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祓う. 取り込む. その 繰り返し.
Geto leaves his hair untied.
The cicadas are screaming, clicking, crackling like embers on flesh. He’s returned to the bench by the vending machines, back to the wall with his head fallen against the window. Tsukumo’s words churn in his mind, slithering between the folds of his brain like worms. Like centipedes.
But I’m not crazy enough to do that…
He doesn’t want to think about it, not really, but the idea burns incessantly. Like an itch on the inner wall of his skull, something he knows must be left to heal but which he cannot help but scratch. A world without curses. A world without…
You shouldn’t be ashamed of losing to him.
He sighs, rolling to his feet before walking to the nearest machine. He hasn’t eaten since last night… no, since yesterday morning. He stands in front of the display, staring insensate at the plastic wrappers and saturated, sweating cans of soda.
There is something cold stirring at the root of his chest, squeezing its interior like the hands of a stranger. Something that is not hunger.
He punches a random pair of buttons and watches a small packet of mixed nuts inch forwards before tumbling into the basket. He crouches, fishing around in the machine's mouth to find his obligatory dose of calories. The sweater hangs loose, swishing as he searches before removing his hand. He stands, rips open the packet without ceremony and pours the contents into his mouth before scrunching the plastic and shoving it in his pocket. He chews but does not taste.
Satoru had been right, even back then. He has been losing weight.
Just then, Suguru spies a flash of white and blue out the window, strutting and carefree under the bright afternoon sun. It would have been hard to imagine, back then, that looking at Satoru could ever make him sad. It does, though. It has for a while. He is walking slowly, chatting away as Shoko matches pace beside him.
Shoko had needed his help with something. He cannot remember what. It may have been three or four days since he last spoke to her, and more than two weeks for Satoru. Circumstance has rendered them distant. He and Satoru took their missions alone, while Shoko had been pigeonholed by the higher-ups to be the school’s designated nurse. She rarely left Jujutsu High, in spite of the fact that she remains more capable than any grade one at exorcising curses. The ability to output reversed cursed energy makes her uniquely lethal to them.
Even so, the one’s in charge preferred her here, so here is where she remains. It used to make him angry. They used to talk about…
Suguru swallows the mouthful and turns away. The hallway seems much darker than it did just a moment ago. Suguru blinks once, twice, to let his eyes readjust. He can hear Satoru’s voice, barely peeking over the din of the summer insects, happy and irreverent as ever. Geto bites his cheek.
He begins the trek back to his dorm, as he often finds himself, alone.
The taste of vomit lingers on his tongue, no matter how long he brushes his teeth. He had absorbed a grade three this morning, a fodder curse which had wandered too close to the barrier. He told it to submit. It had.
It usually takes a day or two for the taste to diminish, but by then Suguru imagines he will already have another mission and more curses to swallow. He removes the toothbrush from his mouth and spits, little flecks of cashew and raisin from his lunch poking out of the foam. He opens the tap and runs his tongue along his teeth. Vomit. Human shit. He spits again.
He packs his toiletry bag and leaves the communal bathroom. He is a little afraid to check the mirror, flicking off the light with his head held rigidly forward. There is a vague tiredness weighing on him, coaxing him to rest, though he has learned that this exhaustion will not be cured by sleep. He will try to, anyway. It may help. It may not.
His eyes widen slightly as he rounds the corner of his dorm’s hallway. Leaning against the doorway to his room, snowy hair damp with a towel slung around his neck, is Satoru. Hearing his approach, he turns, sees Suguru, and grins. A finger twirls around a stray lock of hair.
“Long time no see, Suguru. I wondered where you’ve been hiding.”
Suguru doesn’t feel like smiling. He does anyway.
A small part of him had been dreading this.
“You’re the one who took two weeks for his mission. What curse could have you so locked up, Mr. ‘strongest’? Why is it that you happen to have the strength of a fifth-grade when you’re sent to holiday destinations?”
“Because I was sightseeing! I wore a kimono, Suguru, I went on a hike. You should have seen me! Did I exorcise the curse the first day I got there? Maybe, but who’s keeping track?”
“Yaga is, stupid,” Suguru chides as he approaches, sliding past him to open the door and push it open. He keeps his eyes very deliberately down once he gets close to him.
“Did you bring back any souvenirs, at least?”
As Suguru enters the room, tossing his bag onto the disheveled bed, he hears the door shut urgently behind him. He turns around. Satoru, eyes wide and smoldering, stands in front of him. The corner of his mouth curls wolfishly as he slides the used towel from his shoulder. “Nope,” he says, closing the distance further. “Just me.”
Satoru’s hands latch onto the collar of his t-shirt and pull him in. Suguru responds, passive at first but quickly swept into a higher gear. Satoru turns his head, grazing Suguru’s lips with his tongue before pressing hard into his mouth. Suguru pushes back, eyes closed, letting his hand snake up Satoru’s neck and taking a loose handful of his damp hair.
Chest to chest, hot breath swirling against one another’s faces. Satoru’s hands lower to his hips to bring him in closer, and Suguru feels Satoru’s hardness pressing through his loose pajama shorts.
Cool air as Satoru pulls away. Suguru’s eyes flicker open to find himself pushed backwards, buffeted by a deft and subtle use of the Limitless ‘till his legs meet the edge of the bed. He falls back against the mattress. A smirk rises to his mouth unbidden, rolling his eyes as Satoru peels his shirt over his head.
“Show off,” he mutters, propping himself on his elbows as Satoru, toned chest bare and pale with his top discarded, crawls onto the bed.
He is back on him in an instant, forcing Suguru low as hips roll while eager, starved fingers tug at the hem of his own shirt. Suguru raises his arms, lets his boyfriend undress him and toss the offending garment to the floor. Rising, looming, the hunger in Satoru’s eyes is quickly smothered as he stares at Geto’s body.
“Suguru…” he whispers, eyes lidded, his wide white palm rubbing up along his newly exposed ribs. “When did you get so thin?”
Suguru looks down at himself, at Satoru’s hand becoming familiar with the hard slope of his collarbone and the jutting peaks of his hips. Suguru sighs, the centipedes scurrying back into the black matter of his mind. He feels a lot of things in that moment, as his body is exposed and foreign to his lover. Shame. Sadness. Hatred. Not one of them is horniness.
“I…” he whispers, looking away as Satoru seeks eye contact. “I’ve been a little, um, worn down, I guess. Maybe I’ve forgotten to feel hungry.”
“Are you sick?” he probes, hands continuing to reacquaint themselves with his body. Tepid sparks, dim and lukewarm, arise from his flesh, memories of sex persuaded to emerge from Suguru’s internal darkness.
Suguru smiles a tired smile, lifting his hand to stroke Satoru’s cheek. “It’s just a little weight, my love. I’m not dying.”
“Eat, then! Eat more! Come on, you can’t remember to take care of yourself without me spoon-feeding you?”
Suguru flashes a look of incredulity as a light chuckle escapes him. “You must have forgotten, Satoru. Yaga made me your babysitter, not the other way around.”
He waves his hand in response, flippant and gorgeous. “Be reasonable. You’re not hungry? Tell me, if you could eat anything, anything in the world, right now, what would it be?”
It seems like a set up, and incredibly clumsy set up, but Suguru knows he is simply too ditsy to dote on him and flirt at the same time. Suguru moves his hand to his hip, gripping tight through his shorts to hold him in place. He grinds his hips against Satoru’s body. Blue eyes widen, as if only then remembering the position they’re in and what they had been about to do. “I already have it.”
Suguru puts a thumb in his boyfriend’s mouth and brings him low, returning those warm lips to his and guiding Satoru’s pelvis to motion. Suguru rolls his hips as they kiss, seeking friction, desperately trying to coax some life into his flaccid dick.
By the time Satoru is breathless and flushed pink, his cock pressed needily at the fly of his shorts and restless to be freed, Suguru has mostly succeeded. Satoru’s hand slips beneath his boyfriend’s waistband, making fleeting contact with his cock before pulling the sweatpants down to his thighs. He postures, lifting himself from Suguru while looking between his legs. His breath hitches when he sees the object of his desire.
Satoru takes him in his hand, stroking slowly while wriggling his own shorts lower. That’s better, Suguru thinks as he reaches under the bed, searching for then finding the small bottle of lube he keeps stashed there. His cock hardens earnestly at Satoru’s touch.
He turns back at the feel of his sensitive head grazing Satoru’s body, his boyfriend gasping needily at the contact of his length against his ass. Suguru doesn’t hate this, not by a long shot, but he cannot bring himself to match Satoru’s eagerness.
“Satoru,” he says, calling him back to attention. He looks back to find Suguru holding out the familiar bottle. Satoru bites his lip and accepts it, squeezing out a palmful and dropping the plastic beside him. He coats Suguru’s length in the cold substance before using the rest on himself. It feels nice, but he is more pleased to see Gojo getting swept up in the process.
Satoru turns back, placing a palm on a lean pectoral while guiding Suguru to his entrance. He moans as he lowers himself, hissing as he is stretched around the head of his dick. Suguru notes idly that he feels tighter than usual.
Satoru sinks halfway to the base and places his other hand, still cool with liquid, on Suguru’s oblique. He grips the muscle fervently. “Fuck,” he groans, eyes clamped shut as he adjusts to the intrusion. “I missed this.”
“Start slow, Satoru,” he whispers, wrapping his hand around the curve of his ass and squeezing gently. “It’s been a while. I can feel it.”
Satoru giggles, finally opening his eyes and wiping away a reflexive tear. “What, are you saying you’re too big for me?”
“I don’t know, ‘strongest’,” he teases. Carefully, as softly as he can, Suguru presses into him and stretches him a little further, causing Satoru’s eyes to snap closed as a low moan bubbles free from his lungs. “You tell me?”
Sensing the challenge, Satoru, eyes held shut, eases himself upwards before sinking quickly down to the base. Suguru exhales. Satoru grins and his eyes open. “Is that proof enough for you?”
Suguru smiles right back and squeezes his ass a little harder, digging his short nails into the soft flesh. “I might need some more convincing.”
It’s not long before they fall into rhythm, Satoru alternating between bouncing and grinding on Suguru’s cock while occasionally curling down to kiss him or run his tongue up the crux of his chest.
He’s sensitive after so long away, Suguru notices, and guesses it won’t be long before he comes. Suguru, by contrast, doesn’t see his own orgasm approaching any time soon.
He does his best to bring Satoru to climax, guiding his hips along and trusting when he’s given space. He kisses back when he is kissed, grabs and holds him when he wants to, pinches a nipple here and an ass cheek there. Satoru’s face is soon overtaken with pleasure, moaning softly and maneuvering Suguru’s cock to rub against his good spot.
Suguru plays up his moans a little, too, making slightly more noise than he needs to. In truth, he could probably make Satoru come on him without making a sound.
He wonders if this is how housewives feel, opening their legs for office-worker husbands night after night. Watching Satoru ride him, soft moans escaping his lips and whispering expletives, the tent of his half discarded shorts darkening with pre-cum, he realises that it’s not that bad. He can see the appeal in fucking men you love even when it’s one sided.
Just then, Satoru lowers and latches his mouth on Suguru’s, hips moving ineffectually and giving Suguru the space to drive his cock into him. He obliges, both hands gripping tight on Satoru’s hips and propping himself on his heels before giving him a series of hard, quick thrusts. A few seconds later, Satoru tumbles over the edge, cock twitching in his pants and biting Suguru’s shoulder to stifle the cries.
“Good boy,” he whispers, slowing his hips to let Satoru ride the aftershocks at his own pace. “You’re so fucking sexy when you come for me, Satoru.”
“Hmm,” he groans into his flesh. His mouth leaves him to finally suck back some air, sitting back and letting the entirety of Suguru’s length slide back inside him. Chest heaving and blissful, Satoru raises his hand to wipe away an errant bead of sweat from his forehead.
Warmth swells in Suguru’s chest. It’s unfair just how hot he is. Unfair that he is the only one to see him in this state.
Satoru’s expression shifts subtly, causing Suguru to wince.
He hopes he won’t ask.
“Did you…?”
Shit.
Suguru sighs. “Um… nah,” he replies, smiling as gently as he can. Satoru looks suddenly horrified.
“What?! Why not? Did I, did I come too quick? Did I… Jesus, did I forget how to fuck? In two weeks?!”
Suguru laughs at that, shaking his head as he replays the afterimage of Satoru’s incredibly erotic display. If he was in any other mood, were his thoughts clouded by any other obsession that the one stoked by the blonde special-grade, he would have already been sent soaring over the edge.
“It was good, Satoru, honestly. I’ve just got a lot going on right now.”
“And I’m not enough to take your mind off it?” Satoru is incredulous, expressing a disbelief which is half performance and half genuine confusion. “Did you jerk off in the shower or something?”
Suguru considers the easy-out Satoru is offering him, but in the end can’t bring himself to lie. He shakes his head with a shrug. “I’m allowed to like having sex with you even if I don’t come. I mean, how many times have we taken care of each other without asking for anything back?”
“Not when you’re inside me! When have I ever done that?”
Suguru thinks back on the times he has been the recipient, the receiver, but Satoru continues speaking before he can formulate an answer.
“No, no. I’m helping to ease your burdens one way or the other. You don’t get to fuck me and not come.”
Suguru snorts and pinches his brow. In spite of it all, in spite of Satoru’s haughtiness and isolation since that day and the emotional disquiet eating away at him, he has missed him. He is happy to be with him, near him, close to him, even if it is all so different than it once was. And even if he doesn’t feel much like fucking.
Still, he wishes he wanted this more. It’s a feeling of nostalgia for the hunger and fire of their early days which pulls sickeningly at his heartstrings. Satoru, noticing his silence, bends down and kisses him tenderly. Suguru kisses back but does not taste the sweetness.
“Talk to me,” he says, pressing their foreheads together. “What’s on your mind?”
Suguru presses his mouth into a thin line, nibbling on his bottom lip. He wonders how much he should share, how much he can share, with his own thoughts so messily bisected. How much of his darkness can Satoru handle?
In the end, he decides to fall back on the root cause. “I’ve been thinking… Thinking about Amanai. Maybe I’m going soft or something, I don’t know. I feel like it shouldn’t bother me so much. But ever since then I haven’t been able to get it out of my head. It could have gone so much better, you know? If just one or two things happened differently…”
“You know it’s not–”
“I don’t blame myself,” he says, cutting Satoru off. “Or you. We got beaten, fair and square. And I’m not sore about losing–
monkeys
–either, it’s just… I don’t know why it still eats at me. But it does. Often. I wish it didn’t.”
Satoru nods slowly, not quite able to empathise with Suguru’s burden but nonetheless receptive to his pain. “It’s really bothering you, isn’t it?”
He nods. “It’s kinda… infecting me. Everything is, like, one shade closer to grey. I feel unsure, anxious. Like, when I’m not on a mission, nothing helps me relax. Nothing has any flavour.”
Satoru looks down at him, hands pressed into his dangerously lean abdomen. His expression slackens, cold uncertainty falling across his face like sleet. “I…” he begins, then falters, eyes moving. “This isn’t helping, is it?”
It takes a moment to parse the meaning from his words. The realisation hits like sickness, disease-pain climbing the walls of his chest. Suguru begins to speak, but Gojo beats him to it.
“Shit!” he hisses and looks away, regret and anger flashing across his face. He feels guilty, Suguru realises with horror. “I’m sorry, Suguru, I–” He begins to rise but Geto holds him still, speaking, insisting that whatever notions Satoru has brewing in his head are untrue, resolutely untrue. But he is too afraid. Satoru is terrified that he has used him, taken his pleasure while Suguru lay dead and miserable beneath him.
“Goddamnit,” Satoru whispers through gritted teeth. He breaks the hold Suguru has on him and begins moving away. Suguru’s cock, still hard, begins sliding out of him. A bolt of lightning is sent hurtling up his spine.
In a flash, a brief flurry of movement, Suguru reasserts his grips on Satoru's retreating body, holding his wrist and thigh before spinning out from underneath him. Satoru blinks and finds himself suddenly on his back with Suguru above him, loose black hair spilling around his face. He won’t let it end like this. No matter how he feels.
“Sugu–?”
He is back on him, catching Satoru’s question with his mouth and tongue. He is not kind about it and spares no effort. He bites, grazes, grabs Satoru’s scalp tight with one hand while the other rips Satoru’s soiled shorts from his legs.
Naked and fully exposed, Suguru aims the head on his cock and shoves himself back inside. A shocked moan is fucked out of Satoru’s mouth, his breath stuttering as he looks up at his man, eyes wide with pupils blown.
“You wanna make me come, pretty boy?” Suguru growls, smiling at the flicker of trepidation in Satoru’s face, slowly removing his length before thrusting back to the hilt, letting the impact shudder through his body. Satoru grips the sheets, the back of his heels pressing into Suguru’s back. “You wanna help me get this off my mind? Then quit talking and let me fuck you.”
Satoru, panting again, chuckles nervously. He puts a finger in his mouth and holds it between his teeth. His cock twitches back to life, already dripping. He nods.
“Say it,” he purrs, pulling out entirely and prodding at Satoru’s entrance with the tip. Satoru groans, empty and wanton. He knows what Suguru wants to hear.
“Fuck me…”
Suguru smirks, bending down to kiss him before shoving his cock back inside. Satoru moans into his mouth, his hips ineffectually chasing Suguru as he retreats before returning violently. Suguru breaks away, thrusting slowly, staring down at Satoru’s face, pink and dotted with sweat. “Good boy.”
As they continue, and even with the bravado which Geto had used to reinitiate, he can tell his heart’s just not in it. More into it than before, maybe, but not all the way there. The closeness, the soul-to-soul contact, and the hunger most of all. It’s all too quiet. Too smothered. His lust is buried too deep to be totally felt.
It irritates him. Earlier it had seemed manageable, but now all he wants is to get lost in Satoru’s body, to reciprocate the electricity, to render Satoru an unthinking, squirming mess not only to make him feel good, but because he wants to be the one to undo him. And, most of all, he wants to come. To come with him. Inside him.
He tries to. He nibbles, pinches, puts his fingers in his mouth, far enough to trigger a gag reflex, falls in close, lets the roll of his abs tease Satoru’s cock as it is trapped between their bodies. Nothing seems to work. His climax is still far off, a vague outline of release rendered hazy by distance.
He squeezes his eyes shut, focusing every available neuron on the details of bodily sensation, forcing himself to remember the feeling of orgasm. Just come already, he spits in his mind, cursing himself and thrusting mindlessly away. How hard is it to come, you fucking moron.
Just as he resigns to fake it once Satoru finishes, warm hands appear on his face. He opens his eyes. Satoru holds him, mouth open, little gasps fucked out of his throat each time Suguru’s pelvis meets his thighs. Starving. Needy. Face flushed and shiny with sweat. Beautiful and helpless beneath him. His chest rising and falling, body dotted with red marks where Suguru’s mouth has been.
“Suguru…” Satoru’s expression is desperate. Not for release, not for more pleasure, but for him. For his Geto.
Immediately he feels that dormant fire kindle and burn, the pleasure from his cock melting his nerves and turning his blood to caramel. It’s like the charge has been primed, like he has lit a cigarette while drenched in gasoline.
He leans down urgently, presses his mouth against Satoru’s as his hips quicken their pace. He presses his forehead against his lover’s and they breathe into each other, hot pants and quiet breaths forcing gooseflesh from skin. For the first time, a genuine moan is wrought from of Suguru’s chest. He stares down at those tender blue eyes, at the soft white skin of his cheek at the strands of hair stuck to his brow. Suguru feels a sudden and desperate need to taste him, to relearn and memorise every inch of him. So he does. He licks a bead of sweat from his check, dots kisses down his chin and the column of his throat before taking the tender skin into his mouth. Biting. Sucking. Tasting blood. More blood. More skin.
Suguru relaxes his jaw and whispers expletives against his flesh. He is no longer fucking on instinct. He rises slightly and curls into Satoru, picking up a pale leg by the thigh and pinning it by Satoru’s shoulder before focusing on slow, long thrusts which bounce off Satoru’s prostate. Satoru whimpers with need, slowly becoming mindless as he feels the approach of a second orgasm.
Geto smiles, elated and warm. For the first time in months, he is happy to be alive.
In the fervor he chides himself. God, how could he have forgotten? How could it ever not be like this with him?
“I love you.” Satoru’s voice, breathless as his hand slides up Suguru’s back. “I love you so much.”
The words, so often heard and spoken between them, pour like buckets of burning oil into the chambers of Suguru’s heart. His pace increases, the verge of his orgasm no longer a vague shadow but something tantalisingly, achingly real. He wraps his arm around Satoru’s trapped leg and returns to lie against him, staring into the marbled pools of his eyes. Suguru is about to tell him, to affirm him, his own ‘I love you’ already rolling out of his mouth when he comes to the sickening, horrifying realisation that he’s about to cry.
He groans, closing his eyes again and pressing back into his boyfriend. He feels his cock harden further, his groin tightening as he chases friction in Satoru’s depths. He buries his head in the crook of Satoru’s neck as his throat tenses painfully.
“Suguru…! I’m gonna…!”
I know, he thinks, choking back the reflex which summons sobs from his panting lungs. Me too, my love. My dearest. My one and only.
He can feel it coming over him, his cock twitching and thighs tensing, an enormous and long overdue wave of pleasure moments away which he is ready to drown in. His pulse thunders rhythmically in his ears. Meek little moans getting shoved out of Satoru, pinned underneath him. The wet slaps of their bodies colliding.
It sounds like applause.
He lets go, a shuddered moan cut free from his throat as his orgasm hits with the force of a shotgun. He is dimly aware of Satoru’s nails carving into his back as he spills hot cum into his body, continuing to thrust deeper and harder as Satoru’s cock spasms, wetness and warmth coating the space between their bodies. Suguru moans in his ear, continuing to fuck him slowly as he rides out the orgasm, eyes squeezed tight to stop the tears but its too late. They are escaping, burning like acid, forced between his eyelids before falling to the bedsheet.
Suguru’s moans weaken, hitch, then stutter into sobs.
It takes Satoru a long moment, hazy from his peak, to realise what is happening.
“Suguru?”
He wants to apologise but cannot. The afterglow of pleasure receding, the muscles of his groin still constricting, Suguru is rendered mute, his chest heaving violently as tears spill unbidden from his eyes. He tries to stay quiet. He tries. He really, really tries.
But he can't.
Panicked, Satoru shifts back and wraps his arms around him, questioning and worried while interlacing coos and ‘it’s okay’s while pulling him close. Suguru shatters in his embrace. He holds him, clings to him, squeezes him tighter as though Satoru’s body is the only thing keeping him tethered to earth. He cries, his body wrung and twisted with sobs as the centipedes spill from his skull and slither down his spine.
He doesn’t know how long he cries. In the throes of it, sobbing mindlessly while Satoru kisses him and tells him he loves him, he believes wholeheartedly that it might last forever.
But it can only last so long.
He falls asleep like that, messy and slick with tears burning his cheeks, wracking cries unfurling to whimpers and then the unconscious rhythm of sleep. Satoru whispers in his ear, holding him like something fragile, as though he might disappear at any moment.
In his dreams he is back in the field. Back on a mission. He swallows the pregnancies of human sorrow and hatred and houses them in his gut. He is back on the train. Back in the alleyways. Back beneath dead torii gates. Back on his own. Alone.
Exorcise. Absorb. Over and over.