sounds of them both panting.
“Lemme know,” Yuuji grits out, “when I can move.”
“Move.”
“Higuruma-san—”
“Move.”
Yuuji lets out an exasperated noise and moves. It’s too soon, that’s for sure. Friction claws at his cock, a red-hot pulse from root to tip. Higuruma’s muscles squeeze around it like they’re trying to cut it right off, but when Yuuji’s nearly out, that restlessly twitching rim wrapped around the sensitive stretch under the head, it’s Higuruma who moves, bracing his feet on the mattress and shoving his body down, impaling himself on Yuuji’s cock with a breath that’s more like a growl.
And Yuuji allows it, follows it, fucking deep into Higuruma in an animal flash of heat and motion.
Higuruma’s cock is limp between his legs, nestled in a thatch of wiry dark hair. The way he’s panting is more exertion than pleasure. This can’t feel any good for him.
Not yet.
Yuuji shifts his weight to his knees, rising a little so he can lean forward, stretching out over Higuruma, who opens his eyes in time to intently watch Yuuji slap a hand beside his head and hike his hips up with the other, sliding into him at a different angle. Higuruma’s legs snap shut around Yuuji’s hips, crossing at the back.
For a split second, Higuruma looks surprised.
Yuuji fucks him like that—slow, deep, testing. He doesn’t know this body, but he knows bodies. He could learn. He wants to learn.
He figures out the angle that makes Higuruma clench around his cock and the one that makes his eyes flutter shut. He’s still soft, but the red on his cheeks has darkened and spread, now staining his ears and throat, and that counts for something. So does the way his legs twitch and tremble around Yuuji, sometimes yanking him back inside before he can pull out more than a few inches, and they always go loose and a little limp after, but Higuruma never unwinds them from around Yuuji, keeping himself open and spread at the perfect angle.
“Higuruma-san,” Yuuji asks, slowing his thrusts so that his voice has some semblance of steadiness, “does this feel good?”
Higuruma lets out a rushed breath, a hint of a laugh in it, though his mouth remains unsmiling. “You know how to use your body. Frankly speaking, given your age, I find that concerning.”
Yuuji rolls his eyes. “You really hate giving straight answers, huh? Is that a lawyer thing?”
Something shifts in Higuruma’s expression; his voice is painfully neutral when he says, “You could say that.”
Yuuji gets the sinking feeling that he fucked up a bit there. He takes that as his cue to shut his mouth and let his body do the talking.
Easier said than done. Higuruma may not be suffering, may even be feeling good, but this isn’t that different from when Yuuji blew him, and that’s not what he wants. That’s not why he picked this. Not that it was altruistic or anything, just—
He wants to feel something, and he wants this man to feel something.
Yuuji closes his eyes, and it’s half a mistake because it heightens the pleasure clawing at his cock—the violent heat, the vicious pressure. Higuruma’s a scorching sheath of yielding flesh, and it drags along Yuuji’s cock with every thrust, sending white-hot sparks shuddering up his spine to spill into the rest of his body, warming him down to the bone.
It’s been barely two weeks since he last did this, but he hasn’t even touched himself since then, caught up in a screaming world and a screaming mind, and it’s a miracle he hasn’t shot off yet. That won’t last much longer, no matter how hard he tries to focus on Higuruma.
He needs to—
He doesn’t know Higuruma, not really. But he’s caught glimpses—anger and regret and grief. Bitterness and confusion. And a whole lot of crazy. Human things, sorcerer things. Parts of it felt like looking into a mirror.
And Yuuji can’t treat Higuruma the way he’d treat himself, that’s just not right, but—
I already hate myself enough.
It’s fine if it hurts.
Yuuji opens his eyes and slams into Higuruma hard enough to send the mattress skidding a few inches along the floor. There’s a shout and a crushing embrace—legs around his hips, arms around his neck. Higuruma looks surprised again, staring at his own arms like he doesn’t recognize them.
Yuuji doesn’t give him time to figure it out, pulling out in a fury and shoving back in with twice the violence, and Higuruma doesn’t shout this time, but his mouth still opens around a strangled cry, and the rest of his body is even more honest, clenching and clawing at Yuuji with a hunger that feeds his own, driving him to fuck in harder and faster and deeper, the sensations there shuddering into a hot howl of want and need and worse.
And Higuruma takes it, cursed energy surging in his body to meet Yuuji thrust for thrust without shattering.
The stubborn silence is gone, and Higuruma’s not happy about it, Yuuji can tell from the way he bites his lips and chokes down sounds, but they come right back up, fucked out of him every time Yuuji tears into him, and when he tries to slap a hand over his mouth, Yuuji catches it and pins it, and the moment his fingers snap tight around that deceptively fragile wrist, Higuruma clenches around him brutally, ripping out a cry from Yuuji that’s nearly drowned out by Higuruma’s own groan—a guttural, gut-deep thing that’s more animal than human.
Yuuji snaps.
His body spirals out of control, pounding into Higuruma while the fire in his blood eats him alive.
The end is sudden—a searing thrust and then an eruption, Yuuji bottoming out with a shout and spilling into Higuruma, his hips moving helplessly as that dirty heat soaks his length. It spills out, dripping from around his thrusting, twitching cock, and he fucks some of it back into Higuruma, who’s quiet again, even if his body isn’t, fluttering around Yuuji’s cock like it’s hungry too.
It’s nice, sometimes, to be just a body. To be bodies, all tangled up.
Yuuji pants through the aftershocks, opening eyes he doesn’t remember closing to stare down at Higuruma. His eyes are closed too, but his mouth is open, dragging in desperate breaths. His face is red and sweaty, with thin strands of hair plastered to his forehead.
Huh, Yuuji thinks. He’s kinda handsome.
“Higuruma-san,” he says out loud, “will you look at me?”
Higuruma opens his eyes, looks—at Yuuji, yes, but not at him.
Not like that, Yuuji almost says, but he can’t do it. Higuruma knows; he has to. After all, he hasn’t looked Yuuji in the eye since he threw their fight.
Yuuji kisses him instead, and there’s something real and raw about the way Higuruma gasps into his mouth. Yuuji keeps kissing him when he pulls out and doesn’t stop even as they untangle their limbs, and at some point, Higuruma’s mouth shifts from hungry to indulgent, and Yuuji still doesn’t stop, not until his lips are nearly numb and Higuruma’s lips are still against his own, curved into something that might be a smile.
If it is, it’s gone by the time Yuuji pulls away to look at him, but the quiet curve of his eyes is no less of a sweet shock.
“Thank you,” Yuuji breathes.
Higuruma blinks. That soft ease vanishes from his eyes, but nothing else changes. His skin is still gleaming with sweat and a lingering flush, and he’s still lying with the front of his body pressed all along Yuuji’s, this mattress too narrow to accommodate them otherwise.
Yuuji can hear the clock ticking.
Sure enough, Higuruma sits up a few seconds later, stretching his legs out along the floor to once again give his back to Yuuji.
“Who’s Pavlov?”
“Huh?”
“If you’re Pavlov’s dog,” Higuruma murmurs, “who’s Pavlov?”
“Oh.” Yuuji flops onto his back. “My teacher.”
“Your teacher,” Higuruma repeats thoughtfully. “That doesn’t sound like someone who should be in that profession.”
“How’d you know Gojou-sensei sucks at teaching?”
“That’s not what I meant.” Higuruma looks over his shoulder, the weight of his attention briefly warming Yuuji. “And I’m sure you know that.”
“Oh, come on.” Yuuji throws an arm over his eyes. “He’s great. He’s…the best. Literally. None of this would be happening if he was still here.”
“I’m…sorry for your loss.” Higuruma doesn’t sound very sorry, but he does sound sincere—a strange mix of tones.
“He’s not dead,” Yuuji corrects dully. “Sealed though. We’re trying to save him.”
“I see.”
A moment later, movement trembles through the mattress, and when Yuuji lifts his arm and opens his eyes, he finds Higuruma rooting around in that suitcase of his, pulling out what looks like casual wear. He’s quick to pull them on, and he even takes the time to pick up the discarded suit and fold every piece, putting them on top of the shut suitcase. The t-shirt Yuuji picked out is also left out, draped carefully beside the folded suit.
“What are you going to do now?” Yuuji asks him.
“Take a walk. Get some fresh air. My paradigm has shifted twice in the span of two weeks. It’s not easy, but I should still thank you.”
“Um…”
“Thank you.” It comes out unbearably soft, something that feels wrong to even hear, but Higuruma’s voice is back to normal when he says, “Don’t worry about it.”
“Okay,” Yuuji says dubiously. “But, if it’s alright, we could really use your help, Higuruma-san.”
Higuruma shakes his head.
Yuuji finds he’s not surprised.
Higuruma says, “My surplus two points came from the judge and prosecutor I killed before coming to Tokyo. I’ll probably turn myself in once the barrier opens up. Until then…fresh air and some time with my thoughts, like I said.”
“If you ever—”
“Besides,” Higuruma interrupts, already halfway to the door, “I’ll end up hating myself more than I do now if I stay by your side.”
Yuuji has no idea what to say to that. He doesn’t even know what to think about that. He knows a thing or two about hating yourself, and he’s no stranger to being hated, but he doesn’t understand making someone else hate themselves.
He says nothing, despite his throat feeling tight with things that want to crawl out.
“Sorry,” Higuruma says anyway. “I’m not blaming you or anything. Take care, Itadori. Good luck with everything.”