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I'm done carrying the weight of the world (I just wanna feel this love)

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Once a year, Gojo takes a day off. He dolls up in his finest Dior and dons his most expensive sunglasses and disappears from everyone's sights. People have tried to follow him, tried to figure out where he goes and why, but for someone dressed as flashily as he does, he is painfully elusive. One moment they're tailing him as closely as they dare, and the next he's gone, a bare whisper of Chanel No. 5 still lingering in the air to prove that he was even there in the first place.

 

The travel time is painful, but it's worth it, to get out of the watchful eyes of those pesky elders. They may be powerful, but there was no way they were going to waste resources on having eyes on every corner of Japan. Go to a small enough city, one that can only conjure up puny Grade 4 spirits, and there's no way the Jujutsu world would have any spies hanging around there.

 

He books out the presidential suite in the best hotel in Fukuoka, and even though the staff want to usher him up, he simply hands the bell boy his overnight bag and takes a seat in the lobby. He flashes a charming smile, tips handsomely and makes himself comfortable in one of the plush sofas. He could go wait in the room, enjoy the luxury he just spent a bomb on, but he chooses to stay, to play some dumb phone game to kill time until his partner arrives. 

 

He lounges like he's about to be painted like a french lady, like the pretty little doll he's specially dressed up to be today, legs kicked up and over the arm of the couch. It's the least he can do, showing off the goods, for the poor, overworked salarymen that are trudging in and checking in without an ounce of soul left in their eyes.

 

He didn't do much, really, but a little lip gloss, rose gold eyeshadow and 24K Diamond highlight from Fenty Beauty can go a long way when he's the perfect canvas. Not to mention the leather corset belt has his waist cinched within an inch of his life, he can barely breathe with how tightly he'd asked Shoko to pull the damn thing, but he can't help but think it's worth it. What with how well it compliments his near translucent, silk shirt. It's long and loose and soft, the silhouette looking almost wispy but then perfectly nipped in at his middle by the belt. 

 

He's left waiting, an ethereal damsel for his sexy knight, but not for long. Never for long. 

 

"Happy anniversary." His body naturally relaxes when he hears the buttery smooth voice pull him from his intense round of Candy Crush, his muscles and bones finally feeling at home in his own skin. He wants to whine, to pout and scold the other for not coming sooner, but he's weak, if only in this aspect of his life, and the blue roses win his heart every time. 

 

"You're late. Again." He tries to frown and fails spectacularly when he accepts the generous bouquet, finally lifting his eyes from his phone to look up at the most stunning man he would ever see. He's dressed more casually than Gojo, always is, but still manages to look immaculate in his loosely fitted pants and tailored coat; a tight, burgundy turtleneck accentuating every curve and plane of Geto's gorgeous muscles. It was unfair, how easily he falls every time his big blue eyes land on this man. 

 

"Not everyone can teleport, Satoru." His name rolls off his tongue like it never left, like it was born in his mouth and given to Gojo simply so he could be his .

 

"I would buy you a first class ticket, if you'd let me." He brings his face into the bundle of roses, expertly dyed cobalt, so vibrant Gojo feels he's almost blinded. He knows how good he looks, lush eyelashes fluttering and lips pursed cutely, cheeks flushed in anticipation for what the rest of the day would bring.  He half wonders how Geto keeps his hands off of him, considering what a visual snack he is. 

 

"Yes, because that fits into the discretion I've been building for the last few years." Gojo makes a face at the mention of Geto's other life, the one that doesn't include Gojo, the one that doesn't have a whisper of his existence. The one that hurts like a dagger plunged directly into his soul. "C'mon, we don't have all night. Up you go."

 

Geto plucks his bouquet right from his arms, laying it on his own overnight bag before he crouches and effortlessly hauls Gojo up, arms hooked under his back and knees. Gojo may be as lean as they come but he's ridiculously tall, making him heavy enough to make the average man struggle to get him an inch off the ground. 

 

He relishes in this, the ease and the calm that comes with sliding right back into each other's lives, throwing his long arms around Geto's thick neck ( God , he feels burlier than before, even beefier than last time), and sneaking a peck to Geto's cheek.

 

They make their way towards the elevator up to their penthouse suite, knowing the staff are already rushing to pick up his bag and the bouquet to bring it up for them. Gojo hopes for their sake they skuttle up faster than them, lest they want to walk into a free show. Luckily for them, Geto takes up a leisurely pace, strolling towards the lift lobby, letting the staff outpace them and rush up, just so he can savour the feeling of Gojo nestled against him. 

 

"Did you have to wear heels? Aren't you huge enough?" Geto asks as their elevator arrives, stepping into it, getting endless stares from all the bystanding guests and staff. It must be a sight, two grown men, tall as skyscrapers, in each other's arms without a single care for anyone else in the world. Geto's shoes may not be heeled, but the combat boots also add some volume to his already insane height. "Compensating for something?"

 

"Don't pretend you don't like it." Gojo snickers, taking a long, stray lock of hair (Geto should not be allowed to let his hair down, it does something to Gojo and that something is rushing down south fast ) and twirling it between his fingers. He presses a soft kiss to it, sighing when he feels the silky strands against his lips. How he'd missed that feeling, would bask in it every day if he could. "You were so excited when I wore the thigh highs last time." 

 

Honestly, the stiletto boot heels were a bit dramatic, especially since he wasn't going to be wearing very much soon, and they hurt like a bitch. But last year Geto had stripped him down to nothing but the thigh highs and kissed up his whole leather clad leg, licked the leather on the toe of his boot while he squirmed on the bed. So, when he'd seen these sexy ankle booties, all lace cut outs and 5 inch stilettos, how could he resist immediately buying it? 

 

They better be making Geto all hot and bothered or Gojo was going to throw a fit. His toes were getting crushed in the pointed toes of the shoes. 

 

"Hmm… I do love your legs." Geto buries his face in the snowy mop sitting on Gojo's head, carefully tousled to make him have sexy bed hair. He'd used his special shampoo, the one he whips out once a year, the one that makes him smell of nothing but the most fragrant lavenders and makes his messy bird's nest look like it's spun into liquid platinum. "At the rate you're going, we won't make it to the room." 

 

"But I have a surprise for you… a really, really nice one." Gojo reaches up to cup Suguru's cheek in his, leaning close until his breath ghosts over Suguru's lips, a promise of a kiss still withheld. "One you wouldn't want anyone else to see."

 

"Oh? And what would that be?" Geto jostles Gojo in his arms, purposely doing it rougher than he needs to, just so he can see Gojo's cheek colour in arousal. He always did like to get manhandled. "I'm an impatient man, Satoru."

 

"Wouldn't be a surprise if I told you." Gojo grins, combing his fingers through Geto's loose hair, scraping his manicured nails, painted crimson and shaped to perfection, along his scalp, drawing their foreheads together. "Unless you want to give everyone a show?" 

 

" God , you still know how to piss me off." Geto chuckles, shaking his head in disbelief. Nine years later and Gojo still knows how to push all his buttons, no matter the distance, no matter the time apart. "You know I hate to share."

 

"So be a good little boy and maybe I'll show you what I put on." And as if on cue, the elevator dings, bringing them to the top floor of the tallest building in the city, opening up to a short hallway with only one door at the end. " For you ."

 

Unlike the casual pace he had set in the lobby, Geto takes powerful strides to their room for the night, crossing the hallway in two big steps. He crowds Gojo, still held firmly in his arms, against the door, taking his ear between his teeth and nibbling like the massive tease he always has been. 

 

"Open the door, Satoru. Before I devour you right here , and show you how much I really hate waiting." Suguru threatens, though it's hardly intimidating with desire boiling to the surface in his deep purple eyes. Even without Six Eyes, Gojo would have to be blind not to see the desperation, the sheer need to be together even as the world tore them apart. 

 

It almost burns being under all the heat of Geto's gaze. Gojo is a complete stranger to being nervous, is arrogant to a fault, but Geto always drags out the worst parts of him. The weakest, the most vulnerable, the most needy. He reaches into his back pocket, fingers trembling with something between excitement and unease, fumbling for the key card.

 

"Devour me like one of your curses, Suguru."

 

The door pops open, causing the couple to stumble through the threshold like a pair of newlyweds, lips locked after a year of abstinence. Gojo uses one hand to fling his designer glasses to the side while the other is fisted tight in Geto's jacket, keeping them pressed together while Geto navigates them inside. It's their regular room, remote and decadent, so he finds his way in just fine without having to separate them. He doesn't wait for more than a second before dropping Gojo to the ground as soon as they're fully inside the room, locked away from responsibility and duty (at least for tonight). 

 

Geto immediately pins Gojo to the closed door, hands fitted around his belted waist while Gojo yanks him as close as he can get him. They don't break, can't break, the kiss, too much longing packed into whatever they can communicate in a dance of teeth and tongues. It's messy and sloppy, but perfect and sweet, especially when it's interrupted by an audible gasp and Geto abruptly pulling away.

 

"How do you breathe in this thing?" Geto pants, feeling his fingertips barely touch from where they're wrapped around Gojo's corset. It was about damn time Geto got to admiring all of his effort. The stupidly lovely bouquet was nothing in comparison to the hours Gojo had spent putting on his look today (and they weren't even at the best part yet). 

 

For the first time in the night, their eyes meet properly for the first time. Time stops and every ounce of oxygen leaves Gojo, and it has nothing to do with his corset. Everyone always talks about his eyes, the crystal clear blue filled to the brim with power and strength, but it's Geto's eyes that deserve all the attention. They're deep and purple and the way they get swallowed up by his pupils when they're making love is the most underrated sight in the world.

 

"Air's overrated. Hurry up and kiss me, asshole. I deserve a year's worth." Gojo loops his arms around Geto's neck to drag him in for another undoubtedly steamy makeout, but Geto thwarts his efforts, expertly dodging pretty pink lips and shoving a thigh between his legs. 

 

"Nuh-uh, you owe me a surprise." Geto slides his hands down Gojo's teeny tiny waist and past his hips, now feeling nice and full in comparison, grabbing a handful of ass in each palm and squeezing roughly. It's just as small and perky as he remembers it, chuckling darkly when Gojo yelps as quietly as he can manage, all too ready to tear his walls down and hear him let loose. "Show it to me, baby."

 

"You're lucky you have a giant dick." Gojo whines as he looks to the side, clearly trying to hide the obvious colouring of his cheeks. No matter how many times they slept together, his skin always flushed so easily, turned the most perverted shade of red, making him seem oh-so-innocent, even when he was on his knees sucking cock. "Your personality is trash. Who grabs first and asks questions later?"

 

"Someone that hasn't stopped thinking about you for a year." And boy if that doesn't hurt. Gojo gulps, breathing as deeply as he can through his nose as Geto leans in to nuzzle at his neck. He smells glorious, he knows because you can never go wrong with Chanel, but that swelling of pride in his chest is dampened when he thinks about how quickly this will all end. How he is only worth a few twilight hours for a man he would end the world for. 

 

Why can't I be with you all the time? Why can't we be together? 

 

"C'mon Satoru, what pretty thing did you wear for me this time?" Because Gojo is a weak, weak man in front of Geto, completely fallible to his commands, barely able to stand on two legs under his gaze, much less pressed chest to chest with a pair of intoxicating lips mouthing against his sensitive neck. He sounds so sweet, a gentle purr against his skin, even though he is whispering pure filth, as if he doesn't know Gojo has spent the better part of the last month thinking about what he could do to make Geto as horny as possible. 

 

Last year, it was the boots. Stuart Weismann, an absurdly buttery smooth leather perfection, and skin tight black booty shorts that accentuated what little ass he had. And though the boots stayed on the whole night, his shorts fell victim to Geto's hungry hands within minutes.

 

The year before he'd worn hair extensions, perfect for Geto to wind around his palm and pull as he fucked him doggy style. 

 

The one before that it was a cute little bralette, pastel pink and thin enough to see his erect nipples. Geto had had a field day sucking on them through the fabric. 

 

Five years ago, it was a slutty purple dress, no back with a thigh high slit, expensive velvet that got ruined when Geto railed him with it on.

 

And out of all his horndog inducing escapades, Gojo is the most confident about this one. If Geto doesn't immediately get a heart attack, he's going to get personally offended. 

 

"You've got your hands on it, handsome." Gojo hints at cryptically, yanking Geto's head to the side so he can capture his lips. He waits for the cogs in Geto's head to get turning, practically hears them whirring while he takes the moment to explore his mouth, tongue mapping out every crevice, committing the shape to memory. 

 

Even though they've made out countless times, could barely keep their hands off each other as teens, he feels like it's always a bit different every time they reunite. A hollow, resounding pain echoes in his chest, knowing he'll always be playing catch up to his best friend, his one and only , trying to capture this snapshot of Geto before it inevitably changes without him knowing again. 

 

And how he hates not knowing. Being left in the dark while Geto walks a path so far away from his own. 

 

They're so close, practically melded together until there's no discernible line between them, but he feels so distant, so cut off from Gojo's outreached fingers. Like if he stretched out his hand, he wouldn't even be able to brush Geto's, much less intertwine them and pull him back. He's the strongest, but even he can't save Geto, the only person he actually wants to help but is ironically helpless to do so. 

 

The violent sound of fabric tearing pulls him from his thoughts, thank God.

 

" Fuck , Satoru." The profanity is accompanied by what could only be described as 'horny induced whiplash', Geto's normally composed features pulled into a comically agape shape, eyes wide as they stare south, hands hovering an inch over Gojo's now naked hips. "I'm gonna cream myself just looking at you."

 

"At least get inside me first." Gojo near giggles, as if he's pulling the typical 'take me to dinner' line, holding back a shiver as the air conditioner rapidly cools his bare skin. He'd been expecting the honestly unnecessary clothing violence, Geto had ripped more designer things off his body than he cared to count; they'd barely made a dent in his bank account anyway. It was unbearably hot too, so he remembered to wear his slightly less branded pants today.

 

Geto doesn't seem to get the message though, doesn't hear the lust and impatience dripping from his words, instead staring in awe at the lacy contraption Gojo had maneuvered himself into earlier today. 

 

"Thought you were the only one who could buy flowers?" Gojo guides Geto's hands to land flush on his hips, letting those big, calluses fingers feel the fine lace and embroidery. "It's Italian, so try not to rip this one, ok?"

 

For some reason, up until this day Gojo had never donned ladies lingerie, outside of that one foray into a bralette.  But that didn't count, what with how little fiddling he had to do to get in it. He'd simply slipped it over his head and been done with it. It had been lingerie-lite

 

This time though, he'd gone full throttle and bought the most expensive, most exquisite bridal garter set he could find. Unlike the classic garters, this one is made of embroidered flowers, specifically roses because Geto had to go and make that their thing, with more negative space than traditional lace, less imagination needed.

 

He complemented the floral piece with a simple mesh thong, the poor thing doing an awful job at concealing how turned on he was. The garters were clipped to thigh high stockings, also sheer and minimalistic, leaving a sliver of skin between the edge of the stocking and the thong exposed. Absolute territory indeed.

 

Everything was pure white, an angelic colour for a sinful garment. 

 

In their youth, their puppy love filled and foolish youth, Gojo did say he would take on Geto's last name when (when, not if) they got married. It was more to be a giant middle finger to his family than anything else, but the sentiment was there. And he had caught his lover tracing ' Geto Satoru ' onto his skin on more than a few occasions after that (he pretended he didn’t notice, lest he stop in embarrassment). 

 

So, maybe he said it more than once. Maybe he'd said it a lot. Like every other day. Because it rolled off the tongue, and got Geto all hot and bothered. At the time, it actually seemed more reality than fantasy. A true promise to have and to hold each other 'till death do them part. Clearly, that plan had fallen through faster than he could say 'I do'. Now, they held each other once a year and were completely absent the rest of the time.

 

Still, in the penultimate year to their tenth anniversary, he thought the whole bridal theme was rather fitting. Maybe it would kick Geto into high gear and finally spur him into a proposal before he hit thirty. 

 

Big dreams, little hope. But he was allowed to dream sometimes, right? At least today. Only today.

 

"You want to kill me, don't you?" Geto groaned, taking the hem of Gojo's shirt and lifting it up so he can get a better look at all of Gojo's effort. His eyes, those violets Gojo can never get enough of, are zeroed in on every minute detail, every outline and in turn, every inch of exposed skin. Gojo's brain unhelpfully supplies a fantasy of Geto dipping his tongue into every hole of the embroidery, and his dick is a traitor and twitches right there and then. Judging by the growing smirk stretching on Geto's lips, he definitely saw that.

 

"Baby, if I wanted to kill you, I could've done it a long time ago. Probably should've done it a long time ago." Gojo tips Geto's chin up with a slender finger, prying his eyes away from where they'd been glued onto his crotch. And when sapphires meet amethysts, it's like sparks are flying all over again. "I wonder what that says about me?" 

 

"That you're still the man I fell in love with. My one and only ." Geto whispers before capturing Gojo into another deep kiss. It's not rushed, not hungry, a slow passion that burns in Gojo's gut. Geto's hands let go of Gojo's shirt in favour of finding purchase on his ass again, hoisting him up, wrapping those endlessly long and whorish-ly dressed legs around his waist. "I don't want to take any of it off. You look so gorgeous right now, princess." 

 

"Was hoping you'd like it." Gojo teases with Geto's bottom lip caught between his teeth. It had been an adventure, a real strain on his creative prowess putting the whole ensemble together and making it the embodiment of every one of Geto's wet dreams. The corset and the lingerie, the booties and the oversized shirt. A perfect concoction of sweet lover and slutty dominatrix. And for the cherry on top, all in black and white, their colours. 

 

Also, the contrast looked absolutely divine on him. 

 

"I'm going to fuck you in all your favourite positions tonight." Geto promises as he hauls them over to the bed. Given how ridiculously gigantic the room is, it takes longer than it should to reach their destination. In an act of frustration, Geto unceremoniously dumps Gojo on the plush bed, crawling on top of him with only a second's notice. "To show my appreciation."

 

“Is Suguru- kun sure he knows me that well?” Gojo taunts, groping up the well toned arms braced on either side of his head. He feels the muscles just under the skin, and wonders how well Geto must be living now, eating enough to beef up like an underwear model, in his life away from Gojo.

 

“I’m the only one that knows you,” Geto reminds, knew and memorized that to everyone else, Gojo was a commodity. He was the strongest, value measured in power and how many curses he could slay, barely even regarded as human. It was only Geto that ever saw the man behind the invulnerability, the person who was more than Limitless and Six Eyes. How could he leave him? How could he turn his back on him when he knew Gojo didn't have anyone else? He must be doing this on purpose. Must have planned to stab him deeper than any knife. Leaning down close, closer than anyone ever cared to get, and whispering into his ears the words that he wants to hear the most. The words that hurt the most. “ Geto Satoru .”

 

"Don't call me that. You haven't even proposed yet." Gojo shoves Geto's face away, trying to get air and remember this for what it is. A reunion, one he only gets once a year, and a satisfying fuck, one that will leave him craving for more for the next 364 days. Not a pity party.

 

"Yet? Mighty big assumption there, princess." Geto smiles wide, and it reaches his eyes in a way that Gojo knows it's not a jab, not a tease, but something genuine.  

 

He briefly wonders how often either of them gets to have moments of humility, souls bared, chests pried open to expose their deepest and honest feelings. He wonders if Geto ever gets to be safe enough to do that in his new, secretive, genocidal life. Maybe he's like Gojo, and only finds this sanctuary in one person, once a year on their anniversary. Or maybe he's delusional and he's not special anymore; maybe Geto has many others that are more worthy of his sincerity.

 

" Shut up ." Gojo huffs at being called out, averts his eyes from the pure mirth Geto looks down at him with. The least the asshole could do is pretend he didn't hear it. Trying to dispel the moment, he pushes at the jacket still hanging on Geto's broad shoulders, attempting to yank it off while Geto is being awfully unhelpful. In their eagerness, they were both still wearing their shoes and Geto was fully dressed. "You're wearing a stupid amount of clothing."

 

"That's rude of me, isn't it? Especially after I helped you out of your pants." Now, that's the understatement of the century, but Gojo lets it slide because in one smooth motion Geto is stripping off both his coat and turtleneck, leaving him in all his bare chested glory. Did he have to make everything look so damn sexy? 

 

Immediately, Gojo's hands fly to Geto's pecs, feeling up the firm planes in his palms, craning his neck up and pursing lips. Thankfully Geto gets the message without Gojo having to spell it out, meeting Gojo halfway and connecting their mouths once again. Sometimes he makes Gojo wait, plays at being oblivious until Gojo has tears in his eyes and is begging in the lewdest way he can.

 

They stay like that for a moment, basking in the minutes they can savour for themselves, Geto warm and there, feeling delicious under his fingertips. Geto seems to pay no heed to his obvious groping, curtaining them in their own personal haven with his long tresses, slowly grinding his hips into Gojo's. It's so torturous, both too hot and not nearly hot enough, just the kind of flavour Geto prefers, and Gojo is only a little desperate when he bucks up for more friction. 

 

"I miss seeing this." Geto says wistfully when the kiss breaks, a string saliva still hanging between them. The dim, romantic lighting of the room lights him up gloriously, turns his tan skin near golden and Gojo can't help squeezing the chest in his hands on reflex. Geto doesn't even deign him a slight flinch. "You under me."

 

"I hope you're not gonna freeze there staring at me and forget all your plans about fucking me. I'm turning into an old man down here." Gojo rolls his eyes but glides his cool hands past Geto's perfectly chiselled chest to his back. Another minefield of rippling muscles with just the right amount of meat for Gojo to sink his nails in. He can barely contain the grin that wants to split open on his face at the thought of clawing him up like a leopard with something to prove. He was going to leave marks that last for weeks

 

"Such a spoiled brat." Geto remarks, shaking his head before flipping Gojo onto his belly like he's a pancake. The back view causes Geto to wolf whistle and before Gojo can ask what exactly the compliment is for, he gets a resounding and hard smack on his ass. 

 

The sensation jolts him, fucks with him and has him moaning into silk pillows. Every other day of the year, he's untouchable, human contact a stranger to his skin. It leaves him hollow and aching, but also over sensitive as every brush of skin sends a million fireworks down his spine, exploding at the tips of his fingers and toes. It burns but it feels amazing, it's the only thing he craves, his only desire as he's surrounded by countless others that could never give it to him.

 

His skin warms and stings, especially when Geto grabs a handful of throbbing ass cheek and kneads it like he's dough about to be baked into bread, fingers digging into throbbing flesh. He hopes he's at least focaccia, and not some boring ass, plain white bread.

 

"Fuck, never wear anything but thongs ever again." Geto groans before landing another harsh spank, this time on his other cheek. Geto is an excellent spanker, Gojo can speak from personal experience, and with just two hits, Gojo can barely form a coherent thought. "Your ass looks fucking fantastic right now."

 

Another hit comes, this time on his upper thigh and Gojo thinks he might actually die from overheating. He's sent scrambling, mewling embarrassingly, drooling all over the expensive comforter. He tries to find purchase, fingers quivering as they grip tightly to the sheets, but two swift swats to each ass cheek throw any plans to gain composure out the window. 

 

He’ll be feeling that soreness tomorrow, will feel it every time he sits down for the next three days, and he wouldn't want it any other way. It hurts, especially to a man whose Infinity protects him from every kind of pain, and he pushes up onto his elbows, thrusting his ass closer to Geto, silently demanding for more. 

 

And in classic Geto fashion, he completely disregards the request, instead hooks his finger around the string of the thong, the only minimal coverage Gojo has over his hole, and yanks it to the side. He doesn't say anything, doesn't move as his eyes bore down on the winking hole, a cute shade of pink, almost the same colour as a blushing bride. It looks untouched and unstretched, near virginal if not for the clear signs of it being thoroughly cleaned earlier in the day.

 

“Suguru, what’re you- ow !” Gojo yelps as the elastic was snapped directly over his hole, the sensitive and puckered skin screaming in protest at the sudden abuse. His whole body jolts and Geto does it again, harder this time, just to see his reaction all over again. “What was that for?!” 

 

“Sorry, your hole looked so cute, I wanted to bully it.” He has the nerve not to look sorry at all. "You didn't prepare yourself, right?" 

 

Geto drapes himself over Gojo's back, clothed erection pressed flush to his burning ass cheeks, still freshly stinging from the spanking. He snakes an arm beneath Gojo's raised hips and cups his arousal, palming him roughly through thin mesh. 

 

Colour runs down the back of Gojo's neck, probably spreading down his shoulders and to his chest. He's a full body blusher, especially when aroused to the point of madness, mewling as he chases pleasure, and Geto finds that utterly adorable.

 

Who knew? The chosen one, the strongest sorcerer blessed with immeasurable power, was all pretty porcelain skin that turned the loveliest shade of pink when teased. And when he was really feeling it, that baby pink would darken to a filthy shade of red, proof that the one honoured by heaven was well and truly in the throes of passion, dirtied and tainted by a mere mortal. 

 

No one should be allowed to see him like this, no one should be allowed to mold him into this unrecognisable shape. His very blessings were meant to keep him untouchable, invulnerable, pure. Yet, here he was, dressed like a whore, arching his back and whimpering, on his knees, a beggar for attention and affection, just like any other pathetic human.

 

Maybe actually Geto was the chosen one. 

The one permitted to take the most holy creature to grace the earth and use him in any way he wanted. He was the one taking Gojo and pulling, controlling, commanding him, as if he couldn't crush him in his hand in a second. He relishes his power, but never abuses it, showers him with the worship he deserves, gives into the sorrowful pleas that only Geto could wrench out of him. 

 

"You hate it when I prepare myself." Gojo mumbles, rocking his hips between Geto's cock and hand, chasing a friction Geto's not quite giving him. His movements stutter, a tell tale sign he's close, and Geto considers taking mercy on his lover. Considers letting him come once first, but knows it'll only be harder on Gojo in the long term. And while it's fun making him squirt, Geto does feel sorry for him when he starts running on empty, when orgasms become painful and eventually nothing comes out. 

 

Oh the woes of being Gojo Satoru. Touch starved until he has the stamina of an inexperienced teenager.

 

"I like to make you open up myself." Geto comments, sliding his hand away from Gojo's eager crotch, away from the dripping wet panties, eliciting a pitiful whine from his partner. "I don't want to have to punish you for taking that away from me."

 

Gojo groans, now rutting his hips into the bed sheets with Geto's hand gone. Last time he'd arrived stretched with a plug, Geto had not taken to it kindly. He'd fucked Gojo's chest and then his thighs, never so much as brushing over his hole, painting him in sticky, white cum until he was crying and begging for penetration. Even after that, he merely took the plug and started fucking him with it, scolding him for thinking a toy could ever be better Geto himself, for robbing him of all his cute sounds. 

 

It was only when he was totally fucked out, boneless from countless empty orgasms, that Geto took pity on him. Only then did he finally thrust in for the first time in the wee hours of the morning, and Gojo came from just being full and connected; he'd cried such big, fat tears, sobbed until his shoulders shook from the relief of being stretched and pumped full of cum. 

 

That was not an experience Gojo ever wanted to repeat.

 

"Just get on with it then." Gojo complains, reaching back to grab at Geto's thighs and push them forward, forward until he could've slid right inside if he wasn't still wearing pants. 

 

"All in due time, sweetheart." And with those words, he peels himself off of Gojo's back, pulls himself out of Gojo's vice like grip. Gojo sighs dramatically at the loss and flops back down on the bed like a lifeless dummy. He certainly hates being denied, hates waiting with a vengeance, and Geto takes sick pleasure inflicting it on him. 

 

"You better eat me out for this." Gojo turns on his side, propping up on his elbow to level Geto with a glare. Geto grins back, also moving to lie on his side, now opposite Gojo. Like this they almost could pass off as two dudes lounging on a bed having a casual conversation, if you ignored their states of undress and how close they were laying, leaving much of the gigantic bed unoccupied. 

 

"Well, I could do it now and take longer to get inside you…" Geto drapes his arm over Gojo's waist and drags him closer, tucking him under his chin and breathing all of him in. Fuck if he doesn't miss how well their bodies fit together, puzzle pieces slotting in perfectly. "Or, I could get to the main event and eat the cum out of your ass after. Your choice, beautiful."

 

"... Get the lube." Gojo grunts, shoving Geto off the bed and flopping on his back. He pushes his messy bangs out of his face and spreads his legs obscenely wide, in a show that shouldn't be sexy but comes off as absurdly so.  "And I get to sit on your face later."

 

"Anything for you, princess." Geto sighs as he rolls off the bed to rifle through the bedside table, toeing off his socks and shoes in the process. The hotel was kind enough to supply them with enough lube for a year, after all a direct request from Gojo Satoru was hard to deny. 

 

It's their favourite brand, slippery and warming to the touch, sure to make Gojo's walls tingle until he's nothing but a ball of sensitivity. He makes his way back to the bed, now with the lube in hand, and finds his lover has used the extra ten seconds to both throw his heels off and expose whatever he can of his chest without stripping any of his delectable outfit off.

 

Gojo has himself splayed out on the bed with his shirt unbuttoned until where the corset cuts under his pecs, exposing his pretty chest and pretty nipples. The shirt falls off his shoulders now, all pale, blushing skin begging to be bitten and marked. Geto can feel the saliva pooling in his mouth, eyes trained on the two pert nubs, dusty rose right now but sure to turn a lewd shade of petal pink with a little attention. 

 

"You have an unhealthy obsession with my pecs." Gojo comments ungratefully, easily interrupting Geto's internal monologue, which was singing poetic soliloquies about the beauty of Gojo Satoru's chest at this point. When Geto trails his eyes up, tears them away from needy looking nipples, he locks eyes with Gojo's ephemeral baby blues. They're half lidded, a seductive gesture that shows itself when he's preening under a perverted gaze, full and wispy eyelashes batting flirtatiously as if they haven't done this dance a thousand times before. "You should get that checked out. Maybe you're actually a sexual deviant." 

 

"Your tits are a gift from God, and deserve to be worshipped." And Geto took the time to praise that perfect expanse of skin every chance he got. The warm slide of his dick on Gojo's barely there cleavage was heaven in a bottle and he always clenched down divinely whenever he sucked on his nipples while balls deep inside of him.

 

"That's rich, coming from you. And they're not tits, asshole. I should cover them up just to spite you." Gojo crosses his arms over his chest, hiding the two apples of Geto's eye. Geto smirks and hops onto the bed, chucking the lube to the side so it lands on a nearby pillow, crawling on top of Gojo in a second so he can pry the two barriers away. 

 

"If you did that, I wouldn't be able to do..." Geto grins devilishly, two warm palms on each pec, giving absolutely zero warning before he pinches both nipples harshly. "this."

 

" Ah - are you gonna pr...prepare me or what?" Gojo moans, mewling as Geto rolls the sensitive skin between his fingers. Sex is always like this with them, a push and pull, constant teasing and verbal jabs until they can't get enough of each other. 

 

Unfortunately, it's never enough, could never be enough. How could a few hours together, a few hours of bantering and fucking, ever satisfy either of them? Gojo was sure that even if they spent a century together, annoying the hell out of each other, he would still ask for more. Beg for another hundred years, a millennia even. 

 

"I'm getting there, princess. I just got distracted by your… assets." Geto gives a parting squeeze to each pec, making a silent promise to give them adoration in due time. 

 

He rolls off of Gojo once again, separating from Gojo's warmth with sorrow, to retrieve the ever essential lube. Gojo expects him to sidle right back between his legs and shove his fingers inside, but is surprised to get a face full of clothed crotch instead, Geto's breath ghosting over his mesh covered groin. 

 

It's been a few years since they did 69, though Gojo isn't exactly opposed to the idea, as long as he gets fucked by the end of it.

 

"You get to sit on my face, so it's my turn first." Geto chuckles, and Gojo can almost feel the smile on his face, from where he presses his lips against his bare inner thigh. "Keep me warm, Satoru. I'm always so cold without you."

 

"...you could just stick your dick in. You know I'll do it anyway." Gojo says even as he pops open the button of his pants, drags down the zipper with his teeth. It's a sexy move, one he learned from a porno he watched with Geto in his youth. The first time he did it, Geto started leaking immediately, horrifically turned on by how excellently he imitated the porn star. 

 

"I like asking you first. Pisses you off, doesn't it?" Geto tugs the thong sideways, exposes that tight pink hole of his, and blows on it for good luck. The sudden puff of air has Gojo yelping as he pulls Geto out from his briefs. 

 

"Everything you do pisses me off." Gojo growls, even though there's not an ounce of truth to it. With Geto's cock finally out and about, thick and long and beautiful, Gojo wraps his hand around the shaft, giving it a few appreciative tugs. The tease does not go unnoticed and Gojo gets a drizzle of lube directly on his hole for it. 

 

"I would say you never get pissed off when I play with your ass." Geto smears the lube all over with his hand making everything from his thighs to his crack nice and sloppy. He did enjoy making Gojo's entire crotch into a slippery mess. Gojo's thighs and ass are still slapped pink, no doubt tingling under the mess of lube Geto was making, purposely forsaking his greedy looking hole.

 

"I do when you're so fucking slow." Gojo pushes his hips down in an effort to get those tormenting fingers inside him, but Geto only humours him by pushing only the tip in and then retreating immediately. "Put it in already, Suguru! I don't want to be empty anymore." 

 

"Shh, baby, I know what you need." Geto pulls the thong to the side even more, pulling until Gojo's own cock, befittingly pretty and pink like the rest of him, springs free. Then, he finally lets go, the flimsy fabric snapping against his skin and held in place by Gojo's erection. It's such an erotic sight, Gojo with all his delicate and private parts on full display, with a tiny little thong barely clinging onto his crotch. The piece was designed with brides losing their virginity to their true loves in mind, but here Geto was, using it to create whatever naughty image he desired. "There you are, gorgeous."

 

"I can't believe you're talking to my- ah !" Gojo's fantastic comeback is cut short by a long, thick finger up his ass, going in all the way to the knuckle in one languid thrust. "God, Suguru, don't- aaaaaah...

 

And it's like he never went away because he finds Gojo's prostate in an instant. 

 

Actually, 'find' is the wrong word. He hones in on it, zeroes in like a hawk to prey, and relentlessly rubs against it, bullies it with childish glee until Gojo can't breathe. As he squirms under the ministrations, cries out when Geto starts to draw fucking figure eights on his prostate, Geto's giant dick slaps against his lips, dripping precome into his chin. 

 

It's not that he doesn't touch himself throughout the year, he has a very trusty vibrator at the back of his closet, but there's just such a big difference when it's Geto. He knows Gojo's body almost better than he does, and there was just something in him that reacts more when it's Geto Suguru touching him. Something that makes him burn hotter, his skin more sensitive to the touch, his insides fluttering and rearranging themselves.

 

Maybe I secretly have a kink for mass murderers?

 

"Pay attention to me, Satoru." Geto punctuates his sentence with a few hard thrusts, still frustratingly only using one finger. Gojo grunts, raises his boneless arms up to grab onto Geto's trim waist for stability before sticking out his tongue and raining kitten licks up Geto's glorious dick. It's heavy, girthier and longer than Gojo's, and he will never admit it but he loves to feel the mushroom head hit the back of his throat. " Fuck , more."

 

Without preamble, Geto thrusts his hips forward, right into the warmth of Gojo's mouth, and Gojo would have scolded him, if not for the dick blocking the exit for words. He tries to push it out with his tongue, but he only succeeds in teasing it, and with a groan, Geto drives all the way in, slow and steady so Gojo has to feel every vein on his tongue. 

 

Gojo wants to play hard to get, wants to keep up the facade that he's not desperate for Geto's care and affection, craving both his rough and his tender touches, but it's near impossible, what with a finger up his ass and a cock down his throat. Geto doesn't move, prefers to truly feel the wet haven that is Gojo's mouth in a slow and torturous simmer, but he does keep Gojo entertained with a second finger starting to worm itself into him. 

 

Geto starts to scissor and the torment on his prostate doesn't lighten up at all. Instead, it's worse, intensifying with two digits teasing him, curling over his sweet spot like they have a thing to prove. His dick jumps with every brush, every thrust directed to his prostate, and with his mouth stuffed full, all he can do is whine pitifully. 

 

Stars fill his vision and his toes curl, his thighs tremble and he tries to get Geto's attention to his impending orgasm with some harsh slaps to his side. He gets no such attention, and instead Geto doubles down on his prostate, drilling into it over and over again until Gojo's back is arched in a wicked angle. He'd definitely be feeling that strain for a while.

 

"Already, Satoru? Your stamina must be getting worse in your old age." Geto comments while he extracts his fingers, to both give him a breather, let him come down from his high so he can last longer, and to lather his fingers in more lube. 

 

Gojo protests at the comment, digs his manicured fingernails into Geto's ribs to show just how pissed he is. He is tempted to bite his dick, really show him that the snide comment is not appreciated and he deserves to become impotent because of it, but knows keeping it in tip top shape is better for him in the long run. It won't be any fun to get fucked by a broken cock. 

 

" Ouch- you are so pretty sometimes." As if to prove a point, Geto shoves in three newly lubed up fingers, the stretch just enough to take the edge off a bit. Gojo bears down on the three intruders, squeezing them tight enough that Geto fears he might lose feeling in them. 

 

Gojo slides his hands up (or down?) Geto's body, until they sneak into his underwear, grabbing the meat of his ass firmly. With revenge for that old age comment in mind, Gojo breathes deeply one time and sucks . The angle is a bit awkward but that has never stopped him, never actually deterred his tongue from stroking up the hard length in his mouth, suckling softly in a way he knows absolutely drives Geto up the wall. 

 

"You're- ah - gonna regret- fuuuuck , Satoru- this." Geto's hips start shaking, rutting forward shallowly in an unconscious attempt to bury his cock deeper in Gojo's throat. While Gojo does like a good throat fucking once in a while, he knows that's not the game they're playing and takes an unscrupulous amount of joy in how much Geto is trying to hold back. For extra credit, Gojo runs his tongue all over Geto's shaft, his nimble little muscle trained by years of sucking on lollipops. 

 

Geto should be grateful that Gojo has an insatiable sweet tooth. 

 

As with everything else they do, it's a competition and Geto knows how to fight back, has been fighting back since they were 15. He takes no pity when he mercilessly squeezes in a fourth finger, barely even waits for Gojo to adjust to the sudden stretch before he's nailing his prostate sadistically on four fingers. 

 

He usually needs at least four fingers to accommodate Geto comfortably, but normally Geto likes to play the long game, string him out until he's incoherent. The rough treatment is not new, but is uncommon enough to surprise him, enough to make him jerk and yelp as both his holes are filled and fucked. Loud, wet squelching noises echo in the room, echo in Gojo's ears, and the messiness of it all makes Gojo's cock ache for release. 

 

Geto spreads out his fingers wedged in Gojo, watching his rim quiver as it's forced to accommodate his abuse.  It's hard to ignore the sinful centre of pleasure between his legs, Gojo's throat and mouth being an actual world wonder with how good he gives head, but making meaningful eye contact with Gojo's fuck hole helped take his mind off of it.

 

It's a filthy shade of red and Geto wants to kiss it, holds back only because he knows that will have its moment later. He was going to lock Gojo's thighs around his face for an hour at least , make him cum like a bitch in heat with his tongue up his ass. For now, he had more important things to handle, like making sure Gojo knew who was in charge tonight. 

 

He draws out his fingers until they're almost free from Gojo's pulsing hole before plunging them back in all the way. The sudden movement has Gojo kicking his legs out, heels digging into the sheets, thighs squirming at the onslaught. 

 

With his free hand, Geto grabs a helpless thigh, hooks his palm under his knee and brings it closer to his face. He could just suck on Gojo's dick or jerk him off, but that would be too easy, would take out the fun of having a competition in the first place. He needed to win this, totally . Not in some half assed way. With a drawn out moan (fuck, Gojo was doing that thing with his throat and now there was nothing but fireworks exploding behind his eyelids), Geto thrusts in his fingers as far as they'll go right as he takes a big bite. 

 

The reaction is immediate, and they're both unsatisfied with the outcome. 

 

A fucking draw

 

Right as Gojo's back arched as far as it could, spilling white all over Geto's chin and neck, Geto's hips stuttered, cum pouring right down Gojo's throat. They both immediately jump out of their intimate position, pointing accusing fingers at each other.

 

"You made me swallow- "

 

"You came in my hair- "

 

"Me? Your dick was down my throat and you know I hate the taste of cum!"

 

"Puh-lease, you probably didn't even taste it. Do you know how shitty it is to get cum out of my hair?"

 

"Are you seriously asking me that? How many times have you come on my face?"

 

"Because you don't swallow !" 

 

One second. Two seconds. Tick-tock-tick-tock

 

Cue hysterical laughter. Cue uncontrollable giggling. Cue aching stomachs and teary eyes.

 

Fuck , why could they never get truly angry at each other? Why, after all this time, were they still able to get each other like this? Why, in a world of cruelty and death, of endless fighting and unimaginable corruption, could they still laugh together? Why could they still make each other laugh like children with youth in their bones? 

 

"Oh my God, it hurts ." Gojo complains, clutching his stomach as the laughing fit refuses to subside. Geto recovers first and takes a moment to appreciate what they have, what they share, even as he wipes a tear from his eye. 

 

Gojo didn't have much of a childhood, was in training from as long as he could remember. He'd been sheltered and pampered, but also isolated. He was measured in his abilities, his curse energy and his strength, and had never even had ice cream before he met Geto. He was never allowed to be a kid, to be foolish and juvenile, until he left the Gojo household (his gilded cage, his internment, his prison) and went to Jujutsu High.

 

After Geto left, what remnant of springtime he had found was squeezed out of him. Rung out of him like a wet rag and forced to shoulder the weight of the world. But here and now, bright blue eyes shining with mirth, barely visible with how hard he laughs, his pale cheeks coloured with amusement, and all Geto sees is youth. Joy. Unadulterated delight. A picture of Gojo that he wishes never had to fade. Never had to be given up in exchange for the fate for the world. 

 

Geto wipes Gojo's spunk from his neck and chin with his hand and onto the sheets before he crawls over to him, pushes him down into the plush pillows and kisses his giggling lips. He quietens down quickly, looping his arms around Geto's neck on instinct and kisses back, even with the echoes of humour still in his throat. Geto caresses his tongue, runs the tip along the underside, and Gojo sighs, eyes fluttering shut as he commits to the moment. 

 

It's nice and slow and perfect, and Geto thinks he could spend eternity kissing Gojo. Feeling that addictive mouth of his, licking every inch and tasting the sweetness that seems to be permanent now.  Gojo is a drug, one that makes him feel like everything in the world is right, even when it's disturbingly broken.

 

He's in love. Painfully, irrevocably, superbly. 

 

 "How do you want to do it?" Geto asks quietly as soon as they separate, exchanging air the way they had been doing with saliva just seconds ago. Gojo angles his head, tips his chin and nips Geto's bottom lip before answering, exhilaration burning at the pit of his belly.

 

"Fuck me. You can make love to me later." Gojo smiles, a soft and gentle smile that totally contradicts the obscenity leaving his sinful mouth. "I wanna really feel you for now."

 

Geto wants to tell Gojo that there is nothing that makes Gojo feel Geto more than when he's fucking into him as slow as possible, barely moving at all, a tiny belly bulge from where the tip of his cock is spearing him open and deep. Sometimes Geto likes to press a palm over it, put pressure on it so Gojo really knows how intimately connected they are (and Geto is glad to boast that more often than not, the action makes him come all over himself). 

 

"Are you sure you can handle it? It's been a while." Geto traces a finger down Gojo's neck, skitters past his defined collarbones and caresses the pronounced line between his pecs. The slight dip between the muscles is so pretty, surrounded by two perfect little tits Geto can't wait to get his grabby hands on.

 

"Who do you think you're talking to? I'm the strongest." Gojo chuckles, shuddering when Geto's finger migrates and flicks a perky nipple. He scrapes his fingernail lightly over the swollen skin, and Gojo swallows down the shaky moan scratching at the back of his throat. 

 

"Yeah, but you can't exactly use Infinity while I'm fucking you." Geto palms Gojo's right pec, cups it in his hand, relishes in the slight pudge he can feel under his fingers and drinks up Gojo's glower. He pretends that Geto's fondling pisses him off, but he knows he actually loves the attention.

 

"I could handle you when I was a virgin, I sure as hell can handle you now." Gojo grabs Geto’s wrist and in a very unsubtle move, repositions his hand over his crotch, warm palm resting right on top of his balls while the tips of fingers hover over his slick hole.

 

"I was being gentle because you kept saying how much you hate pain." Geto remembers that time fondly. Gojo had been so innocent, even with all the porn he'd watched in preparation, and every touch had been met with an intoxicating mix of confusion and arousal. He'd looked almost scared as Geto had stretched him open, clearly lost in the intense sensation of a big hand around his cock and two fingers pressed against his prostate. 

 

He'd been such a sweet thing, crying pretty crystal tears when Geto had started thrusting, begging for slower and too much , completely different to the seasoned vixen he was now. His ass had been heavenly, tight and fluttery, a true angel that told Geto he didn't need to hold it in, he could come even though Gojo himself wasn't close (and when Gojo Satoru tells you to come, you listen ).

 

He'd made up for it with an admittedly spectacular blow job, utilising all his skills from swallowing spirits and previous encounters (as few as those were). And it must've been great sex because Gojo had kept coming back, spreading his legs with little to no shame. Again, Suguru

 

He'd created a monster, and he couldn't find it in himself to regret it.

 

"Well maybe I've learnt that a little pain isn't so bad." Gojo runs his own hands up Geto's shoulders and neck, lacing them through Geto's luscious locks and pulling him down so he can whisper right into his ear, right into his brain, inspiring his blood to sprint down to his semi-hard dick. "When done by the right person." 

 

"I hope you know what you're asking for, Satoru." Geto takes Gojo's blatant attempts at seduction as a go ahead and plunges his fingers right into Gojo's still wet hole, partially to make sure it was still stretched and partially to tease his sweet spot for fun. 

 

" Mmm… I do." Gojo sighs, sensually sliding his hands down Geto's sculpted back right as Geto pulls his fingers free. It wouldn't be good to get him too worked up before he gets inside. Gojo is always liable to orgasm on penetration alone. "Clothes off. Now ." 

 

His hands reach their goal, Geto's firm ass, and he forcefully yanks down his pants and underwear in one go, pulling the offending fabric hard enough for it to now hang around his knees. He had been tempted to rip the cloth to pieces but had resisted the urge, had had enough foresight in his horniness that in this scenario, Geto had to get off him to shuck off the remainder of his clothing. 

 

Enough that Gojo can flop on his stomach and shove a pillow under his hips. Call him a pillow princess, because he 200% is one, acknowledges it as he opens his thighs wide, presents his hole like it's a gift to Geto. 

 

He's even nice enough to grab his own ass cheeks and spread them. Isn't he the best? 

 

"You really like to rile me up, don't you?" Geto groans, running his rough hands up bared thighs before hooking his fingers into the elastic of the stockings, snapping it harshly against his skin. 

 

"It's fun once in a while. Your reactions are priceless." Gojo quips back even as his skin stings. "I thought you'd be used to me like this… but it still turns you on, doesn't it?"

 

"Would you prefer it didn't?" Geto caresses the swollen skin of Gojo's backside, openly stares at the way the garters dig into pale flesh. The white straps are surrounded by harsh pink outlines, sure to leave lovely bruises to remind Gojo of the outfit he donned just for Geto. 

 

"I do love turning you on. It turns me on." Gojo glances over his shoulder, a cheeky smile on his glossy lips. Geto glides his hands up, draws up Gojo's shirt to reveal the exquisite floral embroidery. He bends down, presses his lips to a gap in the lace and nips lightly. 

 

"Are you ready, princess?" Geto whispers against his skin, licks the faint mark his teeth have left. 

 

"I've been ready for a loooooong time, Suguru. I'm getting old and grey here." Gojo teases, wiggling his ass as if to prove a point.  Geto scoffs under his breath, taking a hold of a delicate wrist in each hand guiding them up and folding them behind his back.  

 

“Can’t go much greyer than you already are.” With a quick flick of Geto’s wrist, in a move that would be impressive anywhere outside the bedroom, Gojo finds his arms restrained behind his back, a stretchy but tight material binding his wrists, keeping them crossed.  It’s not tied too strictly, maybe leaving a light bruise, and if Gojo put any real effort into it, he could slip out easily. A few choice tugs and he’d be free as a bird.

 

"Did you just use your-"

 

"Underwear? Yes, sweetheart , thought it fit the whole slut aesthetic you have going on tonight." Geto grins to himself, lapping up the sight of Gojo as his ravishing captive, dressed so alluringly and bound by his flimsy briefs, choosing to be helpless beneath Geto.

 

"You just want to grope my chest." Gojo deflects, puffing out his cheeks before turning back forward, probably to hide his embarrassment, hide how much this was filling out his cock.

 

He wasn't wrong but… Honestly, Geto is actually having a little bit of a moral dilemma, a kind of conundrum he thought he'd long grown out of when he'd thrown away his care for humans. You see, Geto had a choice between two options, two very, very crucial options - to fuck Gojo holding his teeny tiny, cinched waist or those heavenly tits of his. Normally, he would obviously choose to fondle his fat chest like it was his day job, make him whine and keen as Geto pinches and plucks those pert nipples, but that waist… it was the perfect fit for his hands to grab and leverage to rail him as hard as he wants. 

 

Well, who said he had to choose? 

 

When it came to Gojo, he was insatiably greedy, helping himself to every patch of skin, feasting on every ounce of pleasure he can drag out.  And he wasn’t about to start picking and choosing what he wanted to do to Gojo today.  He would do it all .  

 

“You said it, not me.” Geto taunts, his childish side never failing to show itself in front of Gojo, as he reaches for the long forgotten bottle of lube.  He lathers his cock generously, groaning as he strokes himself to full hardness, before he drizzles a copious amount all over Gojo’s crack and hole.  The sudden slippery contact on his skin has Gojo raising his hips more in anticipation, arching his back so he can really present his ass. 

 

Show off

 

“Fuck off.  You’re a perv.” Even as Gojo insults him, rather he tries to and fails horribly, Geto drapes himself over Gojo’s eager body and lines up. Hands cupping around that nipped in waist, he traces the boning lining the corset for a second before digs his fingers in.  

 

He doesn’t give a signal, never does when he has a hard and fast fucking in mind, before he plunges in all the way to the hilt, thighs smacking obscenely against the fat of Gojo’s ass. In a microsecond, they’ve gone from two separate beings, two sorcerers, two humans, two men, to indescribably connected, and Geto wants Gojo to feel it all the way in his guts. He immediately sets a brutal pace, ruthless in his speed and force, masterfully aiming for that sweet spot Geto knows will send Gojo into the next dimension, nailing it head on with every thrust.   

 

Like this, they were no longer Geto Suguru, corrupt and mass murdering curse user, and Gojo Satoru, the strongest sorcerer. They were just Suguru and Satoru , hopelessly in love, fucking like they'd die without it. 

 

Fuuuuuck , ‘guru.” Satoru near screams, eyes rolling to the back of his skull as Suguru’s hands gripping his corseted waist for purchase, his intensity not letting up an inch.  It’s all too much all at once, Suguru yanking him back onto his cock with every piston of his hips, his sensitive nipples rubbing against the soft sheets, an excruciatingly light amount of friction on his skin. 

 

“Pent up, baby?” Suguru asks, infuriatingly calm for someone completely rearranging his insides, carving out an unnaturally large and phallic shape in his body, making himself at home in Satoru's body. As if Satoru was always made to take him, to take Suguru, perfectly molded so Suguru would fit into him. 

 

Suguru had missed this, his warmth and their connectedness, this mind breaking pleasure, the effortless way in which Satoru's body makes room, accommodates his girth and welcomes him wholeheartedly. He revels in Satoru's livewire of a body, how his fingers flex in the makeshift binding, how his exposed shoulders shake and how his hips grind back like its second nature. Here, here and now, their differences feel nonexistent. Their real lives are just broken nightmares, fragments of a reality that means nothing in this illusory oasis they've created in the finest suite in Fukuoka.

 

Suguru wants more, craves more, needs more. He tightens his hold around Satoru's waist, that impossibly little waist that has Suguru's insides stirring unbearably, and drives deeper, faster, harder. Satoru's walls are spasming, clenching down as orgasm approaches disturbingly fast, swirls in every blood vessel and pounds in Satoru's ears. 

 

“Here, let me help you with that.” One of Suguru's hands regrettably lets go of Satoru's waist, reaching down and under until it covers his leaking cock, red with need and twitching with pleasure. 

 

"No, don't Suguru, don't touch there, I'll…" Satoru doesn't even get to finish his sentence, choked out moans robbing him of his ability to speak. He wriggles in his predicament, arms trapped behind him as his lover strokes his cock maddeningly. Every swipe of his thumb across the head is mind melting bliss and Suguru's dick is still driving into him at a breakneck pace. The stimulation is ridiculous and he's so close he wants to cry, but Suguru is nowhere near climax. "No, no, no, please , I don't wanna come like this, pleaseeeeee. "

 

His begs fall on deaf ears as Suguru quickens his hand, matches his jerking off to his thrusts and Satoru sees white. He can't even moan anymore, drooling pitifully onto the sheets, tears caught in his eyelashes as both his pleasure centres are assaulted, his ass sucking in Suguru with desperation. 

 

"Fuck, fuck, fuck , Suguru, I'm gonna-" 

 

His hips stutter once, twice, and then he's spilling white into Suguru's fist, making a sticky mess of the sheets under him. This orgasm is at least ten times stronger than the last one, probably has something to do with Suguru's giant cock still lodged deep inside of him, but is a hundred times worse because...

 

“You know I hate coming from the front!” Satoru growls, heaving as he slowly comes down from his high. It's an unfortunate side effect of being Geto Suguru's partner; he's profoundly skilled at ass play - fingering, rimming, toys… you name it and he can play you like a fiddle. It's left Gojo addicted, unable to be truly satisfied unless coming from his ass alone. Jerking off still feels good and he definitely enjoys a blow job once in a while, but it leaves him feeling empty, literally and figuratively. 

 

Thankfully, Suguru has halted his F1 speed hips, instead choosing to bury his rock hard dick as far as it could go, wiping his sticky hand all over Satoru's shirt. Classy

 

“Hmm? Then where do you want me to touch?” Suguru asks with a shit eating grin on his face, sliding his hands around Satoru's corset, undoing the tightly wound laces deftly. For the first time in hours, air rushes into his lungs as the loosened corset frees up space for big gulps of oxygen in his body. The relief is short lived though, as the words play on repeat in his head and he realises exactly what Suguru is saying.

 

Fuck , Suguru had been playing the long game and Satoru waltzed right into his hands. 

 

Meanwhile, Suguru takes his time completely unravelling the corset belt, throwing it to the side and off the bed as soon as he's undone it. Satoru is a vision in pure white, left only in his loose shirt and his unbelievably sexy lingerie, and Suguru thinks vaguely that in another life, he'd enjoy this image in a more traditional setting. In another life, they'd be signing papers and having a big ceremony because Satoru is an avid attention seeker. At night they'd have their own private celebration, consummating an official name to their long standing relationship. 

 

Back in the present, Suguru wrenches down the collar of Satoru's shirt, now with much more give without the belt. He leans over and licks a fat stripe up the back of his neck, slowly grinding his hips into Satoru. Not enough to be awful in his post orgasmic high, but enough to start getting him worked up again. 

 

"Where, Satoru? Tell me where to touch you." Suguru mouths at the back of his ear, nibbles on the shell of it, feels him begin to writhe beneath him. 

 

"...my…" Satoru mumbles and while most of it is incoherent, swallowed up by the sheets and pillows Satoru has hidden his face in, Suguru knows exactly what he says. So, he takes the bait, just a little, skirts his hands up Satoru's shirt, sidles up past his ribs and cups Satoru just below his pecs, just below his favourite territory. 

 

"What was that? I didn't hear you." Suguru pulls out slightly, maybe only an inch, before plunging back in, just as slow. He keeps at a snail's pace, forces Satoru to feel every vein of the cock penetrating him all the way to his stomach, as well as the heavy weight of Suguru's hands, close but not nearly close enough to where he really wants them. 

 

" Mmmmm , my chest…" Satoru mewls right as Suguru's dick grazes his prostate. It's swollen, used and abused, but it still wants more. Still bears down on Suguru even though Satoru isn't even hard again yet.

 

"Your chest? Nuh-uh, you gotta be more specific than that, princess." Suguru growls, rocking his hips into Satoru a fraction faster, teeth grazing the meat of Satoru's shoulder. "Where exactly should I be touching you? Use your big boy words."

 

Suguru pulls out until just the tip of his dick is inside, the head stretching out Satoru's rim wide, feels Satoru wiggle his hips at the sudden emptiness. Even overstimulated, Satoru hates to be unstuffed, yearns for that fullness only Suguru can give him. He takes pity (?) on Satoru, thrusting all the way in one go, landing perfectly on Satoru's prostate. 

 

" Aaaaah - my tits! Touch my tits, Suguru!" Satoru sobs, cock immediately jumping to life at the harsh thrust. Suguru rewards him with a few more, pumping his dick in and out until Satoru is at full mast. 

 

"See? Was that so hard?" Suguru smirks, knowing that confession in those words took a lot of shame on Satoru's part. Still, he's proud of him so Suguru grants his wish. 

 

His hands couldn't find purchase on his chest fast enough, couldn't grope that pliable flesh soon enough. Everything seems to have fallen into place as he fondles Satoru's chest, palms those cute little nipples of his. 

 

"Fuck, you tightened up so much, 'toru." Suguru is practically plastered to Satoru's back, crushing his tied arms between them, his hands perfectly comfortable fiddling and massaging the full access they have to Satoru's breasts. 

 

He starts to ramp up his pace, balls slapping against Satoru's with every thrust, his cock squelching with lube as it madly ruts into Satoru. He feels like a dog in heat, mounting Satoru and fucking the brains out of him, reaching as deep as possible as if impregnate him. He's so tight and warm, and oh Suguru is so close, especially when he harshly pinches those two little nubs and Satoru lets out a keen that is equal parts delighted as it is strained. 

 

At this point the pleasure is near painful, the stimulation utterly overwhelming, and Suguru isn't going to last long, not with Satoru's ass devouring him up like this. Satoru's definitely getting there too, but is definitely not far gone enough for Suguru's tastes. It reminds Suguru of their first time, but this time he's not a teenager, and he isn't leaving Satoru behind. 

 

"You're going to come with me, ok 'toru?" Suguru murmurs against Satoru's shoulder. Sentences seem to be way beyond Satoru's capabilities, which were now limited to grinding his hips and moaning prettily, so all he gets in response is an affirmative whine. 

 

" H-harder , baby. More ." Satoru cries out, hardly an answer to his question but Suguru takes it more as advice on how to get him there. He didn't really need it, knew Satoru's body well enough to know exactly what he needed, but he appreciates the help. Appreciates it enough to give his tits a loving squeeze. 

 

Suguru shoves Satoru's legs further apart with his knees and the slight change in position has Suguru pounding downwards instead of forwards. The shift in angle is glorious and gravity is a wonderful assistant, sending Suguru in even deeper, even faster. Satoru's whole world practically whites out as Suguru sinks his teeth into the meat of his shoulder, hard enough that there's sure to be individual teeth marks left behind. 

 

Suguru grunts with his mouth still latched on, humping Satoru wildly. He's starting to lose his rhythm, his thrusts more erratic than precise, sloppily ruining Satoru from the inside out. Stars decorate his vision, flash brightly as if he'd stared at the sun too long (and maybe that was just a side effect of being enamoured with Gojo Satoru), and he's barely lucid at this point. Barely doing much more than following instinct and chasing his high.

 

All while his hips are going crazy, ramming into Satoru's prostate every time, Suguru rolls his nipples in between his thumbs and forefinger. They must be an angry red by this point, mercilessly fiddled and played with. If Suguru had his way, he would toy with them all day long, make them into such sensitive bundles of nerves that Satoru would never be able to go out without bandaids over them, would never be able to wear white because the slightest brush of fabric would have them standing stiff. 

 

Gritting his teeth and clenching his stomach, Suguru somehow manages to stave off his orgasm by a few seconds. He takes the extra time he's given himself to mouth up Satoru's skin, finding the juncture between his shoulder and neck. It's a little sensitive spot, one Suguru took forever to discover because Satoru was always discreetly hiding it from him. 

 

In one opportune moment, Suguru pulls Satoru's abused nipples right as he chomps down, simultaneously exploding a massive load right into Satoru's ass. 

 

Whether it's the nipple play, the bite or the sheer feeling of being bred like a prized mare, Suguru doesn't know, but it has Satoru coming with him, untouched this time and with the most angelic moan to grace the earth. How Satoru manages to sound so sweet even as he's in the lewdest position known to man will remain a mystery. 

 

They both drop down gracelessly onto the mattress, boneless, Suguru a giant jellyfish collapsed on top of Satoru, who was practically melting into the bed. They stay there for a while, panting, Suguru taking the moment of silence to lap at the two prominent bite marks he's left on Satoru's otherwise flawless shoulders. One of them is already turning purple at the edges while the other seems to have drawn a few drops of blood. Oops

 

"Get off me, you're so heavy." Satoru squirms, breaking their rare quiet time. Suguru, as always, blatantly ignores the request and chooses to instead clamp his arm around Satoru's middle and flops them both on their sides, still connected and still grossly sticky and wet. 

 

"You sure you want me to pull out now?" Suguru grins against the back of Satoru's neck, knows that the last thing Satoru wants in his afterglow is to be separated. 

 

"No. I hate you." Satoru pouts, giving a few strategic tugs to his arms and cleanly escapes his binding. There is little struggle to get out, but it sends Suguru's underwear flying across the room, ripped cleanly in two. 

 

"I didn't bring spare underwear, Satoru." Suguru complains without any heat, snaking an arm under Satoru's head, letting his companion use it like a big, beefy pillow. Satoru loves to be cradled and coddled, even though he'd never openly admit how much he needs to be adored to feel whole, to feel human. 

 

"Well, I guess you'll have to go commando. You can grace the world with a glimpse of your monster cock." Satoru snickers, unbuttoning the rest of the shirt and slipping it off completely. He glances over his shoulder and winks as he flings the expensive and dirtied fabric to the other side of the room. It feels so liberating to get rid of clothes when they're so sticky and warm. "Though, it's mine , so no free shows for anyone else." 

 

"Don't worry your pretty little head." Suguru presses a chaste kiss to Satoru's crown. "You're the only one that gets to experience my monster cock ." 

 

Suguru traces up Satoru's side, tries to sneakily cop a feel on his chest but gets promptly swatted away. And not too lightly. That actually kind of stung. 

 

"No touching. My nipples hurt , Suguru. Did you have to pull that hard?" Satoru glares over his shoulder, vaguely gesturing to his very sore looking nipples. Perhaps he was a little too rough, but twisting them made Satoru so very cute. Bonus, they looked absolutely delicious , like two little berries sitting on Satoru's chest. 

 

"Do you want me to kiss them better?" He sounds probably a tad too excited at the prospect (read: way too excited).  Of course by kiss, he means to lick and suck and tongue until Satoru is a writhing mess. And maybe nip at them because that always makes Satoru cry. 

 

"Hell no , you'll make them feel worse." Satoru rejects immediately, slapping away and all attempts of grabby hands aiming for his poor, abused nips. They felt like they were on fire and another assault was completely out of the question. 

 

" Please . I'm going to eat you out later, at least let me suck on your tits. I miss them." As if it was a fair comparison. As if his pecs were a separate, sentient being Suguru could miss of all things. 

 

"You like eating me out." He recalls them being teenagers, watching porn to get ideas for the bedroom and Suguru wearing a look of unbridled enthusiasm when they saw one actor rim the other. After that, there had been a prolonged period of experimentation, a very enjoyable one with Satoru getting eaten out in every position imaginable.

 

"And I also like sucking on your tits." And that harkens back to all the times they fucked face to face, Suguru's face buried in his chest, mouth latched onto a nipple, alternating between them because he couldn't bear to let either of them feel neglected. "C'mon Satoru, I only get to do it once a year. And it'll feel really good. You know it will." 

 

"Fucking… fucking fine , just be nice. It still hurts." Satoru concedes, only because Suguru pulled the insanely unfair 'once a year' card. He has to know Satoru is a sucker for that line, would give Suguru anything in the world when he pulls out those irresistible puppy dog eyes. 

 

"I'll be extra gentle."

 

Suguru moves to rearrange them, hooking his elbow under Satoru's knee so he can open him up more, press even closer. He nudges Satoru to wrap his own arm around Suguru's neck, curling around Satoru so he can angle his face closer to Satoru's chest. With one final jostle, Suguru pins down his other leg, using his own thigh to keep it pressed to the mattress. 

 

Suguru licks his lips and it's unbearably nerve wracking; in this position, Satoru can barely move an inch and he has a sinking suspicion Suguru's not planning to let him go any time soon. Suguru is still inside him, his chest plastered to Satoru's back while his legs are forcibly spread wide, and Suguru only gets that glimmer in his eye when he has only devious intentions in mind.

 

The first touch is a jolt of electricity, a sweet tongue on sensitive flesh. Satoru groans, squirms when Suguru's lips kiss his nipple but is held down by Suguru's strong frame. Even as he wriggles, writhes while Suguru laps at him, Suguru holds firm, bears down on him and keeps him stuck between the bed and a literal hard place. 

 

When he finally calms into Suguru's hold, it's actually kind of relaxing, filled to the brim with Suguru's soft cock and warm cum, the rumbling pleasure of Suguru's tongue on his nipple. He flicks the nub with the tip of his tongue, swirls it a few times, massages the sore skin with the nimble muscle. It feels good , not that he'd ever let Suguru know that.

 

Though maybe the way he moans gives him away. 

 

It at least encourages Suguru to take it to the next level, going from gentle laps to starting to suckle softly, lips wrapped around his nipple. The wet suction is searing bliss, and Satoru must be making agreeable keens because Suguru sucks harder, hot tongue lashing out to bully his nipple. Slurping rings in Satoru's ears and the arm under Satoru's head shifts, moving to molest the neglected nipple. It's a light fondling, thank goodness because he might actually cry if Suguru pulls on the poor thing again, but it still drives him up the wall.

 

" Fuck , Suguru…" Satoru squirms, or at least tries to, but Suguru is an unrelenting bastard. He grips Satoru's leg tighter, yanks it up higher until Satoru feels the strain on his muscles, and chomps down from where he's latched onto Satoru's chest. 

 

The sudden sting has him yelping, hands scrambling for purchase and finding none, backing arching as Suguru gives patronising kitten licks to the purpling teeth marks outlining his nipple. There was no doubt Suguru was going to make it a matching set as soon as he had a better angle. For now, it seemed that that nipple would be flicked and rolled until Suguru's mouth got to it.

 

" Fuckfuckfuck - Suguru, too much -" But Suguru is a sucker for over stimulation, for pushing Satoru's body to inhuman levels of pleasure, and he takes the pleas as a sign to go for more, resuming back to his insistent assault on his nipple, feigning soothing sucks to abused flesh. 

 

Then he feels it. The soft cock inside of him is not so soft anymore. Rather it is filling out, stiffening, getting bigger of all things. Suguru is somehow both a grower and shower and Satoru's ass is the one that always had to pay the price for it.

 

"Wait, Suguru, are you getting hard? Oh my God, Suguru-"

 

He promised he'd eat the cum out of Satoru's ass. He didn't say how many loads he was going to pump into him first.



--

This is Suguru's favourite position, which is why he saves it for last. Why he folds Satoru like origami when he's fucked out and pretty much reduced to dry orgasms. It's the closest they can get, the best angle for reaching as deep as possible, and gives Suguru the best view of Satoru's pretty crying face. 

 

Because of course Gojo Satoru is a gorgeous crier.

 

He props Satoru up on his lap, hooks his knees on his shoulders and traps him between his firm chest and the sturdy headboard. The only purchase he allows Satoru is to hold his face and kiss him as much as he wants (which is near non stop because Satoru is a kissing fanatic). Other than that, Suguru controls the pace, chooses how fast or slow he wants to wreck Satoru's mind and body. 

 

" Faster , baby I need more ."

 

He chooses the slow option, the one that draws out every second and every thrust, the one that forces Satoru to feel every detail of the cock spearing him open, frays Satoru's sanity until he's a bumbling mess. Right now, he's still too coherent, a bit more lucid after he rode Suguru like a seasoned cowboy in their previous round. 

 

Being on top always helps clear Satoru's mind, takes him out of being a sweet puddle of goo, and while the sight of Satoru bouncing on his dick never fails to make him come embarrassingly fast, he much prefers seeing his lover shatter into a million tiny pieces. Nothing is more exquisite than a Satoru with nothing but pleasure on his mind, reduced down to nothing but the need to feel whole again. To feel wholly Suguru's, marked in the deepest parts of his body.

 

Where they're connected, the pretty little hole that Suguru has yet to pull out of since they've started, is sloppy and slick. There are at least three rounds in there, stuffing Satoru full and leaking out in rivulets, and Suguru is really feeling his age because he knows he's only got one more left in him. Every piston of his hips is accompanied with wet squelches and loud smacks, Satoru's ass thoroughly abused until it's rubbed raw and red. 

 

He's still wearing the lingerie, Suguru could never have the heart to slip off those delicate bridal pieces, couldn't bear to end the illusion of their honeymoon. So, he relishes in the feel of stocking clad heels digging into his back and soft mesh panties grazing his groin. He would love to continue tracing the floral lace, ghost his fingers over Satoru's toned stomach, but he has more important things to get his hands on. 

 

He has one braced beside Satoru's head and the other supporting his lower back as he delivers a torturously languid thrust into Satoru's wet heat. He feels Satoru clamping down, begging Suguru to go faster without actually begging . He was going to have to fix that. 

 

"I only get to feel you once a year, princess. Let me enjoy you." Suguru nuzzles his face into Satoru's neck, breathing in his delectable scent as he drives in as deep as he can go, the head of his cock putting a delicious amount of pressure on Satoru's sweet spot. The pleasure is excruciating, is boiling Satoru from the inside out, and Suguru doesn't think he could think of a more beautiful Satoru. 

 

He's covered in bite marks, Suguru's favourite being the pair around each nipple that almost look like piercings. He's also taken full advantage of their position to basically suck and bite a constellation of hickeys onto Satoru's sensitive inner thighs, getting his lips and teeth onto every inch of bare skin. In a sick part of his mind, the part that wants to monopolise and own , he wants the wounds to fester, to injure the flesh over and over until the marks scar his porcelain skin. A permanent brand on Satoru, identifying Satoru as his

 

"You can enjoy me faster ." Satoru whines, tries to grind his hips down but fails because of how Suguru has him propped up. He always gets like this, petulant and demanding, when he's wrung near dry but still wants more. The greedy little brat. 

 

"You can ask nicer than that, sweetheart." Suguru lifts his head, his hips still going at a snail's pace, and locks eyes with Satoru. All the stars in the sky could never compare to Satoru's eyes, and they're swimming with tears, wetness clinging to thick eyelashes, and Suguru wants to see them fall. Wants them to overflow and run down his cheeks while he catches them with his tongue.

 

" Please , baby. Faster ." Satoru requests sweetly, and Suguru almost gives in. The syrupy lilt to Satoru's voice is oh so tempting and Suguru feels like a sailor entranced by a siren, slowly but inevitably falling to Satoru's wiles. But that alone is not enough. Suguru is headstrong and stubborn, and he knows he can hold out, can resist the ethereal charm of Satoru, if only for a little while. 

 

That is until Satoru tilts his chin, lips full and shiny as they graze his ear and whisper:

 

 " I love you ."

 

Suguru doesn't even register when he snaps, doesn't remember rising up on his knees and rutting his cock into Satoru like a wild animal. The headboard creaks with Suguru's almost violent lovemaking, protesting with every thrust. Satoru's ass is heavenly, sweetly accommodating around his girth and sucking him in like that's what it was born to do.

 

"I love you too, Satoru." Suguru grunts, is hardly understandable with how he pants and heaves.

 

The welled up tears finally fall from Satoru's galaxy eyes, head thrown back as he wails . Satoru clings to Suguru, arms wrapped around his neck while Suguru kisses every runaway tear. He's folded perfectly in half like this, perfection dripping from every inch of skin and Suguru wants to devour him whole. He wants to keep Satoru in this moment, toeing the line of climax and overwhelming pleasure, crying helplessly under the onslaught of Suguru's affection. 

 

His long and beautiful cock is flushed an angry shade of red, bouncing between them and leaking painful looking precome. Suguru could tug on it, one stroke and Satoru would come instantly, but knows that true pleasure for Satoru, the white hot kind that he feels all the way down to his soul, comes from his ass alone. He also knows he'll get punched in the face if he ruins another one of Satoru's orgasms, taints it by pumping his dick. 

 

"'M close, baby." Satoru slurs, moans throatily with every assault on his prostate. The poor thing has been so thoroughly molested Satoru will be feeling the remnants of pleasure for days. 

 

"Can I fuck you through it?" Because Suguru isn't quite there yet, won't be there in the next few thrusts that'll tip Satoru into climax. 

 

" Please ." Satoru answers, grabbing Suguru by his hair and crashing their lips together. It's sloppy and drool is running down his chin but Suguru can't find it in him to care when he feels Satoru's walls convulsing, trembling uncontrollably as Satoru falls right off the edge. 

 

His dick spurts weakly as he comes, hardly anything left in him after the numerous orgasms Suguru has pulled out of him.  His climax leaves him boneless, slumping in Suguru's arms even as his ass milks Suguru's cock for all its worth. 

 

He speeds up, nails Satoru's prostate with every thrust, and lets Satoru cry on his shoulder through the over stimulation. Satoru clenches and whines, whimpers as Suguru chases his own orgasm. Satoru clings to his shoulders, nails digging into the meat of his arms, hard enough to break skin. 

 

" Fuck , 'toru. Fuuuuuu ck." Suguru groans, fucks up into Satoru until it feels like his mind is going to turn into goop. His dick almost hurts at this point, with Satoru eating him up and squeezing him within an inch of his life.

 

With one final thrust, he buries himself inside Satoru as far as he could go, spilling an impressive load deep into him. It's his fourth orgasm but he's still coming undone with a heavy spurt. Satoru can't contain it all, couldn't ever since their second round, and the excess overflows and drips down Suguru's thighs. 

 

If Satoru were a girl, he would undoubtedly be pregnant.

 

The high is incredible and Satoru is inexplicably warm, even as he whines in Suguru's arms. He's still hiked up against the headboard, speared open and flushed head to toe, still clutching onto Suguru's biceps for dear life. His countenance is blissed out, pure ecstasy spelled out clearly on those sky blue irises, and Suguru wants to capture Satoru in this state of mind forever. Keep him unaware of the world's need for him, for his power and his gifts, and keep him here, nestled in safety and love, in a cocoon that doesn't need him to be anything but here. 

 

Which of course means Satoru has to ruin the moment. 

 

"Fuck, I feel gross. You're horrible." Satoru grumbles as he comes back to lucidity, shaking his head lightly as if he's a dog coming out of the rain. "You emptied out a fucking truck in me. You better clean it out."

 

"Of course, dear." Suguru chuckles, also acknowledging that this is another side of Satoru that he adores. The one that is quick on his feet, the one that uses brattiness as a defence mechanism. 

 

He lowers them down to the bed, letting Satoru's back hit the pillowy soft mattress and his legs flop down to sprawl around his hips . Satoru melts into the cushy bed, looking every bit like a young prince in a fairytale. His fluffy white hair is splayed out like a halo on silk sheets, and the blush running down his chest, littered with hickeys down his neck and collar bones, makes him look absolutely angelic. Once again, Suguru breath hitches, gazing down at a heavenly being, dragged down to earth and tainted by Suguru's own hands and mouth. 

 

"Pull out." Satoru whinges, grouchy at the boat load of cum plugging up his ass. He even wiggles his hips, screwing up his eyes at the discomfort. 

 

"Keep it in, okay?" Suguru nuzzles under Satoru's chin, kisses a purpling love bite he'd left somewhere between their second and third round. "Don't let any leak out until I eat it out of you."

 

"Yeah, I wanna sit on your face." Satoru nods numbly, groaning when Suguru grips his hips, beginning to ease himself out. It's the first time he's separating them properly since they've begun, and he wonders what it must feel like to suddenly be empty for the first time in hours. "Ugh, your dick is stupidly big."

 

As soon as he's free, Satoru plugs up his hole with two fingers, nothing compared to Suguru's cock but enough to keep the bulk of his spunk inside. Suguru runs his hand down Satoru's abs, beautifully carved out as if from marble, and presses his hand on Satoru's lower stomach, knows just below his palm Satoru is filled to the brim with his seed. 

 

"Stop thinking about breeding me." Satoru gripes, narrows his eyes at Suguru and all Suguru can manage is a sheepish grin. It wouldn't be the first time he had outed himself and his strange proclivities. It was at least better than that time he moaned mid-fuck that he'd find and swallow a curse that would really get Satoru pregnant. 

 

He had been a horny teenager and Satoru was so beautiful when stuffed up with cum, but Satoru had still kicked him out of the room and threatened to activate Infinity for a month. He'd had to finger and blow Satoru everyday for a week to make up for it. His hand had been his only friend during that torturous week. 

 

"What gave me away?" Suguru groans as Satoru kisses up his jaw, his lips finding the sensitive spot behind his ear. 

 

"You're literally feeling up your own semen in my stomach." Suguru can almost hear Satoru rolling his eyes, even as he threads his hand through Suguru's hair and tilts his head to the side. He immediately accesses Suguru's neck, largely unmarked after their intense screwing, kisses it sweetly before sucking on tanned skin. "Kinky bastard."

 

"You were the one that wanted to do tentacle play after I caught that special grade." Suguru side eyes him, but Satoru knows no shame as he sucks a second hickey onto Suguru's neck.

 

"I still want to do tentacle play. It's porn in real life , Suguru." Satoru has a very self-satisfied smirk on his face when he pulls away from Suguru's neck, a sexy string of saliva following after his lips. 

 

"And I still want to fuck you so well you have my kids." Suguru cups his hands around Satoru's waist, skirts his fingers along his ribs and vaguely thinks about what this trim abdomen would look like swollen with life. With something undeniably Suguru's. "I don't see you warming up to my breeding kink."

 

" I literally can't get pregnant. You actually have a tentacle curse whose whole thing is to fuck men until they pass out." And it was a curse that haunted many of Satoru's wet dreams. It was basically a mountain of tentacles, all coated with an aphrodisiac formulated to make every inch of skin an erogenous zone. Satoru could only imagine what the tip of one of those thick and slippery tentacles against his prostate could feel like, especially if Suguru was driving, controlling its every move. He'd fill him up from both ends, have a tentacle wrapped tight around his dick so he can't come, and play with him for hours. Probably jerk off in front of his face while he's fucked like a toy by a curse. The thought itself makes him want to come then and there. 

 

It's too bad that releasing a special grade curse like that would immediately set off every alarm in the Jujutsu world - even if all it did was fuck Satoru until he couldn't remember his own name. 

 

"Yeah? And what if I found that curse? The one that can knock you up?" He hasn't, doubts such a curse exists, but it is still a thought he wants Satoru to entertain. To humour it in his brain until he almost considers it. 

 

"Hmm, maybe I'll think about it when I'm 40 and the world doesn't need saving." Satoru jokes and Suguru mildly entertains telling him he doesn't need to save this wretched world. He should just let Suguru ruin it and take a break for the first time in his life. But he knows that's a can of worms he doesn't want to open. Not today. "For now, I think there was some face sitting on the agenda."

 

"Whatever you want, Satoru." Suguru resigns, sighing as he crawls off of Satoru's body and flops on his back. Clearly eager to have a tongue up his ass, Satoru climbs on top with impressive speed, thighs on either side of his face and a hand perched on his pecs. 

 

He's still clenching his hole around his own slim fingers, doing his best to keep Suguru's cum in. It's such a useless effort, given how wide Suguru's cock stretched him, so much it's kind of cute.  His balls and thighs are painted in an artwork of white, drying and messy, streams of seed that overflowed and dripped onto porcelain skin. It's stained the delicate lingerie, his thong still obscenely stretched to the side and exposing all his private parts, and that only serves to make Suguru hungrier, makes the image even more delectable. 

 

He takes Satoru's wrist and gently removes his wrist, plugging up the hole with his own three fingers. His are thicker and wider, and are much more effective in keeping in the copious amounts of cum stuffed up in Satoru. With his hand free, Satoru instantaneously leans his weight back, shoves his ass right in Suguru's face, forcing his nose to be pressed so flush to his crack he almost can't breathe. 

 

Impatient asshole. He can't allow that. 

 

Locking his arms around Satoru's thighs, Suguru sits up and tips Satoru forward. The new angle has gravity working in his favour, cum leaking out in slow blobs rather than gushing out, even without his fingers stopping the flow. The sudden change in weight has Satoru scrambling, hands catching at Suguru's muscular thighs as he falls headfirst, face ending up comically close to Suguru's flaccid cock. As hot as this is, five orgasms takes a lot out of him, and his Suguru junior is out of commission for a while. But that doesn't mean Satoru can't have fun for the both of them. 

 

"Wait, I said I wanted to-"

 

" Itadakimasu ." He has the gall to lick his lips first, trail his tongue up his crack and catch a thick glob of semen. It's a joy to eat Satoru out, a fitting dessert to the feast he's just partaken in, and with two strong arms hooked around his thighs, he wasn't going anywhere any time soon. 

 

He dips his tongue in, presses against quivering, over stimulated walls, and tastes the bitterness of himself. It's not the best taste in the world, but he swallows much worse on a regular day, and gets a unique reward with every swipe of his tongue.

 

"Suguru, wait, too much, too much, too much ." The babbling whining is expected and the way he shakes his trembling hips is so cute Suguru has to stop himself from cooing at it. From reveling in turning Satoru into this unrecognisable, whimpering creature. 

 

He alternates between probing deeper and deeper, and sucking on that sweet, stretched out rim. He maps out every inch he can reach, manoeuvres around Satoru's warm cavern with an expertise few could ever achieve. The very thought of anyone else ever trying fills him with a murderous rage that almost eclipses his need to massacre every non-sorcerer. The way Satoru practically sings on his tongue should be illegal, and it should be locked away for only Suguru's ears. 

 

How many people in this universe could say they can reduce Gojo Satoru into a whimpering mess? Just one, Geto Suguru. And it's staying that way. 

 

" Please, I can't ."

 

For someone that is so all powerful, Satoru is a master at sounding pathetic, at playing the pitiful victim. But Suguru doesn't fall for it, doesn't let him escape from his vice grip, even as fingernails dig painfully into his thighs. He was going to clean Satoru's ass and then some, and make him so desperate he'll be so far removed from his invulnerable persona he won't be able to put himself back together by tomorrow. 

 

He curls the tip of his tongue, the fattest part of it pressed to Satoru''s abused entrance, and Satoru near screams. His whole body is pulled taut, his legs helpless in his hold, and Suguru effortlessly controls his squirming. His cock is slowly filling out against Suguru's chest, and he almost feels sorry for it as it starts to drool in his cleavage. The poor thing has been forced to cum so many times it's leaking clear liquid. 

 

Suguru continues to tongue fuck Satoru like it's his day job, fucking great day job if you asked him, pulling moan after moan out from him. He's writhing and crying out so much Suguru could probably be deaf and know through sheer vibration that Satoru is in bliss. 

 

"Please, Suguru…" Satoru whimpers, the most pitiful he's sounded all night, even as he arches his back in ecstasy. His voice is hoarse, husky and sex laden, and so utterly ruined

 

By this point, Suguru has scooped up and swallowed almost all of the come from Satoru and the emptiness must be maddening. His tongue is nothing compared to his cock so he makes up for it by sucking on his hole. It's so cute, so needy for attention that Suguru wonders how much Satoru actually masturbates during the year. 

 

He would be hard pressed to believe Satoru's fucked anyone else since Suguru left, given how sensitive and pent up he is every time they meet. The thought warms his chest inexplicably. A celibate Satoru, done by choice even though he's permanently horny as fuck, but unable to find anyone to truly satisfy him. None that could even begin to compare to Suguru. 

 

Spit soaks down Satoru's crack, drips all the way down to his balls and it gives Suguru an idea. He unwraps an arm from Satoru's thigh, the man above him too far gone to struggle with any real strength. He drags two fingers past Satoru's twitching cock, past his swollen balls and finds his perineum.

 

The thin skin, much like the rest of Satoru, is superbly sensitive.  Especially so when Suguru finds Satoru's prostate, pressing and massaging the hard nub from the outside. It had taken him endless amounts of literal poking and jabbing in their youth to locate Satoru's sweet spot through his taint, but oh boy, it had been worth it

 

Satoru comes dry, whole body jackknifing as Suguru's fingers press down relentlessly on his prostate, tongue still buried in him. 

 

It's such an intense orgasm, frying his brain until all he can concentrate on is Suguru. All he feels is the heat of Suguru's tongue, wet and flexible and still working inside him, as it gives Satoru's ass a few parting licks. His whole world is engulfed by Suguru, with his presence and attention. He's so sturdy and warm beneath him, a comforting existence that Satoru wishes would be a constant all year round. 

 

Lost in his post orgasmic high, he's not even allowed to catch his breath before Suguru is flipping him onto his back and pushing his hips up into the air. The position leaves Satoru splayed, his legs spread and hanging in the air while Suguru's grin is dangerously close to his spit slick hole. There's drool still running down his chin and neck, and his naked chest is slick with Satoru's clear pre-come. Why does that have to look so hot?!

 

"S-Suguru, what're you-"

 

"One more, sweetheart."

 

It's never just one more with Suguru.

 

-

 

Satoru bends over the tub, finally fully naked after Suguru peeled off the lingerie after he ate Satoru through three orgasms, and drops in his stupidly expensive bath bomb. It's pastel purple with bright blue swirls and silver glitter, exploding into an aromatic floral scent as soon as it hits the water. Suguru will admit it's a very relaxing smell and it permeates throughout the whole bathroom like a serene blanket. 

 

"Suguruuuuuu~ the bath's ready!" Satoru calls as if he did anything other than just dump in a fizzy ball of soap and fragrance. Suguru had been the one to prepare everything else, filling the tub with warm water, arranging all of Satoru's prissy grooming products, hanging up the towels, popping and chilling the moscato, turning on the music… he was a saint who was weak for a spoiled princess. 

 

"You know you can get in first, right?" Suguru chuckles, but follows the unsaid demand anyway, climbing into the bath and leaning against the rim. It's a huge space, way too big for two people, but Suguru opens his legs and makes room anyway.

 

"And sit anywhere else? No thank you ." Satoru slips inside, as graceful as he can be on jelly legs, and takes his rightful place in Suguru's lap, cozying up against Suguru's chest. 

 

As he's making himself comfortable, muscles slowly relaxing in the scented water, he notices Suguru's elbows hanging off the edge of the bath in an admittedly sexy pose. However, that doesn't fit into his snuggle fantasy, so he snatches those two beefy arms right up and wraps them around his middle, cuddling into the puppeted embrace.

 

"You're always so clingy after sex." Not that Suguru can talk, not when he's pressing a kiss to Satoru's temple. He can't wait to lather and massage his scalp with his exorbitant shampoo, feel those strands give and soften beneath his very own fingers. 

 

"Excuse you, I'm clingy all the time." Satoru relaxes his hold on Suguru's arms as soon as he feels them secure around his waist. There is something about Suguru's hold, strong and unyielding, that immediately calms his hyperactive psyche, that makes his constantly tense muscles take a break for the first time in a year. "And I'm allowed to be clingy. You made me come seven times." 

 

It was actually eight, but Suguru's not about to dig himself into more trouble. Pushing Satoru's limits has become a little bit of a game in Suguru's mind after he'd witnessed Satoru come untouched on his fingers three times in a row. After that, he'd tested and tested, and as long as he was playing with Satoru's ass, seven or eight a night was pretty achievable. 

 

Apparently, being the strongest came with the added benefit of multiple orgasms. 

 

"I'm gonna smell like a flower field for a week." Suguru sighs as he sinks more into the warm water, taking Satoru with him so they can lay more comfortably. 

 

"If you don't like it, you can pick the bath bomb next time." Satoru pouts, looking ten years younger as he slides down more to hide himself in the water. Like this, he's more like a small mound of snow peeping through the surface of the purple water than anything else. His nose is just above the water, just high enough that he can't drown himself in his own pettiness. 

 

"How can I change it?" Suguru reaches over to the side to grab the pastel purple coloured bottle of shampoo and pumps a few dollops into his palm. "You are my lilac . The only one I'll ever have." 

 

Suguru must know, he had to, how those words made his heart flutter, made it rattle in his chest and beat on its walls. He must know that his heart aches to jump right out, to land in Suguru's waiting hands and stay there forever. To stay nestled with Suguru even if it meant Satoru himself would be empty. Isn't that what life without Suguru was anyway?

 

"Stop being so romantic after you just fucked me stupid." Satoru huffs right as Suguru buries his hands in Satoru's hair, lathering it up with suds that smell exactly like the bath bomb. Every year, Satoru goes out of his way to get his hands on as many lilac scented products as possible, douses them in the scent like he's trying to erase any trace of their lives outside these walls (and maybe he is. Suguru likes to think he is). 

 

"I recall a certain someone saying 'I love you' earlier." Suguru laughs, feels it bubble from his chest in a way that it never does around anyone else. It's a foreign feeling, a foreign sound to his own ears, and he tries to ingrain it in his brain, score it into his brain so he can make it to next year. So the darkness doesn't swallow him whole and the last remnant of warmth in his life stays that way.

 

" Because you fucked me stupid. How else could I love such a sadist?" Satoru grumbles, even as Suguru massages the shampoo into his scalp. He knows Satoru is the absolute worst at grooming, used to whine at Suguru in their dorm days to pamper him or he'd wither like an unwatered houseplant, and he was lucky he was kissed by Aprodite herself. Otherwise, he'd be an unruly man child, probably rife with acne. 

 

" Ouch , you wound me, Satoru." Suguru says in mock hurt, tipping Satoru's head back so he can cup water in his palms and wash out the shampoo. He proceeds to take the tub of conditioner, also lilac scented but also infused with all kinds of boujie ingredients like shea butter and argan oil. He would actually invest in buying the product, given how it makes his mane of hair become liquid silk, if he condoned enriching useless monkeys. "Even though I love you this much."

 

He works in the conditioner with as much care and patience as a salon worker, making sure every strand is coated in the decadent cream, knowing full well Satoru has no patience to do anything so meticulous on his own. By itself, Satoru's platinum hair is ridiculously soft and glossy, and most certainly didn't need the fancy conditioner, but Suguru likes to take his time with it anyway. 

 

No one else could ever get this close or this intimate with the strongest sorcerer, could have him so relaxed even though his tender neck is just inches away from his powerful hands. He could so easily slip his hands around Satoru's neck, without Satoru even blinking or second guessing it, and squeeze until it snapped. It would take a second, an instant, and his biggest threat would be gone. The thought makes acid bubble up to his throat.

 

" Fuck , I love you." Suguru slides his hands down Satoru's shoulders, leaving the conditioner's indulgent ingredients to soak in Satoru's hair. He leans forward, pressing his forehead to Satoru's neck and silently apologises to it, for even thinking about injuring it, for even entertaining the idea of harming its owner. Trust is a delicate thing and abusing Satoru's, a special kind of trust that probably felt like wrenching out his own lungs, made him sick. Their relationship was sacred, protected even, and having it taken advantage of was Suguru's worst nightmare. He feels tears burn at the back of his eyes and is mildly surprised he even still knows how to cry. 

 

"Hey." Satoru shifts in Suguru's arms, tilts his body so he can face him while still being in his embrace. He takes his face in his hands and Suguru tries not to gape in awe at Satoru with his hair slicked back with conditioner, bright eyes only focused on him, expression painfully open. 

 

It's always a vision to see Satoru with his forehead exposed, the scar from when Toji killed him on full display, a call back to when Satoru was breakable. Was killable. When he died and in a moment of mortality, revived himself and came back as the God he was always born to be.

 

Yet here and now, this God shows his weakness, the lowest moment of his life and he gazes so deeply, his eyes burrowing so far into his soul that it has nothing to do with his Six Eyes, and practically reads his mind: "You'll never hurt me."

 

"But I did, didn't I? When I left." Suguru leans his forehead against Satoru's, bumping their noses it. The bath is always like this. Once the sex and tension and pleasure is out of the way, when nothing is concealed and everything is on display, and they're stripped down to their barest selves. Here, in the water, closer than they could ever be, smelling of a flower that exposed everything they felt for each other. "Even after I promised you I never would."

 

When they were young and dumb, not that they ever grew out of those two traits, Satoru had been terrified of love. It was as thrilling as it was terrifying, especially when he'd grown up with distance and isolation. Suguru had been his first friend, his first crush and eventually, his first love. 

 

A stranger to trust and care was suddenly bombarded by it. No one saw past the strongest sorcerer until Suguru, no one cared to. He'd fallen in love with falling in love, and more so than that, he fell in love with Suguru, a man that made a God feel so wonderfully human. And in their fall, Suguru in his foolishness had promised to never hurt him, to protect that tender little heart of his, and then turned around and did just that. In the moment he'd been so in love, so infatuated with the man in his arms, that he couldn't even fathom doing what he did, breaking his heart like it didn't even matter to him. 

 

"It's ok, I'm the strongest." Satoru gives him a hurt smile, one that makes his eyes look even sadder, one that reminds Suguru that he's the one that turned 'we' into 'I'.

 

"You shouldn't have to be." Suguru retorts immediately, running his fingers down Satoru's smooth back. He shivers under the light touch, cups Suguru's jaw in his hands and kisses him under his chin.  There's a small, light scar there, one that he got when he captured his very first special grade, and only Satoru knew it existed. It had tried to take Suguru's head off and only Satoru's quick reflexes had kept it on his shoulders. Only Satoru was allowed privy to a Suguru that was once small, one that needed help to exercise a curse too strong for him. 

 

"I don't do anything I don't want to." Satoru shakes his head lightly, conveniently not mentioning that he was groomed into his role from the second he opened his eyes. "Besides, you're here with me now. That's enough for me."

 

Not for me .

 

But he can't say that. Doesn't deserve to. He has a feeling the same words are echoing in Satoru's pretty head, if the lopsided smile that doesn't reach his eyes is anything to go off of. He hates hurting Satoru, hates making him say things he doesn't believe, hates that Satoru feels like he needs to spare Suguru's feelings even though Suguru tore his apart. 

 

"C'mon, baby, no more doom and gloom. Pamper me. You're the only one who does." You're the only one who's allowed is left unsaid, but Suguru knows it, can read it right out of Satoru's big, beautiful  eyes. 

 

"Don't be selfish, Satoru." Suguru tuts, tapping Satoru on the nose. "I've washed your hair, it's my turn."

 

"You like pampering me, don't pretend." Satoru giggles, but reaches out for the shampoo anyway. "You know once I get started, I take forever . So, you better get comfortable, handsome." 

 

"I'm sure I can find some entertainment." Suguru closes his eyes and tilts his head back as Satoru starts to comb his hands through Suguru's hair. He rubs soothing circles through his scalp and even gives the back of Suguru's neck a few loving rubs. He's practically a fanboy over Suguru's tresses, treats them like they're worth their weight in gold, and even though he hates to groom himself, he relishes in fussing over Suguru. 

 

" Suguru! " Satoru yelps when Suguru's sneaky hands find their way to his sore backside. It's a cheeky squeeze, enough to feel the plush and startle Satoru for the fun of it. And then because he's feeling particularly mischievous, he slips in a finger. Or two. 

 

"I'm entertaining myself. So you can take your time, princess." Suguru grins and ensuing accepts the glare with a kiss to the corner of Satoru's mouth. Satoru is still stretched from earlier, so the slide is easy, especially with the soapy bath water acting as an extra lubricant.

 

"You are such a pervert. Can't keep your hands off of me." Satoru grumbles as he rearranges himself, shifting onto his knees so he's fully facing Suguru, still working shampoo into the ends of his hair. He's kneeling over Suguru and his chest is at the same height as Suguru's face. It's shiny and glossy, a line of soap bubbles sliding right down between his pecs, teasing Suguru with how it kisses Satoru's skin. 

 

"I wonder what that makes you." And that's the only warning Satoru gets before Suguru is pressing his tongue to Satoru's nipple, glaring at the soap suds as they drip down his cleavage. 

 

" P-pervert ." Satoru shivers, definitely directly it back at Suguru but totally unable to properly articulate it when Suguru starts to lap up at the abused nub. It's far from aggressive, barely even a light fondling but Suguru has fucked his nerve endings into over sensitivity and even though Suguru's fingers are hardly moving, Satoru can feel hunger stirring in his belly. 

 

"I'm your pervert." Suguru murmurs as he sucks Satoru's nipple into his mouth. It draws a shudder from Satoru, his hips shaking as Suguru's fingers probe further, searching for his prostate. "Only yours."

 

"You better be." Satoru moans as he finally takes his hands out of Suguru's hair, grabbing his face and turning it away from Satoru's chest, forcing him look up at Satoru. He's flushed in a way that speaks more to his growing arousal than the warm bathwater. "You better not be fingering anyone else in that murder cult of yours." 

 

"Don't worry sweetheart, your ass is the only one that can satisfy me." Suguru closes his eyes and purses his lips to Satoru, waits one, two seconds before he feels the comforting press of Satoru's mouth to his own. It's deep and slow, his tongue licking into Suguru's mouth, the tip stroking the roof of his mouth. 

 

"Can you get hard?" Satoru asks as they separate, his hand already skirting down Suguru's abs and feeling around for his cock. 

 

"For you? Anytime." Suguru groans as Satoru finds what he is looking for, hand closing around his half mast dick and starts to pump his growing hardness. 

 

Satoru hums in appreciation as he eases Suguru's fingers out of him, guiding that big palm of his to his hips. Holding steady with his hand on Suguru's cock, Satoru starts to lower himself down. 

 

When he finally sinks down on Suguru's dick, it's like a oxygen floods his lungs, makes him delirious with the high of being inside his soulmate. He fits around Suguru like a glove and it's the greatest shame they ever have to be apart, that he ever has to pull out.

 

"You're not allowed to fuck me. Just stay still and let me take care of you."

 

It's the longest bath of Suguru's life. Satoru warm and perfect around him, but forced to be still, unable to rut up into him. Satoru takes ages to wash Suguru's hair, basically tends to every single strand with immaculate care. He rinses it slowly and gently, combs through every minute knot and tangle, making sure his hair is in such pristine condition it deserves to be in a shampoo commercial. 

 

The only saving grace is that when it was all done, he got to bend Satoru over the lip of the tub and fuck the thoughts out of his head.

 

-

 

“I’m going to run out of room in my apartment soon.” 

 

Suguru walks out of the bathroom, wearing nothing but silk pajama pants sitting low on his hips, not even boxers because Satoru ripped his only pair. It's lilac coloured with lilac embroidery because it's that part of the night. 

 

Stepping out of the shower, he had felt like a fat cat, sated after feasting on a whole family of mice, but then he's greeted with the sight of Satoru in the top half of pajama set, the silk shirt hardly covering his ass, revealing a pair of lacey panties. Lilac coloured, of course, and he feels the hunger pangs rearing their heads again. 

 

He's standing by the small dining table in the living room, gently running his fingers through the bouquet of blue roses sitting on it. They're perfect and everlasting, enchanted by a curse that originally used its ability to freeze people in a moment in time, eternally suffering and going insane, unable to move and unable to die, stuck in their own head. Sometimes when the curse was especially malicious, it would injure its victims in all of the most painful places and then freeze them, leaving them in unending agony.

 

Suguru found repurposing it for more romantic uses was very intelligent of him. 

 

He saunters over to Satoru and slings his arms around Satoru's waist, hugs him sweetly from behind like a husband coming home to his wife. The thought of domesticity, of coming home to Satoru like this and pressing close to his warmth whenever he wants, is a special kind of torture. One that he inflicts back onto himself every time he lets himself enjoy Satoru, enjoy this small pocket of happiness that he gets once a year. 

 

“Buy a new place.” Suguru says it like moving house just to store more roses is a reasonable thing to do. “Or throw them out, you don’t have to keep them all.” 

 

And that is just unfair. Suguru knows, knows without seeing the roses that cover every inch of every shelf, that he could never do that. How he'd rather tear out his own heart than discard a single petal. 364 days of the year it's all he has. The only proof he has that Suguru loves him. That they are more than strangers. That they are more than enemies.

 

"I should throw them out just to spite you." Satoru brushes off, pretends like the act wouldn't be equivalent to committing seppuku. He cups Suguru's jaw and tilts his head up, kissing Suguru's scar reverently. 

 

"I'd like to see you try." Suguru chuckles, spinning Satoru in his arms so they can face each other, slinging his arms around Satoru's lower back. He ducks his head under Satoru's chin, mouths at his Adam's apple as his hands find their way under his shirt, pressing flat to warm skin. "What's with the panties? I was under the impression we always made love in the bed after the bath." 

 

"Mm, we do." Satoru hums, hands gliding up Suguru's bare pecs to hook around his neck. He starts swaying to the faint background music from the bathroom, a puppet of a slow dance that Suguru goes along with. "But it turns you on right?" 

 

"Yeah. Makes me wanna fuck you again." Suguru answers, kissing a teasing line up Satoru's jaw. 

 

"You can… but I've only got one more left in me." Satoru bargains, looking nothing but soft and pure as he bumps their noses together. "And I'd hate for you to leave without making me feel loved." 

 

And he's a master manipulator, knows that Suguru despises the idea of Satoru feeling unloved, even if his absence every other day of the year spoke volumes by itself. Here, it's the only time he can truly cement his feelings in Satoru's mind, that they have love in spite of separation. He can't help but squeeze Satoru in response, pour every inch of his love into his arms and hope Satoru feels even a glimmer of it. 

 

"Baby, let's drink and make love." Satoru whispers into his ear, slinking out of Suguru's embrace so he can go back to the table. Next to the bouquet is the bottle of moscato Suguru chilled earlier in the night. Satoru must have taken it out of the fridge, along with the two champagne flutes. 

 

"What if we skip the alcohol and go straight to the sex? Do you really need alcohol to sleep with me?" Suguru leans his hip on the table and accepts the proffered glass. It's filled with bubbling pink liquid, nowhere near something Suguru would prefer, but he knows anything stronger or less sweet would have Satoru gagging. And not in the sexy way.

 

"I only get to drink once a year. Let me have this." Satoru presents his glass to Suguru, waits for him to clink glasses with him. 

 

"You should get out more." Suguru smiles as they cheers, bringing the sugary sweet drink to his lips. It tastes like Satoru, syrupy and floral, and that's the only reason he savours the taste on his tongue. Satoru locks eyes with him as he downs the whole drink at once, looking more like a kid with a juice box than a fully grown man with a wine glass. 

 

"I can only drink around you." Satoru says simply, reaching out for the bottle for another pour. Suguru has barely made a dent in his, it tastes more like pure sugar than anything resembling alcohol, so he declines a top up when Satoru raises the bottle in his direction. "I'm such a lightweight, I can't risk being drunk with anyone else."

 

It pulls at Suguru's heart strings, even though he more or less knew it already. Could you even call what Satoru was doing living? He couldn't even have a drink, lest someone target him, lest someone need him. Other than their yearly rendezvous, did Satoru ever stop? Did he ever take a break from saving those ungrateful monkeys from the very curses they create? 

 

"I'll keep an eye on you." Suguru takes another sip as Satoru gulps down the moscato greedily. His cheeks are starting to flush, redness spreading across the bridge of his nose, the minuscule amounts of alcohol already making their way through his system. Who knew the Six Eyes would be weak to alcohol of all things? You'd think his abilities would metabolize it in an instant and leave him totally sober. 

 

"You're drinking too." Satoru grumbles, pouring his third glass. Satoru would probably down the whole bottle if he didn't have a very important task to carry out soon.

 

"Unlike someone, I can actually hold my liquor. A kid could drink this stuff and be fine." Suguru teases, grins when Satoru glares at him over the rim of glass, even as he tips back his second glass. It's a fine wine, no doubt Satoru ordered the most expensive moscato on the market, but he treats it like it's a $2 shot. 

 

"That's just because you like to drink car fuel." Satoru pours himself his third drink and usually that's his limit. He'll still be lucid but markedly more giggly, enough for a light buzz but nowhere near inebriated.

 

" Whiskey is not car fuel. You just have the taste buds of a little girl." Suguru remembers one year when Satoru bought him whiskey, a gift because it's his favourite. It had been the smoothest drink of his life, but Satoru had hacked it out and sworn it was the most vile tasting liquid ever to be formulated, right up there with black coffee and chilli sauce. Suguru wonders how Satoru would take absinthe; he'd probably black out after one drop and get a massive hangover from it.

 

"Little girls have great taste. Otherwise you wouldn't be keeping two of them around all the time." Satoru reminds, as the third and last glass goes down just as fast as the first two. 

 

Satoru does in fact have astoundingly similar preferences to Mimiko and Nanako. They all love crepes, would probably eat them until all their teeth dropped out, have terrible housekeeping tendencies and have affinities for kittens with attitude problems. They would get along, Satoru would take them shopping and buy them all the sugar in the world, and Suguru would come home to a trio of mischievous little devils. 

 

The apartment would be covered in messy arrays of shopping bags and chocolate wrappers, none of them knowing what a rubbish bin was much less a recycling bin. He'd be the one sane person in the house, the one voice of reason, and he'd cherish every day filled with his three favourite chaotic people. He'd scold Satoru for teaching the girls bad habits and spoiling them rotten, but then fall in love all over again when he sees them cuddling up on the couch together, one twin tucked under each of Satoru's lanky arms. 

 

It's a dream he has often, of Satoru and the girls, a family he yearns for with a ravishing hunger. But it's also a painfully unrealistic one. An impossibility that burns more than a white hot knife. 

 

"Nuh-uh, you've had enough, Satoru." Suguru winds his fingers around Satoru's wrist, halting his supposed to be sneaky attempt at pouring a fourth glass. 

 

"What are you, my mother? Not even she thinks she can control me." Satoru reaches for the bottle with his other hand but Suguru easily catches that one too. 

 

"Pretty sure I'm more like your daddy than anything else." Oh boy, does that make Satoru's ears turn red. He tilts his head and brushes his lips to the back of Satoru's ear, licking a small stripe to the skin. "You know what you get like after four glasses. Do you really want to be like that when I start making love to you?"

 

He releases Satoru and starts to walk away, puts in a concerted effort to look more like he's sauntering towards the bedroom. Suguru hears Satoru audibly gulp while a wine glass goes crashing to the floor. 

 

He knows he hardly needs to wait, what with Satoru being drawn to doled out love like a moth to a flame. He chases after it, more on instinct than conscious thought, and hurried footsteps follow behind Suguru. A tall body comes barreling into his back, almost knocking him over and winding him, a flawless face buried into his bare shoulder, a silky nest of snowfall tickling his throat.

 

"Love me, Suguru." Satoru's hands are shaking from where they are linked around his stomach. His insecurity is palpable, fear of having to wait another 364 days to feel love again racking through him in tremors. 

 

Suguru reaches behind him and lifts Satoru's head, leans back so he can capture his lips in a short, soft kiss, "For as long as you'll let me." 

 

And love him he does. He lays him out on the bed, spread out like a delectable gift to himself and peels off those lovely lilac panties with his teeth. He gives every inch of those endlessly long legs attention, bites and sucks marks into soft flesh. Satoru is trembling by the time Suguru makes it to his inner thighs, already decorated but in need of more in Suguru's opinion, so he takes a particularly big bite at a pristine spot right by Satoru's crotch. 

 

He's nothing short of a thrashing mess by the time Suguru is actually making his way to Satoru's hole, still stretched after being fucked so much in so little time. He licks into it, once then twice, before he's pressing three lubed fingers in at once. Satoru hisses at the sudden intrusion but Suguru kisses him quiet. 

 

"So good for me. You're perfect , Satoru." Suguru kisses all over Satoru's face, on his rosy cheeks, down the tall bridge of his nose, up his jaw, one on each eyelid. He's pliant and shuddering when Suguru spreads his fingers, trying to make space where his cock will eventually enter once again. "My beautiful, incredible, perfect Satoru."

 

"Suguru…" Satoru whines, clinging to Suguru's already massacred back, vocal chords straining with every brush to his prostate. He's on the verge, so close it must hurt even though they've barely started. Affection pulses through his veins, pumps all the way to his fingers and toes even as Suguru wraps a hand around his cock, squeezing just enough to keep a quickly approaching orgasm at bay. 

 

"Wait for me, Satoru." Suguru murmurs, groaning when Satoru claws at his back as he comes dry, tears slipping down as the pleasure vibrates maddeningly without any of the release. 

 

Seeing the sensation wreck his love, Suguru can't wait any longer, can't take his time and loosen him up some more to be safe. He doesn't take off his pants, simply unlocks his cock from the waistband and does not miss the way Satoru licks his lips on instinct. 

 

Sinking into Satoru is a slow and excruciating affair, more for Satoru than anything else. Any faster and Satoru would be spilling for the last time, leaving Suguru alone in his high. 

 

"C'mere." Satoru holds out his arms like a child, blissed out and sated with Suguru fully seated inside. 

 

Drawn to Satoru like a snake to warmth, basking in the sheer adoration shining through sapphire eyes, Suguru collapses onto Satoru, wraps his arms around Satoru like he wants to envelope him totally, and Satoru reciprocates with his own arms tightly wound around Suguru's neck. 

 

Here, sharing one set of silk pyjamas, entwined so intricately you would be hard pressed to tell them apart, it makes them feel like two parts of one whole, as misguided as their thinking is. As broken as they are, from afar they look like one perfect picture. 

 

Suguru is hardly moving, barely rocking into Satoru because that's not the point. There's no hunger, no urgency, no climax to chase. There's only wholeness, finding fullness in each other, pleasure bubbling at the lowest setting. It tingles in their stomachs, buzzes under their skin, but that is peripheral, an extra bonus to the completion that only comes from being together. 

 

"I wanna stay here forever." Satoru sighs, fingers tangled up in Suguru's hair, legs loosely laying by Suguru's hips. His brilliant eyes are clouded in lust and love, throat bared as Suguru kisses at his pulse point. "Wanna stay with you."

 

"I know, sweetheart, I know." 

 

It's painful. To want something you can't have, even if that something wants you back. It's unrequited love while still being mutual, and that's somehow worse . It takes every particle of strength Suguru has to not cry into Satoru neck, to soak the skin with his tears and tell him he would destroy the world for Satoru. Except Satoru doesn't want destruction and as easy as it is to kill innocents, he can't bring himself to save people he despises. 

 

"I hate living without you." Satoru's voice shakes and Suguru doesn't need to look up to know he's on the verge of breaking down. 

 

"One day. We'll be together." Suguru promises, empty and unsure, lifting his head so he can lean their foreheads together. It's sweaty, wet with the urge to keep it all in, to keep the tears of despair away, to hold back climax so it doesn't end all at once. 

 

"You always say that. But I'm not even yours. Not officially." Satoru gives him a watery laugh and the sound stabs straight through Suguru's chest, tastes worse than any curse could. 

 

"You're mine. If there is anything that's true, it's that you're mine." Suguru reassures, and even though it's more for himself, Satoru sniffs and wipes away a tear that threatened to fall. "You better not start thinking about cheating on me. I'll have to kill him." 

 

"Where else am I gonna find a dick as good as yours?" Satoru jokes, dragging Suguru down into a fierce kiss right as Suguru's cock grazes his prostate. Satoru moans into his mouth and Suguru swallows every sound, sucking on his bottom lip before he pulls a breath away. 

 

"Say it for me, Satoru. Please ." Suguru begs, pleads with a desperation he knows only around Satoru, throwing his head back as Satoru's walls spasm around him.

 

"I'm yours," Satoru cradles his face in his hands, bringing him back until they're millimetres apart, and breathes a promise against his lips. "My one and only."

 

"My one and only." Suguru affirms, right before he delivers a sharp thrust into Satoru, his hips accelerating so fast, Satoru chokes on his own spit. 

 

" No , Suguru, I don't want… ah , I don't want it to end." Satoru cries, legs immediately winding around Suguru's waist in reflex, nails digging into his shoulders. He wants Satoru to mark him up more, use him like a scratching post or a chew toy or both, and ingrain into him every physical reminder he can. 

 

"I know, 'toru, I know." But he doesn't stop, a man on a mission to pleasure a God, a man hypnotised by the most beautiful creature to walk the earth, he drives forward, deep and hard so Satoru can feel every inch of his love. "But it's time."

 

"No, please, aaaah , longer, please." Satoru chambers for purchase, for something to focus on or hold onto while his prostate is assaulted by Suguru's cock. "I'll come... I don't wanna, please."

 

"Let's… let's come together, 'toru." Suguru grunts, hot puffs of breath fanning over Satoru's flushed face, his eyes screwed up in pleasure. He's losing rhythm, swallowed up by Satoru's heat and moans, his nipples rubbing against Satoru's silk shirt with every thrust. 

 

"I don't wannaaaaaa…" Satoru whimpers, but he's clutching onto Suguru as tight as he can. "Stay with me forever, Suguruuuuuu."

 

Suguru bites back a reply, holds back everything in him that screams to grant Satoru's wish. Images of Satoru in his daily life flash behind his eyelids; waking up to him, making him crepes, brushing his hair, listening to him ramble about the latest Pokemon game (did he even still play those things?), cuddling him to his chest, feeling his breath on his neck as he slept, making love to him every night… they burn like acid and he wills them away, forces down the words he so desperately wants to say. 

 

Come with me

 

Instead, he captures Satoru's lips, pours out how much he wants them to be together into it and hopes fruitlessly that Satoru will hear those silent words. Hopes Satoru knows he's not alone, that Suguru shares every single one of his feelings and wishes just as fervently that their reality is not what it is. 

 

"I love you. Please… please, know I love you." Suguru pleads, chants it against Satoru's chin, breathes it into his skin so hopefully he can absorb it and believe it. 

 

"I know, baby." Satoru pants, body pulling taut as his orgasm chases after him, hot on his heels and licking at his ankles. "I love you too. I love you so much."

 

Water drips down on Satoru's face and they're not from him. They splatter on his cheeks, blend into the ones he sheds himself, and all he can do is reach up, wipe away the bubbling tears from Suguru's red rimmed eyes. They're flooded, the violet there going blurry as they swim with tears, and Satoru pulls him down to kiss them away. 

 

How can you love me ?

 

You've given me everything . How can I not ?

 

The unspoken conversation breaks Suguru, cracks and then shatters any attempt he has at staying put together. He never can, not when the layers have been stripped down, when the wanton lust has waned and all that's left is two men in love, two star crossed lovers that could be together but refuse to make that choice. That final, inevitable choice that would cement their lives together but would leave one of them walking a path they don't believe in. 

 

And they loved each other too much to let their soulmate go through that. 

 

"I love you. I always will." Satoru kisses Suguru through his sobs, through the tears that streak down without abandon. "I love you until Infinity."

 

His words do nothing to placate Suguru, Suguru with his ribs ripped open and his heart beating in Satoru's hands. Suguru who remains small and vulnerable and innocent in Satoru's eyes, no matter how many people he murders or how many morals he rewrites. Suguru who is allowed in Satoru's space, past the barrier that he erects physically and mentally without even thinking. Suguru who is loved unconditionally. Suguru who hurts Satoru every day of the year but comes crawling back every anniversary. 

 

Suguru who needs Satoru like an addict, who needs to get enough for the next 364 days. 

 

But Satoru wasn't a drug. He wasn't supposed to be used and abused for Suguru's next high. He was more than that, so much more. He was joy personified when he munched on sweets and he was confidence that never failed to embolden those around him. He was silent affection because words of affirmation never came easy to him and he was love unbridled when he learned to trust you. 

 

"I don't deserve you." 

 

Suguru confesses, a mere man to a God, his sins laid on a platter, begging for a forgiveness he knew Satoru gave him a long time ago. 

 

"You are the only one for me." Satoru throws the apology to the side, destroys it with Purple, because never for a second did he question ever lying beside someone who's name was not Geto Suguru. 

 

Before Suguru, he was always a commodity, a weapon, needed. Then Suguru came along and fucked it all up, threw a wrench right into the cogs of his family's grooming. He made him feel alive, human, wanted.

 

"Just be with me… for now." Satoru crosses his ankles behind Suguru's back and yanks him forward, pistons his hips right into the depths of Satoru. "That's all I want."

 

It's a lie and Suguru knows it. Satoru is a simple man, and his wants are all too easy to read if you bothered to look. He is no actor, no liar, no swindler, he's never needed to be. Yet no one ever pulled back the curtain and lifted the illusion, no one looked to fulfil his desires because humanity was safer with a Satoru that had none. 

 

He wants a world where they're not fighting, where they're together and happy and in love. And it's a world Suguru cannot gift to him. Not yet, not until he accomplishes his mission. Only then could he be there for Satoru, in a world where conflict doesn't exist because curses are gone. In a world that doesn't need Satoru so he can be kept for Suguru alone. 

 

"Okay, Satoru. Okay." Suguru appeases him, plays along with this game of this is enough for me , and quickens his pace again, charges forward so they can tip into orgasm together.

 

He slams his hips into Satoru and drinks up Satoru as he falls apart for the umpteenth time in the night. His roughness is closer to fucking than making love, with Satoru raking his nails down his back and his balls slapping against his ass. 

 

They're a cacophony of moans and groans and whimpers, words a lost art to them as feelings and pleasure bubble into one. Would this be what sex felt like all the tim e if they walked the same lives? If Suguru had never left or if Satoru had chased after him? Would this overwhelming, overflowing burn be their norm if they were actually together? 

 

They'd never know but it was a nice thought. 

 

"C-close, 'guru. Close- ah !" Satoru's face is in his shoulder, his teeth buried in the meat as Suguru's dick drives right into his prostate. 

 

" Fuck , 'toru, me too…" Suguru's hips stutter, power and rhythm being lost to the sensation of Satoru's heavenly walls. 

 

Two more hard thrusts in, as precise and strong as he can muster with stars in his eyes, and they're coming together, in perfect unison. 

 

The climax is devastating, a high that drains every drop of energy and vigour out of them, as Satoru spills all over Sugruu's stomach and his own shirt, and Suguru is filling up Satoru once more. Suguru ruts into Satoru a few more times, fucks them both through their orgasms, before collapsing on top. 

 

He hears the air get knocked out of Satoru and quickly rolls them over to their sides before Satoru can complain about his weight. They pant as the exhilaration slowly melts away and their limbs are nothing but jelly. Satoru's cheeks are ruddy and radiant, his lips bruised, and Suguru leans into his touch when he cups his cheek with his hand. 

 

"You're so hot when you come." Satoru comments so naturally and easily that Suguru knows it's not a joke. He's stating a fact, but it still makes Suguru's face burn even as his heart slows. "Sometimes I don't get to see it when you fuck me from behind, but I love to watch you come."

 

"Are you trying to tell me you don't want to do doggy style anymore?" Suguru chuckles, turns his head so he can press a kiss to his palm. Both their faces are drenched with tears, but they take it in stride. Swallow down the rush of emotions as they sweep it away with the easy banter. 

 

"I always want to do it doggy style. But missionary is hot too." Satoru answers matter of factly, fingers tucking a stray hair behind Suguru's ear before bringing him in for a slow kiss. "Your O face gets me off."

 

"If you can come from my face, I guess you don't need my dick anymore." Suguru teases, nipping at Satoru's swollen bottom lip as he pulls away. 

 

"Take your dick away from me and I'm never letting you get anywhere near my chest again." Satoru threatens and as soon as the words leave his mouth, Suguru's hand immediately flies up and grabs one of his pecs.

 

"You can't keep me away from your tits, that's a hate crime." Suguru insists as he fondles Satoru through the silk shirt none too gently. A mass murderer with genocide on the mind talking about hate crimes… that's rich. 

 

"I'm beginning to think you only fuck me for my chest." Satoru narrows his eyes, his lashes still wet with tears. 

 

"You also have an amazing ass. It looks flat but actually it's- ow !" Suguru feigns a pained expression as Satoru thwacks him on the side of the head, laughing as he flops onto his back and pulls Satoru on top. Suguru is still balls deep, plugging up his semen inside Satoru, but he can't quite bring himself to separate them quite yet. He glides his hands down Satoru's waist, resting them on the two perky globes also known as Satoru's perfect ass.

 

"If all you needed was a pair of tits and a tight ass, you should've been straight." Satoru deadpans, feeling petty enough to think about wrenching himself out of Suguru's hold and taking a cold shower by himself

 

"Hmm, but I want your tits and your ass. So I guess I'm stuck with you." Suguru placates, nuzzling his nose under his chin to show his sincerity. "Besides, your nipples are so cute and sensitive it'd be a shame if I didn't suck on them." 

 

"They're sensitive because you keep sucking on them!" Satoru argues, jabbing an accusing finger at Suguru's sternum. He puts a little more force than necessary behind it, but the bastard deserves the slight twinge of pain. 

 

"I suck on them once a year. How much damage could I actually-" Suguru's mouth stops mid-sentence as the cogs in his brain screech to a halt. 

 

He'd seen Satoru's nipples when they'd first started sleeping together in high school, he barely felt a tickle or an itch when Suguru flicked them at first. Sure, his sensitivity had gone through the roof after he started sucking at them, pretty much everyday at one point, but a year without stimulation was more than enough time to recover from Suguru's relentless ministrations. Way more than necessary for them to revert back to their original, insensitive state. Yet, today simple brushes and rubs had him shivering in pleasure, moaning like a well trained porn star. 

 

"Wait, unless you… Satoru, do you play with them by yourself?" 

 

"Fuck, I- how I masturbate is none of your business!" Satoru pushes Suguru's face to the side, smooshes his cheek with his palm. He can already see the gleeful stars starting to form in his purple eyes and he knows that look is never good news for him. "You're the reason I have to masturbate at all in the first place!"  

 

And that was not an exaggeration. In his life before Suguru, sexual desire did not exist. The Gojo clan was a pretentious kind of holy, all arranged marriages and baby making, and preaching abstinence like it was the best thing since sliced bread. Sex was not only sacred but reserved solely for continuing the bloodline. The first time he'd been touched anywhere down there, it had been Suguru's hand, not his own. Then, the first time he'd touched himself had been an out of body experience, feeling every bit as wrong as it had been wonderful. 

 

Needless to say, Pandora's box flew open and he'd become a horndog in every sense of the word. Maybe that's why the Gojo clan were such prudes. Maybe they were hard wired to become sex fiends as soon as they tasted pleasure and they couldn't risk populating the world with little Gojo accidents.

 

"Can you come with your nipples? Oh, please , Satoru let me make you come with your nipples next year." Satoru really should've seen this coming and if he could, he would go back in time and cut off his own tongue so he couldn't accidentally out himself. Actually, if he could time travel, there were probably a few other choice moments he would go back to change, but that was a can of worms he couldn't entertain. "I'll bring vibrators and everything." 

 

Okay, hypothetically speaking, Satoru did think it would be kind of hot. Seated on Suguru's lap, warming his cock while there's a mouth on one nipple and a vibrator on its highest setting pressed to the other, wriggling and shaking as he's forced to come from just nipple play… Well, that image would certainly haunt his wet dreams for the next year. He would need to practice, to maybe do some homework, get some toys that are specifically made to increase nipple sensitivity; it'll take some effort to achieve it but-

 

"You're thinking about it." 

 

"I'm not ." Satoru insists even though he is already formulating what he needs to buy to make the wet dream into reality. He definitely doesn't need to fuel Suguru's obsession with his chest though. 

 

"So, can I?" Suguru lifts his head and presses a butterfly kiss to Satoru's cheek, his eyelashes fluttering gently against heated skin. 

 

"...I'll think about it." Which is as good as saying yes, if Suguru's lit up expression is anything to go by. Satoru resists a smile, one that tugs at the corners of his lips, from just the sight of Suguru's jubilance, as misguided and perverted as it is. How is he supposed to reject that sweet face? 

 

He's silently making a mental note to browse his favourite online sex shop when a giant yawn rips through him. 

 

"Tired?" Suguru's smile doesn't reach his eyes, instead it's accompanied with a sorrowful downturn of his eyebrows. They both know what that means, both know what it's signalling even if Satoru looks away in refusal. 

 

"Not even a little." Satoru pouts and Suguru can't help but poke the upset crease between his brows, looking unbearably adorable despite the scowl. Unfortunately, another smaller yawn sneaks out and there's a look of betrayal at his own body flashing in his crystal eyes. 

 

"You're such a kid sometimes." Suguru shakes his head as he rolls them over and starts to pull out. Satoru protests, of course he does, but Suguru placates him with kisses and promises of cuddles. "Let's clean you up, okay? You're always so grumpy when you wake up with cum in your ass."

 

"I am not. Maybe I like it." Satoru retorts, as if he didn't hold a grudge for a whole year because of just that. He'd edged Suguru for two hours for that grudge. The only time he tolerates it is when Suguru is there with him, filling him up with something warm and thick along with the cum. 

 

"Keep telling yourself that, princess. Maybe you'll start believing it." Suguru says patronisingly, giving him a quick kiss on his sweaty forehead before he's climbing out of bed to fetch a warm towel. 

 

"Ugh… how were you coming that much at the end?" Satoru groans as Suguru scoops out cum with his fingers, wiping at the sore and reddened skin with the wet towel. 

 

"Pretty sure you're the one to blame for that. Your ass was milking me for a year's worth." Suguru snorts, cleaning up the dregs of semen from their bodies until only the stains on Satoru's shirt are left. That was the normal casualty and couldn't be helped. It was also why they had to buy a new set of pyjamas every year. 

 

"You were committing assault on my prostate, what were you expecting?" Satoru asks incredulously, how could he even insinuate that he was the cause of the mess in his ass? 

 

"Your prostate is very bully-able. Makes you really cute." Suguru says thoughtfully, as if it's an actual explanation for the amount of abuse that went on in his ass on this fine night. 

 

"Are you saying I'm not cute all the time!?" Satoru sits up violently, glaring indignantly at Suguru who has the audacity to laugh at him. 

 

"You're beautiful. You're just extra cute when you have a dick on your prostate." Suguru draws in close, two fingers under Satoru's chin as he pulls him into a kiss. It's sweet and sensual, tasting of post-coital glow and messy, unfiltered emotions poured out.

 

"You can be so unromantic sometimes." Satoru huffs, letting Suguru drag him into his arms and plop them onto the bed, Satoru's head tucked into his chest. 

 

"I don't see you resisting my unromantic charm. You still turn up every year." Suguru reminds, one handedly pulling up the covers around them until they're snug and warm. 

 

The first year had been a gamble, a discrete and cryptic message sent to Satoru to celebrate their anniversary in a dinghy inn run by an elderly sorcerer in an unknown village. Satoru had arrived three hours late, face red and eyes down turned, clearly battling an internal dilemma. It had taken a few minutes of fleeting eye contact and tense lip biting before he said fuck it and jumped right into Suguru's arms. 

 

After that, it had become a routine, a yearly ritual that neither failed to fulfill. During the first few years, Suguru did wonder if Satoru would come, would answer his selfish wishes to have a night of fantasy and sex. But soon doubt and anxiety faded into excitement and anticipation as Satoru arrived earlier and earlier, each time more eager and less conflicted  than the last.

 

Their accommodations also got better once Satoru was footing the bill. 

 

"I get to have sex one day a year. Of course I'm gonna turn up." Satoru starts drawing patterns on Suguru's chest, three characters he's practiced over and over, two names that don't fit together normally but are perfect for each other in his dreams. 

 

"Is that all you get on this one day?" Suguru whispers into Satoru's hair, his own fingers tracing those same two names on Satoru's lower back, his rough fingertips tickling the soft skin. 

 

"You know it's not." Satoru runs his hand up Suguru's chest, finds a long lock of hair and brings it to his mouth. He kisses it tenderly, intimately tries to memorize each strand like it'll make separation easier. 

 

Nothing makes the separation easier. 

 

He fills his life with curses and teaching, gorging on as much sugar as he can get his hands on. He fills the cavity Suguru left behind with people and fights and missions until there's no time left in the day to think about Suguru, run down until exhaustion makes a permanent home in his bones. As soon as he lets himself wander, lets a stray thought veer off into Suguru territory, he's gone. 

 

Lost in what ifs and wild fantasies. Lost in pain and loneliness. Lost in an ungodly concoction of ecstasy and agony. Lost in a hurt that festers and rots every time he thinks about where Suguru might be, if he's thinking about him too, what their life could look like together. 

 

Nothing makes his absence easier.

 

Nothing except Suguru himself. 

 

Being here, now, together, warm, is the only cure to Satoru's chronic pain. The man that taught him love and sex and trust, taught him that loneliness is not a given and that in the path of the strongest, there are equals and there are companions. 

 

Everything else, everyone else is a bandaid, an ice pack, an advil. As cruel as it sounds, they do nothing but help him forget about the gaping void in his existence once in a while. The rest of the time, he's flying solo on a journey he envisioned for two. 

 

"Do you miss me? Throughout the year?" Satoru asks, hating how his words are starting to slur together, hating how his brain is working slower and his eyelids feel heavier. Suguru's arm is tight and secure around him, and his chest is comfortable and strong. His other hand pets his head, comforting strokes through silky hair, an act that feels practiced and reassuring. 

 

"Every day." Suguru says quickly, assuredly. It's automatic and that makes Satoru's heart sing way more than it should. "Every second of every day, Satoru. My life is incomplete without you."

 

They chat, closer to banter than actual pillow talk  because they can't talk about their daily lives. Unlike most couples, 'what are you doing tomorrow' is completely off limits. Instead, they tease each other and giggle like the youths they couldn't really be. They savour every last minute they have to feel this way, to feel like the fate of the world was nothing but someone else's problem. 

 

They talk and cuddle until the sun starts to break, until Satoru is barely conscious and Suguru's voice is more lullaby than carrier of conversation. It's stable and deep, and his breaths come out calm and collected. His heartbeat is right beneath his ear, helping remind Satoru that the day's not over, not yet. 

 

He yawns, and then yawns again, and his eyes fall shut for longer and longer periods of time before he snaps awake and fights off sleep. He never got to be a child trying to stay up past bedtime, but he figures it's a very close thing. Except as a child, falling asleep never had the consequences of having to wait another year to see the love of your life. Or maybe it did, he couldn't say for sure. 

 

“Rest now, Satoru.  You deserve it.  You deserve more of it.” 

 

Except he doesn’t want to fall asleep, fends it off like an animal scared and alone.  He doesn’t want his personal paradise, his little slice of heaven to end, ever.  He knows as soon as he closes his eyes and drifts out of consciousness he has to face reality.  Has to wake up alone and aching and wishing that his real life was all just a nightmare.  It’ll all hurt more in the morning, worse than walking every day without his partner, his best friend, his soulmate by his side.  He wants to stay here, in this moment, in the earliest hours of the day, nestled in the arms of the man he loves and pretend they’re not standing at opposite frontiers of an impending war.  

 

But that’s the irony, isn’t it?  The only man that makes him safe enough, secure enough, warm enough to fall asleep is the one he wants to stay awake with for the rest of eternity.  

 

It's soothing, too soothing, soothing to the point that Satoru would bet money that Suguru was using a curse to put him to sleep. His eyelids droop again, feeling like a magnetic force is strong arming his desire to stay awake. 

 

Suguru is shushing him, stroking his hair and hugging him close. Everything is beckoning him to sleep, and after a year of restlessness and never ending activity, his body is begging him to take the offer. To take Suguru's hands and walk into the best sleep of the year. 

 

"Can you stay until I wake up?" 

 

Suguru doesn't answer, never does, and Satoru gets dragged to the depths of slumber with only the steady thrum of Suguru's heartbeat. 

 

-

Satoru wakes up as Gojo, cold and alone, just like every other day of the year.  He wakes up in a world with no love, no affection and no trust. He wakes up in a world where he can't afford to be weak, can't give in to vulnerability. He wakes up as the strongest, a God walking among men. 

 

Once a year, when he wakes up, Gojo allows himself one more moment of humanity before he has to step out of the room and be that God again. 

 

He bawls , cries his eyes out, wails like a child when their parent drops them off at preschool for the first time. He lets the emptiness and abandonment fill up his chest like a deadly toxin in his veins, feels his walls build themselves up and mourns every ounce of fragility that melts away. 

 

He buries his face in the sheets, the ones that smell of them, them together , and lets his tears soak the fabric. His eyes and throat hurt, and he knows he has to heal them before he leaves, has to upkeep the facade that he's infallible, unbreakable. That nothing could break him down to this point, to this point where he's pathetic and pitiful. 

 

What if he wants to be weak? What if he wants to take a break, actually breathe and be in love? What if he wants to be more than the strongest sorcerer? What if he wants to be human

 

There was one person, his person , that gave him the only thing he could ever want. And it was the one person he couldn't have, the one person in the world that could ever have his back was now standing opposite from him, so far removed he could barely recognise him on a normal day. 

 

His body is sore and that's the only reminder he's allowed. The sheets are soft and they reek of lilacs, and he wants them to imprint on his brain so deeply that he never forgets them for a second. He wants to score every trace of Geto into his memory, even though he left Gojo without even a crease in the bed. 

 

The tears are in free flow, and Gojo hiccups through them, sniffles as much as he can to keep the snot in. He covers his mouth as he tries to recollect all his pieces, every shard of his usual persona that he shed for his one and only. And through his tears flooding his vision, through the painful burn in his eyes, he notices a sparkle on his left hand. 

 

They have a lot of traditions for their anniversary.

 

The everlasting blue roses. The bridal carry through the threshold. The special boner-inducing outfits Gojo wears. The fucking like rabbits trying to populate the world. The bubble bath that smells of lilacs.  The half drunk moscato.  The shared silk pyjamas. The slowest love making known to man at the end of the night. The best sleep he’ll have in the year because he’s in Geto’s arms.  

 

The empty bed in the morning that barely has a whisper of Geto's existence and the ugly cry that follows thereafter. 

 

But this, this is new. There, sitting pretty on Gojo's fourth finger is a ring. It's a simple platinum band with a violet amethyst in the centre, encircled by three smaller sapphires on each side, six in total. It takes a second for Gojo to understand what this means, what cryptic message Geto is leaving him, to realise just how cheesy his lover is. 

 

It fits perfectly, and the amethyst in the centre is huge, the deepest, richest purple he's ever seen, second only to a pair of eyes he would happily get lost in. Everything is cut beautifully and Gojo thinks about how much it's worth. Sapphires were precious stones and the amethyst certainly didn't look cheap. How much blood was it soaked in before Geto slipped it onto his finger?

 

Which human did he have to threaten and torture to make the perfect ring for him? What hoops did he have to jump through to find the best jeweller to create this masterpiece? What did he do to the poor jeweller after he presented him with the gorgeous piece on Gojo's finger? 

 

His Six Eyes analyse the piece of fine jewellery, flooding his brain with ridiculous amounts of information. In that overwhelming rush, he sees an engravement, four words they always say to each, four words that promise loyalty and love. Four words that never fail to make Gojo's heart flutter. 

 

My one and only

 

Tears well up in Gojo's eyes with renewed vigour, but this time it's with something bubbly and fluttery. Despair seems like such a distant memory, not when Gojo - Satoru - can't tear his eyes away from the ring. He can't really call himself Gojo anymore, can he? Obviously, he can't tell anyone about the name change, but even if he's just saying it to himself, Geto Satoru sounds like pure melody to his ears. 

 

It's not a joke anymore, not a tease to rile the other up. It's something real, a proof that rests on Satoru's finger. He knows he can't wear it out, it'd draw too much attention, but having it means the world, means carrying a piece of Suguru with him when he can't see him, even if it's hanging on a chain around his neck. 

 

A cry bubbles up in his throat and a new bout of tears, joyful, too jubilant to put into words, stream down his cheeks. 

 

"You didn't even let me say 'yes', stupid husband."