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After being proposed to for the fifth time that week, Itadori Yuuji once again attempts to dissuade his most persistent student: Gojo Satoru.
He broaches the subject one late afternoon, classes for the day having finished. Teacher and student occupy the former’s tiny box of an office, Yuuji sat behind a desk bending under the weight of various reports and documents. Gojo is folded uncomfortably into the chair opposite, long legs spilling out far beyond the edge of the seat as he scrolls on his phone.
Gargantuan size aside – like this, Gojo Satoru looks like any another teenager in the world.
Yuuji decides to take an indirect approach: “Gojo-kun, you’re not with Geto-kun and Ieiri-chan today?”
“Huh?” Gojo blinks as he glances up, phone slightly dipping in his hand and thumb frozen mid-scroll. “Oh. No. Suguru and Shoko are on a date, so today you get to enjoy my company instead, Yuuji.”
The easy use of his given name has Yuuji cringing internally but, spying an opening, he ignores it. “Is that so? I didn’t know Geto-kun and Ieiri-chan were going out.”
Gojo scrunches up his face; with his snow-white hair, he resembles a Persian cat. Cute. “Eh, it’s complicated. Let’s not talk about it,” he says, waving a hand dismissively.
Yuuji nods deliberately, the understanding adult that he is. “Still, it’s nice to hear they’re not letting sorcerers get in the way of enjoying their youth like that.” He pauses. “Don’t wanna do the same?”
“Not really.” Gojo’s tone is flat, as though he’s already caught on to what his teacher’s getting at, shutting it down prematurely.
Given what’s at stake, though, Yuuji can’t back down. “That’s a shame. You won’t always be young, and as an adult, you’re not gonna be afforded the same level of freedom you are now.”
Gojo huffs. “Who d’you think you’re talking to, huh? I’m not like other sorcerers my age, let alone the average Japanese teenager – I’m Gojo Satoru.”
His arrogance in his tone is resounding, but it’s not unfounded. The boy sitting before Yuuji is, indeed, Gojo Satoru, whose birth alone shifted the balance of the world.
But that’s all the more reason not to waste his precious youth chasing his teacher, of all people, and Yuuji tells Gojo as much. He adds in a low voice: “Your teacher who’s going to die.”
There is a beat of silence. Then-
“What kind of fucking excuse is that,” Gojo snarls, bolting to his feet, chair crashing to the floor behind him. Chest heaving, shoulders tight and quivering, he snatches off his pitch-black sunglasses, exposing blazing, nuclear-blue eyes. His fingers curl around the frame until the metal creaks, soft and tortured.
Yuuji’s breath hitches in his throat. “Gojo-kun-”
“Wasn’t it you who said that you didn’t want to regret the way you lived!?” Satoru shouts, voice cracking under the weight of his rage. “How the fuck can you sit there and lecture me about not wasting my ‘precious’ fucking ‘youth’, when you’ve already given up on yours!?”
The silence that follows is thick, heavy, like the air itself has been rendered immovable with shock. It presses on Yuuji’s chest; he can’t speak, can only gape stupidly.
Gojo’s laugh is ragged, as though dragged up through a throat full of broken glass. “Nothing to say, huh?” He turns sharply, anger and hurt radiating off him in waves as he strides toward the door. Jaw tight and with trembling hands, Gojo reaches for the handle.
“Gojo-kun!” Yuuji leaps up from behind his desk, chair scraping back with a harsh screech. He stumbles in his rush, whacking his hip against the desk’s edge hard enough to bruise, but doesn’t slow.
Yuuji slams his palm against the door, blocking the exit just as Gojo begins to open it. Gojo freezes, fingers brushing the handle. Surprise flickers across his face as he turns back - just long enough for Yuuji to press him back against the door, caging him there with both arms.
They are now inches apart. Yuuji locks his eyes onto Gojo’s own: wide, fury and upset overwritten with surprise. “Yuuji?” Uncertainty makes itself apparent in Gojo’s voice.
“I- it’s not that I didn’t mean-” Tripping over his words as they tumble out of him, Yuuji stops. He takes a steadying breath. “I meant it, when I said that I don’t want to regret the way I lived. But- even more than that, I don’t want my students to regret how they lived, especially when we can’t say how long that’ll be.”
“You think you’re something I’ll regret?” Gojo speaks fatally softly.
“I know that I’m something you’d only come to regret, Satoru,” Yuuji asserts. At the sound of his given name, Satoru’s eyes flash. Yuuji continues as though he hasn’t noticed, even as a prickling heat stings his nape.
“I am Sukuna’s vessel, and one day, you’ll have to execute me. That’s what I’m preparing you for, as your teacher.” Yuuji’s tone leaves no room for argument.
“How about you let me decide for myself how I live, what I will or won’t regret?” Satoru argues. “I’ve never once questioned the inevitability of my being a sorcerer. Shouldn’t I at least be allowed the freedom to spend my ‘precious youth’ how I want to, not according to anyone else’s idea of what that’s supposed to be like?” He drops his gaze to the floor. “If it’s honestly that you just don’t like me, say so. Without making excuses.”
“I do like you!” Yuuji protests. “I do, I just- I mean, I’m not making- I didn’t mean to say-” He scrubs a hand over his face, feeling as though he has been set aflame. “What can I say to make this better…? I’m not sure how to fix this,” he admits helplessly.
Satoru’s eyes brim with some inscrutable emotion. “Let me kiss you.”
“Satoru-”
“Please, Yuuji,” Satoru implores. His eyes bore into Yuuji like twin drills of ice.
Satoru does not promise that it’ll be only once, nor to give up on Yuuji if he allows this. So- it must be temporary insanity which sees Yuuji closing his eyes and tilting his chin upwards.
Satoru’s lips are smooth, slightly waxy, and soft – softer than Yuuji would have expected for a teenage boy’s and softer than his own slightly chapped lips.
Satoru doesn’t seem to mind one bit. As their mouths slide together, he cups Yuuji’s face with long-boned fingers than just brush his cheeks, as though to keep the man there and yet also afraid that any further pressure will break the spell.
Taking Yuuji’s lower lip between his teeth, Satoru nips with sharp incisors, ever so slightly; even just this sets Yuuji’s nerves alight. He emits a shuddering breath and pulls back, suddenly dizzy.
The most Yuuji has allowed himself, as Sukuna’s vessel, is obligatorily masturbating when he gets hard – this is all too much, all at once. It’s embarrassing to admit as an adult in his late twenties, given how… little this is.
Satoru agrees that it’s not enough: he surges forward to follow Yuuji, peppering kisses against his mouth. “Please,” he rasps.
Yuuji stumbles backwards; the edge of the desk catches him at the hips and, with a gasp, he finds himself flat on his back atop its surface, papers crumpling beneath him, some fluttering to the floor. The desk creaks under the sudden combined weight of himself and Satoru, who hovers over Yuuji, biting and lapping at his lips. He is a force of nature, intent on ravaging. One hand firmly grips Yuuji’s jaw, the other-
“Hey! Hey, wait, Satoru!” Yuuji yelps, brown eyes flung wide as Satoru fumbles with his belt. “I’m being serious, hold on a minute-” He feels his belt loosen, and seizes Satoru by the shoulders, shoving him back. “For fuck’s sake, we’re in my office, Satoru!”
Satoru’s eyes are dark with arousal. “I don’t care.”
“No.”
“I do-” Satoru clamps his mouth shut. He ducks his head. “Sorry. I won’t- I shouldn’t have… sorry. I’m sorry, Yuuji.”
The hard lines of Yuuji’s face soften, his anger dissipating. “Satoru…”
“I love you, Yuuji,” Satoru declares. His voice is pitched in desperation, cheeks pink with exertion. “You’re afraid I’ll regret you, but I’ll regret it infinitely more if I let you slip through my fingers. I know you will too.”
Yuuji bites his lower lip, brown eyes cloudy with uncertainty. “I’d like to be with you, Satoru. With everything I am.” The words spill, unfiltered: he’s unsure if he’ll ever again find the courage to be honest like this.
Satoru’s joy is palpable. A wide, unrestrained smile splits his face. “Yuuji…!”
Yuuji holds a palm up before him. He’s still the adult in the room – he’s got to lay down some boundaries. “That said-! Going forward, we’ll be taking things a lot more slowly. Got it, Satoru?” He counts off on his fingers. “That means no more expensive gifts I didn’t ask for, or turning up outside my room out of the blue – no teleporting in, either.” Yuuji looks pointedly at Satoru. “No more proposals.”
Satoru lacks the good grace to even pretend he’s ashamed. He throws an arm up in the air like they’re in class, adopting a comically serious expression. “Itadori-sensei!” he calls.
Yuuji rolls his eyes, but can’t help the slight smile that touches his lips. “Yes, Gojo-kun?”
“What about, like… kissing? And sex.” The boldness of his question aside, Satoru fidgets with obvious embarrassment.
Yuuji considers him. “Have you had sex before? With men, I mean,” he adds, fully aware of the teenage tendency to respond with indignant bravado.
“No. You’re the first man I’ve ever liked. I’ve tried watching AVs- gay ones, I mean.” Satoru rubs the back of his neck, distinctly uncomfortable. “Some of it was… okay, I guess? I couldn’t get into most of it.”
Yuuji nods. “You’ll have seen that sex between men is messy, especially if it’s penetrative,” he intones, like he’s delivering a lecture in class. “It requires preparation. A lot of it. So… if you were hoping to get lucky right away, sorry to disappoint, but we’ll be taking that slowly, as well.”
Satoru’s eyes narrow, defiance flashing behind them. Yuuji lifts an eyebrow, daring him to argue, and he slumps slightly, defeated. “I got it,” he mumbles.
“For now, though…”
“Huh?”
Satoru blinks as Yuuji slides off the desk. A puzzled furrow forms between his brows as, without a word, Yuuji moves past him to the door to test the knob, leaning in to double-check the lock.
“Yuuji?”
“Sit. In my chair, it’s bigger.”
Satoru lowers himself into the high-backed office chair, brows slightly raised, cautiously hopeful. “Are you… Are we…”
He sucks in a breath as Yuuji comes to kneel, settling in between his legs.
“You can consider this a reward. For helping me realise I was being stupid.”
“I’ve had dreams that went like this before,” Satoru mutters, startling a laugh out of Yuuji.
“Don’t get too excited,” he warns, the tips of his ears colouring pink. “Been a while since I’ve done this.”
“The man of my dreams is on his knees in front of me, and you’re telling me not to get excited… You’d have an easier time of it trying to convince Shoko to give up smoking.”
Accordingly, Satoru’s already hard when Yuuji unbuckles his trousers, hooking a finger in the hem of his silk briefs and tugging them down to expose the unblemished, ivory skin of Satoru’s abdomen and a thatch of white hair at the base of a cock flushed pink and throbbing.
Wrapping a hand around it, Yuuji squeezes lightly and quietly marvels at its length and girth. Satoru tightens his grip on the chair’s armrests, letting out a gasp that gives way to a low moan as Yuuji strokes his cock from root to tip, again and again, occasionally rolling the pad of his thumb over the slit.
“Yuuji… Yuuji…” mutters Satoru, breath audibly stuttering.
Yuuji chuckles. “Haven’t even gotten properly started yet. But I’m glad you’re already feeling it,” he murmurs. He watches with hooded eyes as a bead of precum dribbles from the slit of Satoru’s cock, dripping down to where Yuuji’s fingers wrap around the base, just meeting.
Before Satoru can ask him what he means, Yuuji’s already licking a stripe up the thick length of his cock from base to tip, following the precum’s trail. With lips swollen and slick with spit, he suckles at the tip and seals his mouth over the head.
Yuuji tongues at the slit, coaxing from it another bubble of milky precum; the salty taste has a low moan rumbling from his chest. It’s drowned out by Satoru’s own, drawn-out and guttural. On either side of Yuuji, the boy’s legs spasm.
Satoru knots both hands in Yuuji’s pink hair. “Yuuji,” he gasps. “Fuck, you’re amazing…”
At the praise, Yuuji’s own dick twitches within the confines of his trousers; he ignores it, focused on his student’s pleasure.
He slips his mouth lower, past the head and down the shaft, eyes fluttering shut as his jaw opens wider, wider, the ache burning so sweetly. As the fat cock head brushes the back of his throat, Satoru swears loudly and Yuuji hums in satisfaction, the vibration amplifying the dizzying pleasure which grips the teenager.
Next Satoru speaks, his voice is raw and gravelly, sweat-soaked hair matted against his forehead. “Hah… How are you so perfect?” he wonders, alluding to Yuuji’s lack of a gag reflex.
Yuuji peers up at him through wet, dark brown lashes, eyes twinkling with humour. He drinks in the sight of Satoru: the flush of his cheeks, white lashes fluttering like feathers, breath coming in uneven gasps through parted lips…
Another time, Yuuji might like to stay just like this: warming the boy’s cock and savouring how it rests heavily on the back of his tongue, teasing the entrance to his throat. For now, Satoru’s impatience makes itself evident as he tugs at Yuuji’s locks, and so Yuuji drags upward the hot column of flesh, pressing his tongue flat against the thick, pulsating vein there, then sinks back down, deep.
A long, broken moan rips free from Satoru, reverberating around the office. It slips under Yuuji’s skin; he shudders along with it. Bobbing his head, he absorbs himself in building a fast, steady rhythm.
His own ragged panting through his nose; wet slurping as saliva and precum pool, thick and fast, in his mouth, leaking from the seam of his lips around Satoru’s cock; and Satoru’s fractured moans combine to create a soundscape intoxicating for its utter obscenity.
Balancing himself with one hand at the base of Satoru’s cock, the other fisted in the material of the boy’s uniform slacks, Yuuji rocks from side to side; the friction of his trousers against his own stiffness, throbbing hard enough to ache, pulls from his throat a slew of high, muffled whines.
“Yuuji,” Satoru gasps like a dying man. “Fuck- I’m close… You- you should… stop-” He slackens his hold on Yuuji’s hair, but his hips continue to buck, as though trying to sink deeper into the hot cavern of Yuuji’s mouth.
Which is more than fine by Yuuji: this is his student’s reward, after all.
In lieu of words, Yuuji makes a throaty, approving noise and, catching Satoru’s wrists, guides his hands back to his head, pressing them into his scalp. It’s okay. Use me.
Satoru lets out a rough, breathy huff of a laugh. “Shit, what I’d do to be your favourite, Sensei?” Eyes flickering closed, he tips his head back in unadulterated bliss. “God, I fucking love you.”
Yuuji answers with a purr. Twice more, his nose kisses Satoru’s white pubic hair, and then Satoru’s grip on Yuuji’s hair intensifies, the pink strands pulling taut as he shoots a thick load into the back of Yuuji’s throat, releasing a long, loud moan as he does so. Satoru fucks into Yuuji’s mouth with uneven cants of his hips through his orgasm, holding Yuuji’s head on his cock as he milks the rest of his release.
As hot, bitter-salty cum floods his mouth, Yuuji makes a keening, muffled whine. His vision wavers, edges pulsing in and out, as his eyes sting with tears; he squeezes them shut. A distinct feeling of light-headedness presses down on Yuuji, but there he gladly stays as Satoru pours his seed down his throat. Precum dampens Yuuji’s crotch.
Yuuji pulls Satoru’s cock from his mouth and sits back on his heels, satisfaction curling warm in his chest. Expecting the teenage boy to flop back, completely wiped out, Yuuji’s thoroughly startled when Satoru instead lurches forward in his seat to pull him into his lap and into an almost suffocatingly tight embrace.
“Yuuji, Yuuji, Yuuji,” Satoru chants like a mantra, pressing darting kisses all over his face: Yuuji’s cheeks, his forehead, the hinge of his aching jaw, even the tip of his nose. “I love you, I love you. Marry me, please.”
Yuuji’s laugh is breathy, clipped short by the sting in his throat. “Don’t think it was that good. And what’d I say about taking it slow?” he murmurs, folding his arms around Satoru’s broad shoulders as he returns the hug. “You’ll definitely cringe looking back when you’re older… I love you, too.”