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The heavy cedar doors to the private chambers had been sealed since sunset. No servants dared approach the corridor. The lanterns had burned low, then guttered out one by one, leaving only the pale blue moonlight spilling through the open shoji to paint long, ghostly stripes across the tatami and the wide platform bed.
Two hours.
Sukuna hadn’t let up once.
Gojo was on his knees, chest pressed to the bedding, ass high, thighs trembling but still spread wide like an offering that refused to close. The lavender consort robe—already torn at the shoulder—had long since been shoved up around his waist in a ruined knot. Sweat slicked every inch of pale skin; short white hair stuck to his forehead and the nape of his neck in damp spikes. His arms were stretched forward, fingers tangled in the silk sheets, knuckles white from how hard he kept gripping.
Sukuna loomed behind him—massive, crimson, four hands in constant motion.
One pair pinned Gojo’s hips in an iron grip, claws dimpling flesh without breaking skin. Another hand fisted short white hair, yanking his head back every few thrusts so Sukuna could see that wrecked, flushed face. The fourth hand roamed—sliding up the arch of Gojo’s spine, pinching a nipple, wrapping loosely around his throat just to feel the frantic pulse there.
And the cock—thick, ridged, relentless—hadn’t stopped pounding into him since the first brutal thrust two hours ago.
Gojo was loud.
Giddy.
Completely fucking gone.
“Yes!” he gasped every time Sukuna bottomed out, voice high and wrecked and delighted. “Right there—fuck—yes!”
Sukuna snapped his hips forward again—deep, punishing—and Gojo’s whole body jolted, back bowing, a long, filthy moan spilling out.
“Use me—” Gojo panted, words slurring together. “Use me, please—don’t stop—fuck—harder—”
He pushed back into every thrust like he was chasing it, like he couldn’t get enough. His cock—pink, leaking, untouched—bobbed heavily between his legs, dripping fat ropes of pre onto the sheets with every slam. His walls kept fluttering around Sukuna’s length, spasming from overstimulation but still greedy, still clenching like they never wanted to let go.
Sukuna yanked harder on his white hair—pulling Gojo’s head back until his throat was exposed, until those eyes—blown wide, glassy, euphoric—locked onto Sukuna’s four.
“Look at you,” Sukuna growled, voice rough from hours of low snarls and commands. “Begging like a whore after two hours. Still not satisfied?”
Gojo laughed—breathless, delirious, giddy as hell.
“Never~” he sang, voice cracking on the word. “Never satisfied—keep going—use me—fill me again—please—”
Sukuna obliged.
He shifted angles—deeper, harder—prostate hit dead-on every stroke now. Gojo’s moans turned into high, keening cries—wordless at first, then spilling back into filthy pleas.
“Yes—yes—yes~!”
“Fuck—own me—”
“Deeper—god—don’t stop—”
Another orgasm ripped through him—his fifth? Sixth? He’d lost count. His cock pulsed untouched, spurting weak ropes across the bedding while his walls clamped down so hard Sukuna growled and fucked him through it. Heat flooded inside him again—thick, endless—until it leaked out around Sukuna’s shaft, dripping down pale thighs in slow, obscene trails.
Gojo didn’t collapse.
He pushed back—still trembling, still giddy—grinding down on the length still buried inside him.
“More~” he whined, voice wrecked but bright. “Please—more—use me—”
Sukuna’s lower mouth curled into a feral grin.
He yanked Gojo’s head back again—harder this time—until their mouths were inches apart.
“Greedy little thing,” he rasped.
Gojo just grinned—dazed, flushed, utterly euphoric.
“Your greedy little thing-”
Sukuna laughed—low—and started moving again.
Slow this time. Deep. Deliberate.
Two hours had already passed.
Neither of them showed any sign of stopping.
Outside the chamber, the palace slept in terrified silence.
Inside, Gojo kept moaning—giddy, wrecked, insatiable—begging for every brutal inch like it was the best thing that had ever happened to him.
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