Chapter Text
Mei Mei crossed her legs, leaning deeper into the velvet cushions of the cigar lounge as she tilted her head towards Gojo and Utahime in amusement. It was the middle of the afternoon — Utahime had come from school, and Gojo had come from the gym. They both looked incongruous against the backdrop of Mei Mei’s members-only club.
“Well, frankly, I’m impressed," she purred. "I didn't know that you two could be so enterprising."
Utahime shifted uncomfortably in her seat, glancing at Gojo.
"How much did you see?" she asked anxiously.
"I'm surprised at you, Utahime, for not thinking I'd see any of this? Was I not the one that brought Gojo's account to the attention of the group?" Mei Mei was deeply amused. "And, well, since then, I've been seeing some... interesting things on both your accounts."
"I suppose you would have seen our collab," Gojo said smoothly, wondering if he could pass this off as just business under Mei Mei’s shrewd eye.
"That and... quite a few other things, actually," Mei Mei drawled, bringing the cigar to her lips. She let the smoke escape in a thin trail through her teeth, watching their reactions. "Not just one collab, was it?"
"We weren't really trying to hide it," Gojo said, shrugging. "it's a public platform, after all."
"But you weren't talking about it with your friends either, were you?" Mei Mei said with a smirk.
"You didn't ask," Gojo shot back.
"So you would have told us?" Mei Mei arched a brow, and Gojo paused.
"Perhaps," he said, after a moment. "You were the one saying Utahime should do it in the first place."
"Did I mean, 'do it with Gojo?' though?" Mei Mei asked with an arch of her eyebrow.
"It wasn't...with Gojo at the outset," Utahime pointed out stiltedly. "It was my own thing, and then we realised it would be very lucrative to team up occasionally."
Mei Mei took a deep drag of her cigar, settling back into the cushions, watching them with feline languor.
"Oh, I saw the first few videos. You definitely were doing your own thing. That was a solo effort, right?"
"Yeah, why?" Utahime was defensive.
"Nothing, I was just curious about something, but it’s probably nothing," Mei Mei replied with a dry smile.
"Well, Gojo helped me set things up and made a few stylistic decisions."
Mei Mei's smile was slow.
"You don't say," she drawled.
Gojo swallowed, getting a bit agitated for the first time.
"What did you think of it?" he asked bluntly, wondering what would characterise Mei Mei's toying with them — amusement or reproach.
He wondered if it would be friendly blackmail, as only Mei Mei could manage.
"What did I think of it?" Mei Mei tilted her head back, her dark eyes glimmering. "I liked the aesthetic, of course. The lighting was beautiful, and I loved the aesthetic contrast ... her hair, your hair, big and small."
Gojo's breath caught, and he felt a little lightheaded as he realised truth was rushing into the fantasy in more ways than one, turning dreams into hard stone in the daylight. He could hear his blood whooshing in his ears, and his mouth was suddenly very dry.
"You thought it was… aesthetically pleasing?"
"Of course, Gojo," she murmured ironically. "I think Utahime’s presence elevated the tone of your jerk-off videos substantially. You weren't really playing into your potential before."
Gojo's jaw was tense, and Utahime reached out to rub her hand soothingly across his thigh under the table. He looked at her in surprise, and her gaze was soft.
"You two look like a power couple," Mei Mei continued, taking another slow drag of her cigar, and exhaling, watching them from under her lashes. "It's sexy."
"Is that all?" Gojo asked, growing agitated. “That’s all you want to say? You think we look good on camera?”
"What more would you want?"
"Well, you could tell us what you plan to do with this information?" Utahime cut in.
Mei Mei smiled cryptically.
"What do you think I should do with this information?" she asked, watching Gojo carefully, measuring, smiling through cigar smoke.
"Yes, what do you plan to do with it? Will you blackmail us or something?" Utahime asked in a small voice.
"Why on earth would I do that?" Mei Mei asked in amusement. "Why would I blackmail a friend over this?"
"Then why are you bringing it up?" Utahime asked, getting a little heated.
"Because I wanted to see what the two of you would say about it," Mei Mei answered. "To gauge your reaction, to see how you're handling things, and what you've got planned for the future."
"Why do you care about our plan for the future?" Gojo asked impatiently.
Mei Mei's gaze hardened a little.
"I think you know the answer to that Gojo," she said tersely. "And I rather doubt that it hasn't been something you've already discussed."
Gojo looked down at his lap, and Utahime bit her lip.
"So what now, then?"
"Do you want to tell the group?" Utahime asked cautiously.
Mei Mei raised her eyebrow.
"You mean, tell Shoko. She's the only one who doesn't know."
"Nanami knows already?"
Mei Mei stalled only slightly as she flicked away ash from her cigar.
"Yes, Nanami knows. I told him."
"Why did you tell him ?" Gojo asked, narrowing his eyes. “And not Shoko?”
Mei Mei smiled, almost to herself and took a delicate drag of her cigar, letting the smoke fall languidly out of her mouth.
"Nanami and I...well, we're a little like you and Utahime, Gojo," she murmured wryly. "We understand one another."
The cogs turned slowly, but it all clicked into place at the end, the mechanism working in the background the whole time.
"Really?" Gojo blinked in surprise, his mind racing. "For how long?"
Mei Mei shrugged and glanced at her nails, a wry smile twisting her mouth.
"Long enough," she replied.
"Since university?"
Mei Mei shrugged.
"Before that, actually. Always," she purred. "But I'm not one to get sentimental."
"Wow," Gojo exhaled.
"Does this mean that you and Nanami are…official?" Utahime asked tentatively, never shy of questions.
"Not official," Mei Mei laughed, her teeth glittering. "What the fuck does that mean, Utahime?"
"Then...what…?" Utahime's voice trailed off.
"I have other arrangements, and Nanami is often busy. We just get on," she shrugged. "We understand each other. And we love each other."
Utahime's eyes widened at the mention of the word.
"Love?"
Mei Mei smirked, taking a quick sip of her whisky, the ice moving, thawing to a new age.
"Yes, Utahime. Love," she said, simply, looking amused. "Don't look so surprised. It's not a dirty word. Nanami is my oldest friend, and the sex is very good. That's all you need to know."
Utahime was quiet, mulling this over.
"Why keep it secret?" Gojo demanded suddenly.
"There's a difference, Gojo, darling, between secret and private."
"What's the difference, then?" he snapped.
"If it's secret, it's something you feel ashamed of. Something you're afraid of. Something you're worried about."
"And this isn't a secret?"
"No, it's not a secret. It's not everyone else's business," Mei Mei drawled, taking another deep inhale of her cigar. "Is that what's happening with you two? Is it secret or is private?"
Gojo felt his cheeks grow a little hot, his chest feeling tight.
"I'm not ashamed of it," he offered to the silence.
"No, but are you afraid of it?"
Gojo looked at Utahime, her dark eyes large and warm, watching him closely. Neither Gojo nor Utahime answered, and Mei Mei hummed, eyebrows raised as she tapped ash into the tray.
"Very interesting indeed," she murmured. "So the chemistry is real. I thought that the intimacy was very open and vulnerable. It's very different from your normal style, Gojo. In life and in cam work."
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"You're usually so closed off and insouciant," Mei Mei explained, waving her cigar in the air. "In real life, of course, but that characterises your videos as well. You were so removed, even when you were supposedly drawing an audience into an intimacy with you. You're not like that with Utahime. It's like you've finally learnt to show your cards."
Gojo looked down at his overpriced soda, swirling the glass and watched the liquid swirl around the ice, bubbles fizzing up like thoughts.
"I've always shown my cards," he mumbled, defensively, his heart thudding.
"You've always pretended like you play with them face-up, Gojo, but you've never shown them," Mei Mei said, her gaze sharp and cutting. "And the moment Utahime entered the picture, you couldn't be those things. It all fell apart immediately."
"That's a bit dramatic," Gojo grumbled, his cheeks reddening.
"No, it's not," Mei Mei said shortly. "And now I have to ask the real question, and I want you to think very hard about the answer. You two are making some serious money from your account. Do you still plan on working together in the future?"
Gojo glanced at Utahime, who was looking at him nervously.
"Yes," he said, not looking at Mei Mei. "For now at least."
"I see," she nodded. "Well, that's good. It would be a shame for things to end. I always hate it when something lucrative dries up."
"Are you going to tell everyone about this?" Utahime blurted out.
"Well, that is a good question. Are you sure you don't want to beat me to it?"
"We should tell Shoko," Utahime said hesitantly. "But I'm afraid to."
"Because of what happened between her and Suguru?" Mei Mei asked, with an arch of her eyebrow again.
Utahime bit her lip, her eyes shining, as she nodded slowly.
"Hmm, I see," Mei Mei said, running her tongue over her teeth. "You see, that's the fundamental flaw in your thinking, you two."
"What is?"
"Thinking that one person's situation has any bearing on your own. That one person's actions and mistakes will somehow colour the outcome of your own."
Gojo stared, his heart seeming to stop and then gallop to make up for the interruption.
"But what if it's true?" Utahime murmured softly.
"You know it's not true, Utahime," Mei Mei replied impatiently. "That's the point. If you keep hiding things because you're afraid of how...your friends will react, they'll eventually find out the truth anyway and not in the way you'd like."
Utahime nodded, biting her lip.
A silence settled in which Gojo could feel something pushing through the centre of his chest. The prickle, the excitement he usually felt in the depth of his belly, was shooting, springing upwards and displacing everything. For the first time, the feeling that he felt when he saw Utahime was not contained. It was moving, unfurling, the seed coat pulling back, and it pushed away any pretensions of neatness in his mind. There could be no order, no compartments when there was this .
"I'll keep it to myself if you want," Mei Mei was saying, her voice low, almost husky. “I've also instructed some of my boyfriends to make a few contributions on my behalf. As a token of goodwill."
"Mei Mei," Gojo's throat was very dry. "That's fucking weird."
Something was moving into place agreeably in his mind.
"It's just a tip, Gojo, darling," Mei Mei said innocently. "You don't really deserve to be paid for something that's not hard work."
"It's—"
"It's not hard work, is it?" Mei Mei said. "You're not selling your bodies like you think you are."
And then it shifted into place in Gojo's mind with a satisfying click.
"No, not when we collaborate, no.”
"What is it then, Gojo?"
Gojo remembered a conversation with all his friends in a bar in a time that felt like a different world when he had consoled Shoko about her misadventures in love, explaining how being all in with someone changed everything, it mitigated the effort. That’s what he was with Utahime, he realised — all in, loving, fully subscribed.
"It's not hard work, not for me, not for her," Gojo answered, glancing at Utahime.
Mei Mei smiled slyly, tipping forward to put her delicate chin in the palm of her hand.
"No, I don't believe that it is."
>>>
"So," Gojo said softly, walking beside Utahime along the busy street. "I suppose—"
Utahime's eyes flicked up to his, her eyebrows slanted in concern. There was a red ribbon in her half-up hair and it caught the cherry gloss of her lips. Gojo's voice stuttered to an abrupt halt.
They started at one another, the breeze shifting their hair. And then Utahime smiled a very small smile, something decided.
"Will you come with me to the costume shop?" she asked quietly when he didn't carry on speaking.
"Uh, yeah, if you like," he mumbled. "What are you getting? School supplies?"
Her mouth curved in a different kind of smile and she looked back down.
"No, I need a new mask."
Gojo swallowed.
"Oh," he nodded. "For your videos."
Maybe the last one had been ruined in the shower that they took together for the gratification of her subscribers.
"Yeah," she said, her voice strangely resonant. "And I need your help to figure out which one is best."
They turned into the shop and were greeted by the sales clerk, a bored-looking girl with pink streaks in her black hair and a stud through her bottom lip.
"Anything I can help you find today?" she drawled, leaning against the counter and chewing on her gum.
"Not yet," Utahime smiled.
The girl nodded and went back to her phone, the bubble of her gum loud in the quiet. Gojo followed Utahime in a kind of daze, his eyes trained on her red ribbon, leading him like a tether through the stacks. There was a group of school girls giggling at something to the left, and a mother with a shopping basket on one arm and a toddler on the other, looking at unicorn onesies and party hats.
"What about this?" Utahime asked, her finger on the end of a plain white sculpted mask.
"Yeah," Gojo murmured, his gaze lingering on the edge of her ear. "That's great."
"What colour?"
"Whatever you like."
"Gojo," she sighed, her fingers closing around the mask and turning. "You're not being helpful."
He shrugged, smiling a little.
"If I show you how to blur your face out, you wouldn't need to wear the mask."
"But the mask is part of the look, right?" she said, chewing her bottom lip, making it redder, drawing his eye. "You suggested it."
Gojo rubbed the back of his head.
"I actually think Mei Mei suggested it originally," he exhaled, hoping he'd be able to inhale again. "I added the other stuff."
"Like what?"
He was suddenly very aware of their surroundings, of the mother with the shopping basket, of the girls in the aisle behind Utahime.
"The garters and the...you know...the lingerie."
She was watching him intently and he suddenly wanted to put his hand on her waist and press his mouth to hers, making her stop talking about videos and sex acts with him that were only half real.
And in that moment, the earth shifted. Gojo smiled.
"Why was Mei Mei so interested in the fact that you did that?" she asked softly. "Why did she find it amusing that you picked my look?"
Gojo rubbed his eyes, no longer feeling like the prickle in his belly could be constrained. Or that it ought to be. He felt something like the relief of stretching his legs after a flight.
"Because I picked exactly what I liked," he replied steadily, the truth evening out his voice.
"Yes, I know, that's why I asked you to. Because you're always bragging that you know what people like."
"No, Utahime. You're not listening," he said with a slow smile. "I chose things that I like. I made you into my fantasy."
The red ribbon and her cherry lips were the only things in focus, the world around them a muted blur. The girls laughing. The mother putting the onesie and the hat back on the shelf.
"Oh," she murmured. "So Suri...is just for you?"
Gojo felt like all the air had been pushed out of him, because Utahime was holding his gaze steadily. His sweatshirt, which had been far too casual for the cigar lounge where they had met Mei Mei for their confrontation, now felt too warm.
He had opened his mouth to reply when a movement at the corner of his eye cracked his attention against the rock of intruding reality.
"Ms. Iori?"
Utahime's gaze snapped to the left. Gojo's thoughts seemed weighed down by the treacle of his blood, thickened by this fluttering, hopeful emotion. It took him a second longer than it should have to shift his gaze from her face to the source of the interruption.
A boy in school uniform with a dark hair.
Utahime looked shocked, her lips parting and her grip suddenly tightening on the mask she was holding.
"Oh, hi Megumi," she stammered, trying to smile.
Her racing thoughts were clear to Gojo suddenly because he knew her anxiety around her little side hustle and the school. He knew she'd see all this as incriminating evidence, and that the logical conclusion was foregone. He knew that she would think that this was tantamount to being discovered.
"Are you also involved in the play production?" Megumi asked, his expression serious but blinking too much.
Nervous too.
Utahime let out a breath, her eyes flicking from Megumi to Gojo.
"Uuh..." Utahime was spiralling, her face pale.
Gojo wondered suddenly if this was the boy who Utahime thought had seen her phone on her desk. He gazed at the kid, a new theory germinating.
"Hi," Gojo smiled his most charming smile, his hand sliding into Utahime's waist and drawing her closer. "I'm Gojo. I'm Ms. Iori's boyfriend."
The effect was immediate. The boy's green eyes widened in surprise, and then a strange pallor came over his features. His gaze was rooted on Gojo's hand around Utahime's waist and then a furious blush flooded his cheeks. Megumi dragged his eyes up to Gojo's face.
"Pleased to meet you," he said, his voice clipped.
It shouldn't have amused Gojo as much as it did.
"Nice to meet you," Gojo smiled, watching the kid's gaze flick again to the way his arm was possessively around Utahime.
Utahime was staring at Gojo like he'd lost his mind, as he casually took the mask away from her and put it back on the shelf. Megumi's eyes didn't follow the movement. His gaze was trained on Gojo's arm around Utahime. Gojo wondered why he did it. He wondered if he was jealous of this kid. It had tumbled out of his mouth by some strange reflex, as if what Utahime required of him in times of need was for him to pretend to be more than he actually was to her.
"Ms. Iori is a great...teacher," Megumi said suddenly.
Gojo was surprised at the intensity of the boy's statement, his green eyes burning.
"Yes," Gojo nodded, feeling strangely serious. "I know."
The kid blinked a few times, then cleared his throat. Gojo grinned, realising this boy was being protective.
"We all love her. The whole class," Megumi continued, his jaw tight.
"Yeah," Gojo agreed, unable to keep his smile in check, imagining that this schoolboy was suggesting that he’d set the whole pack of teenagers on him if he put a foot wrong.
The boy was besotted. It was cute. And Gojo realised what she was risking by doing what they did.
"Anyway, nice to meet you," Megumi mumbled, starting to walk backwards.
"See you at school, Megumi," Utahime suddenly regained her voice.
Megumi's blush deepened. He gave a quick wave and then turned on his heel and scurried away. Gojo was smiling in deep amusement when he finally looked at Utahime's incredulous face. She didn't pull out of his grip.
"Oh no, oh fuck," she stammered. "It was him. He's the one who saw my phone. Fuck, he knows! Gojo! He knows!" Utahime hissed, growing breathless with panic.
"Hey," Gojo said soothingly, gripping her shoulders and pulling her to face him. "Calm down, you're overreacting. That boy knows nothing. And even if he did, he cares too much about your dignity to ever tell anyone."
"But he saw the phone! He knows! And he's here now, he's seen me shopping for a mask."
"Hime," Gojo said, stroking her hair back. "He didn't see shit on your phone. He didn't even notice the mask."
Utahime's eyes were still wide with worry.
"You didn't see his face when he saw my arm around you," Gojo smiled, his hands sliding down her arms to her wrists. "He's just got a crush on you."
"No," she protested, frowning. "No, he doesn't. He's just a good student."
Gojo chuckled.
"No, he would have reacted to me too if he'd seen your videos. He was shocked when I touched you. Like, he couldn't believe I'd taken the liberty."
"That...that doesn't..."
"You think he'd be so shocked if he'd already seen what we'd done on camera?" Gojo said reasonably. "He was mad at me for touching you. Because he's jealous."
"But...he...but," Utahime shook her head.
"Utahime," Gojo said softly. "This is why you have a mask."
"What? Because the students are all lusting after me?"
Gojo laughed, squeezing her hands.
"No, because people don't recognise you," he said soothingly. "He was shocked to see you because he wasn't expecting to. Not because he knows you're a cam girl. Just that you're an adult and have a life outside of school and that's always profoundly shocking to a high schooler for some reason."
"You're sure?" she asked, her voice wavering.
"Yeah, and we're leaving this place now."
Gojo led her out of the shop and onto the street. He stopped her just outside, in the sun, and pulled her towards him.
"I was scared," she murmured, her eyes wide.
"It's okay, you're safe," he said softly. "I promise."
Utahime swallowed and nodded. Her hands were gripping the front of his sweatshirt and her lips were parted and red. Gojo couldn’t resist sliding his fingertips along her cheekbone to her temple, tucking them into the soft hair above her ear.
"Let's go get a coffee," he suggested, trying to sound friendly as his voice shook a little, his thumb stroking her cheek.
She nodded, still rattled, but didn’t move. They stood still on the pavement, with people streaming around them, looking at each other. A soft breeze lifted Utahime’s bangs and Gojo remembered what it was like to see the whole sweet oval of it under the shower stream and how it turned to wax when she slept.
He opened his mouth to speak, but suddenly, his phone started ringing in the pocket of his jeans, and insistent buzzing against his leg.
"Who is it?" Utahime asked faintly, still gripping his sweatshirt, her eyes fixed on the pocket.
Gojo fished it out of his pants, wincing when he saw the number.
"It's my grandmother," he muttered.
"Answer it!"
"No," he said, rejecting the call and putting the phone back in his pocket.
"Gojo," she said, frowning.
The phone started to ring again.
"Answer it," she urged softly.
And Gojo looked at Utahime's face tilted up to his, her sweet chin angled, her eyes wide and her face still pale, making her cherry lips seem even redder. There was no longer a prickle, but a surety.
He answered the phone because she’d asked him to.
"Satoru," his grandmother's voice came across the line, tinny and strident before he had even greeted her.
"Hello," he replied, watching Utahime's expression shift a little, her gaze dropping to where she was still holding the front of his sweatshirt tightly.
"You're a difficult boy to get a hold of," his grandmother complained. "And we have matters to discuss."
"Such as?"
"Your progress on getting your father to accept the plea bargain."
Gojo looked up at the blue sky above their heads and closed his eyes wearily.
"My father has made it abundantly clear that he wants no part of a plea bargain," he sighed. "And I want to wash my hands of this."
"You will come to see me about this," his grandmother said tersely.
"Gran, I really don't want to discuss this—"
"I will be in the city on Friday, we will meet up then."
"Gran," he sighed. "I'm really busy, and I don't—"
"Nonsense," she interrupted. "I'm sure you can manage the time between going to the gym and doing nothing. We will meet for a late lunch. Hiromi will set it up."
With that, the line went dead.
Gojo shuddered out a sigh, wearied by the prospect of another frustrating meeting with people who hoped to push him from pillar to post with the tether of money.
Utahime gazed up shyly at him, looking like she was trying to think of what to say, looking calm now.
"I actually have to go," she said softly, her smile gentle.
"No coffee?" Gojo said quietly, his heart clenching slightly at the sight of the late afternoon sunshine touching the top of her head like a blessing.
"Another time," she said, her eyes glowing. "But I'll see you on Saturday right?"
"Saturday?"
"To film," she whispered. "I owe you one more video, remember."
Gojo felt his blood surge, feeling a little sickly at the idea of going backwards.
“We don’t have to—”
“One more video, Satoru,” she said, her smile gentle and her eyes soft. “Please.”
"Okay, Hime. I'll be there."
"Walk me to the metro," she said softly, and Gojo's heart was suddenly in disarray, all attempts at reason frustrated by her pretty mouth smiling, her nose crinkling slightly as she grinned and then tucked the grin away.
They walked a little further and Gojo tried to resume what he had tried to say when they had emerged from the cigar lounge.
"Hime, I guess—"
Utahime turned her eyes up to his and his words failed him again, getting a glint of distant neon in her eyes, the orange sunlight washing all the blue out of her smooth, pretty face. There was a storm brewing somewhere in the distance, and the heat of the city sucked in all the fervent, humid warmth of it.
"Hm?"
"I suppose we're not really..." he stopped, clearing his throat, trying to ignore the tightness that was settling at the base of his throat, the tingling feeling that was creeping up his spine.
"We're not really what?"
"Not secret. We’re private," he said, his heart pounding, his breath shallow. "That's what Mei Mei said."
"I heard," she said, a little smile playing around her lips. “Just private.”
"Hime..."
"Why don't you hold my hand?" Utahime offered quietly.
He blinked, looking down at Utahime extending her pretty hand to him. The sunlight caught the bee signet ring, momentarily blinding him.
"Huh?"
"Here," she said, reaching out and grasping his fingers, slipping them between hers.
Her hands were warm and dry, soft. Her grip was firm, her fingers curling around his. The spaces in between his fingers prickled with the strangely sensual friction of her fingers sliding in between them.
Pretty, slender fingers.
"Oh," Gojo almost stammered, looking down at where their hands joined.
He was suddenly overcome, feeling too much, scared and elated and feeling ridiculous about it.
"Hime, I don't think..."
"What?"
"This is probably a bad idea," he said softly, his hand flexing against hers, trying to hold it even closer.
"Why?"
Gojo swallowed.
"Because it's going to be really fucking hard to walk you to the station without kissing you."
She stopped, her feet stuttering. When he looked at her, her mouth was parted and her cheeks were flushed prettily — a new coral shade, a tone made from the sunset, a new one.
"Gojo," she murmured, her voice a little husky.
"Hm?"
"It's okay," she said softly, her lips turning into a smile.
"What is?"
"To kiss me," she said, her lips closing around the words and her gaze steady.
Gojo swallowed, staring, feeling the fully unfurled branches of the thing that had shot down roots in his guts, the thing that had once been just a prickle of excitement, shake itself out in the full noon sunshine of her soft gaze.
He took a step closer, his thumb rubbing the back of her hand, the skin silky smooth, too scared to trust his luck.
"Here," she offered. "It's less...noticeable if we do it here."
She stepped to the side and led him into an alcove that was mostly hidden by an advertising board.
"Hime," he rasped, the sound of the city strangely muffled by the scaffolding. "Don't."
She smiled impishly up at him, and then a little more uncertainty, glow-eyed, chewing her lip.
"Why?"
"Because it's going to make me a little crazy," he whispered. “Remember what I was like in the shower?”
"Then kiss me quickly," she said softly, her hand sliding up his arm and squeezing his bicep, following the movement of her hand, getting lost in the look of her hand on his arm and the texture of the fabric of his sweatshirt as if this was visually arresting to her.
"Hime," he muttered, his voice barely audible, making her eyes snap up to his.
"Satoru, kiss me," she whispered, her hand gripping his wrist and drawing his arm around her waist. "Before you see sense."
She smiled, a little wobbly, and Gojo's heart was suddenly galloping in his chest, and all the breath was pushed out of him once more.
He didn't care that anyone could see them tucked into the alcove because his mind was consumed with the sensation of his arm curling around her soft waist in her teacher clothes. Gojo looked down at her, taking stock, and then his body simply gave in to the force of gravity. He took a step forward, crowding her against the masonry of the building, making her breath hitch as her head pressed into the wall. He slipped his hands under her hair, framing her face.
"Oh," she murmured, her lips parting, glass-eyed with emotion. “Satoru.”
He stroked her cheeks with both his thumbs and then leaned down, his mouth hovering above hers. She closed her eyes, folding down her restraint like night hours for flowers.
Gojo pressed his mouth against hers, kissing softly, too desperate at the last to only brush against the soft parting of her lips. She exhaled shakily through her nose, her grip tremblingly tight on his arms. He almost gasped, feeling the heat of her lips parting, love-mouthed, slick. She pressed her soft body to him, her hands slipping around his neck, her tongue pushing into his mouth, licking in and stroking his.
She tasted gentle, a sweet water. She felt like silk to kiss, sensuously smooth against his mouth, the trembling friction of heart and nerves. Gojo felt a joy too acute to not be painful as well.
His pulse was pounding in his ears as she tipped up onto her toes so that her small hands could slip through his hair as they kissed. She softly gave room, his body gently took space.
As Gojo kissed her, his hands on her waist and his tongue in her mouth, he didn't give a fuck about the people walking past, the hiss of traffic or the fact that her phone was ringing again in her purse.
Her mouth was heaven.
Soft, his.
Reluctantly, Utahime pulled back from the kiss, making an annoyed grumble as she yanked her phone out of her silly little handbag. Gojo, with the taste of Utahime’s lipgloss on his lips, could only smile, blinking through singed synapses, tense joy.
"It's Shoko," she said gently, swallowing, brown eyes made deep with signification, made darker by emotion, like how the rain made the earth darker.
"You have to go," he guessed, his hands on her waist, dazed, smiling uncertainly.
"Yeah," she whispered. "I need to have a conversation with her."
"Okay," he said, trying to catch his breath.
He wanted to say something, but his head was swimming and he was suddenly dizzy. Happy and fearful.
"Walk me to the metro," she repeated huskily.
And her fingers slid between his with no hesitation this time. Gojo did not need to look at how their hands joined, because he could feel it. They walked to the metro station entrance in the comfortable silence that they routinely enjoyed. Nothing needed to be said.
"I'll come to your place on Saturday," she murmured when they reached the steps.
"Uh, yeah..."
Gojo's heart sank slightly, suddenly uncomfortable with the idea of filming with her, confused by her intention and feeling all his emotions at once like a mêlée.
But Utahime went up onto her toes suddenly and pressed her mouth to his, a fleeting kiss.
"Goodbye, Satoru," she whispered.
And then she was gone and he watched her red bow through the crowd, unable to stop smiling.
Gojo fished his phone out of his pocket again, returning the call, clouds breaking. It seemed simple now as the foot traffic surged around him.
“Satoru? What is it?”
“Gran, I’ve made an important decision,” he breathed into the phone.
“I’m very busy, Satoru. We can discuss these matters on Friday.”
“No, we don’t have to. Keep the money. Keep it all. I don’t need it.”
“Satoru—”
“No, I want to be free of you. You can’t buy me. I’m done.”
The line clicked to silence and his phone became an object in his hand again, instead of the source of every fear and every woe. Gojo smiled at its passivity, switching it off and turning to lose himself in the crowd of the commuters.
>>>
Gojo felt the new shaking feeling in his chest, the one that had its roots in an agreeable prickle down the centreline of his body, as he walked up the familiar sidewalk to her building. He tried to rub the smile off his face while he waited on the street for Utahime to answer the buzzer. The rain was starting to fall in fat drops, the heat of the pavement sucking them down, a summer storm and he didn’t even try to huddle in the shelter of the eaves of the building.
He felt a strange effervescence in his mind, a buoyancy, hope caught in the leaves of this thing in his chest. Everything was suspended, atoms in a drop of water, and nothing touched the floor any longer. There were no compartments, just the chaos of feeling and the lightness of nothing weighing any of it to the floor of his mind.
Utahime buzzed him in, the stairs took him no time.
And then she opened the door to him, smiling shyly, cheeks flushed in bashful anxiety. Her hair was in a bow, her lips smooth and glossy, a pretty little sundress on and her feet bare. Gojo, propelled forward all the way to her flat from the metro, suddenly stalled in the centre of her living room, eyes wide. She tilted her head in curiosity, and then she went up on her toes, her hands on his chest, and kissed his mouth.
Gojo had to blink, his grin slow, as Utahime eased down onto the flats of her feet, monitoring his expression.
“Hi,” he said, his smile incredulous.
“Hey,” she grinned.
How strange it was to feel like they were meeting as they always would - not a fraction of their intimacy surrendered to the anticipation he felt. He was still himself, and she was still herself, and the bonds that had always bridged them were still in place. But now Gojo realised that he had permission, he had access, to touch her face gently. Her eyes widened a little as his palm settled against her jaw and he smoothed his thumb over her cheeks. Maybe everything was permitted now? Every gentle touch he could think of.
He slid his fingertips a little higher, poised on the slope of her cheekbone.
And maybe she would let him kiss her again like he wanted to. Like they had kissed in the lee of the building on the busy street, private, not secret.
But Utahime was looking at him curiously and Gojo wondered if his thoughts were written so plainly on his face.
Then she turned her face, just slightly, and kissed his hand. And she reached for his other hand, her fingers threading through his.
Utahime smiled at him again, calm, sweet.
"Stop," she whispered, smiling, breathless. "You're grinning like a moron."
"I am," he admitted.
His heart felt swollen, puffed with a quiet joy, because she had kissed him.
"You look so pretty," Gojo said, grinning. "I keep meaning to tell you when I see you but you make me lose my train of thought."
"You keep meaning to tell me?"
"Yeah, for a few years now," he murmured, pressing his thumb against her lips, grinning sheepishly as this oversight was in the same category of sins as being late to meet her at the metro.
Utahime closed her eyes to the sensation of his thumb against her lips, sighing softly, and Gojo felt the air shudder in his lungs. Long, thick eyelashes rested on her flushed cheeks. Everything was so soft about her beauty, he realised, so agreeable to look at. A thread of tension pulled tight through the scene for the first time, some zipping down the centre - desire.
"Why is it so scary to get what I want?" she whispered with her eyes closed.
Gojo dipped his head, his lips hovering over hers, his thumb moving to the corner of her mouth, to the dip where her smile often curved up wryly.
"Does it feel like unnecessary largesse?" he teased, husky, feeling his arousal flicker to life in his belly.
She nodded, a tiny smile on her face, eyes cracking open like a small dawn.
"Like you ordered too many pizzas."
"Is this your roundabout way of telling me that you'll let me kiss you now?" he grinned, his fingers still holding her chin. "A simile about pizzas."
Utahime's cheeks were hot.
"Yes," she whispered.
And it was the last thing Gojo heard before her mouth met his.
The kiss was careful, delicate, a little bit hesitant. Gojo felt her lips move tentatively and he responded, a small, questioning movement that gave way to a soft, searching pressure. Utahime made a small, breathy sound against his lips and Gojo pressed a little closer, his hand moving back to the side of her face, his other hand still laced in hers.
His heart was pounding in his ears, a thundering rhythm. His mouth was soft against hers, a question, a query, an invitation, and his fingers were curled lightly against her jaw. His palm slid down her neck, feeling vital blood in her artery, feeling her excitement, fear and happiness throb in unison with his as he pressed his thumb gently against her windpipe, mapping her swallow of a round emotion.
It was like kissing her had always been.
And it was a kiss, a real one, a soft, tender press of mouths. A sweet, slow drag of his lips.
The world tilted, his body eased towards hers, and she moved, and they were pressed together. He could feel himself respond to her body on a molecular level, every fibre leaning into her, flowers tracking the sun. She gasped against his mouth as their kiss turned heated, his palm sliding down to squeeze her tits.
Her arms were around his neck and Gojo could smell her, the sweet perfume and the fresh scent of her shampoo, an arc in her body, a press, a sweet desperation. He rocked his hips into her, his erection rubbing against her stomach, his tongue in her mouth. She made a soft, helpless sound, her lips parting further for him, her hips rocking back.
"Oh, Satoru," she breathed, pulling back from his mouth, her eyes glossy.
He kissed her throat, the soft skin of her neck, and his fingers were on the straps of her dress. He'd tear them, he realised, he'd get frantic. God, if she made any more breathless noises, if she touched him over his clothes, if she bit the sensitive skin beneath his jaw - he'd lose sight of the things that he wanted. Because there were things that he wanted, anchoring things. Things to make this indelible. But if she were to slide her hands under his t-shirt, he'd want to fuck her on the floor where they stood.
"I don't...want to do this on the couch," he gulped, the only way to explain it when he could hardly breathe through the sheer force of his want of her.
She was staring at him, eyes wide, and he watched her pupils dilate, a flush down her throat, and he wondered how much she was thinking about his cock right then. He wondered if she was imagining what he'd feel like inside of her. He could feel a little bit of moisture seep from the head of his cock and his mouth fell open.
Utahime reached up and kissed him briefly, almost chaste, before she settled onto the flats of her bare feet again.
"Do you know how many times I've touched myself and thought about you?" she breathed, her eyes bright and curious.
"No," he managed, his throat dry, his voice a low, rough sound.
"I watched all your videos," she whispered, starting to walk backwards slowly. "I think about the way you look when you come all the time. It's addictive."
Gojo felt his body move towards her, following in her slipstream, mesmerised, choked on the miracle, words faltering as she moved slowly backwards, leading him.
"I didn't need the videos," he murmured. "To always think about you when I touch myself."
"Show me," she smiled. "Show me how you touch yourself."
Gojo's fingers fumbled a little as he reached for his belt.
He watched her turn, the curve of her ass under her sundress as she led him to her bedroom, his feet following, the rest of him trailing after her. The curtains were drawn, the bed freshly made. A soft, diffused light filtered in through the gauzy curtains and he saw the outline of her, a soft blur as he undid his belt. The rain was pouring outside now, the same static as his brain, sensuous, buzzingly portentous.
Beside the bed was a DSLR camera on a tripod. Its eye was blinded by the lens cap. Neither Gojo nor Utahime paid it any heed. Instead, Gojo pulled his t-shirt over his head and Utahime's eyes trailed over his skin, biting her lip, breathing softly.
His fingers found the edge of her sundress, goosebumps spreading over her thigh where his fingertips grazed.
"Don't touch me yet," she whispered. "Touch yourself first."
His pants were halfway down his thighs, and his cock was hard and aching, jutting out from the waistband of his underwear.
Gojo swallowed, his tongue dry, his body burning as he pulled his pants and his underwear down his legs.
Utahime sat at the foot of her bed, her feet on the floor, watching him, and Gojo could hear his heart pound, feel the pulse of blood through his veins. His body was a conduit for something bigger than him, a circuit, a current, and it was her.
Utahime was watching him, her mouth slightly open, her cheeks pink, her breath fast.
He was watching her.
"Do you want to touch me?" she whispered, pink lips curving, warm-eyed, uncertain.
It was like a memory from a dream, a version of Utahime on a screen, asking him frankly if he wanted to put his hands on her soft body. Except now she was barefoot, hair slipping out of her bow, lips swollen from his kiss, in a pretty dress. And only his gaze. She was only speaking to him, not hundreds of viewers.
"I want to touch every part of you," Gojo said, his voice raw, his hand finding his cock.
"How much do you think about me?" she whispered, and her own fingers slipped down her throat, down the front of her dress, and Gojo could see her nipples straining the fabric, his hand moving over his dick. “Me. Not Suri.”
"Every time I touch myself," he gasped. "Every single time. I think about fucking you. I think about your cunt, wet for me, I think about how tight you'd feel. I think about your tits moving while I fuck you. I think about kissing your pussy. I think about eating you out until you're crying."
Utahime was breathing too lightly, lips parted.
"Do you like the things I say to you?" he whispered, stroking his dick slowly.
She nodded, her fingers playing at the hem of her dress, pushing up the fabric so that Gojo could see the fabric of her panties. He was standing between her knees, watching her chest move with her shallow breath.
"I like that you're saying these things just to me," she whispered. "And not just on camera."
Gojo's hand was moving erratically on his cock now.
"I was always saying them just to you," he exhaled raggedly. “Even on camera.”
Her knees spread a little, soft thighs bare, eyes glistening as she watched him hungrily. The strap of her sundress slipped off one smooth shoulder and Gojo gulped.
"What do you want, Utahime?"
She blinked, eyes dark, her lips parted.
"Can I..."
"What?" he gasped, his hand speeding up on his cock, the sound of it slick, the head shiny with pre-cum.
"Can I watch you come?" she breathed. "In real life."
"Yeah," he groaned.
His head tipped back and he was aware that he was thrusting into his own fist, that Utahime was watching him, that he was so close, that the tension was building in the pit of his stomach. He was gasping for breath, pleasure pushing up from the rightness of it all — of recasting this as something that had always just been intended for her eyes.
"Come for me, Satoru," Utahime whispered.
"Fuck, Utahime," he choked.
He came in his fist, his whole body shaking, his chest heaving, a groan on his lips.
When his vision cleared, she was watching him, her eyes wide, and Gojo was a little embarrassed that she was seeing him like this. His hair was wild, his face hot, his body spent, and her eyes were on his hand, the mess of his cum pouring over his hand, onto the fabric of her dress. He was still catching his breath, a little winded, a little dizzy.
She grasped his hand, pulling him over her, breathless.
"Kiss me," she whispered.
He dropped his lips to hers, their kiss a messy, frantic thing. Her hand was gripping his, their palms sticky. And Gojo felt his body lean into her, her thighs parting, his hand moving to grasp her knee, his other hand sticky with his cum.
He kissed her hungrily, her tongue slipping against his, and then he was pulling the bodice of her dress down roughly, his hand moving to her tits, pressing the hard bud of her nipple into the sensitive centre of his palm.
"Satoru," she groaned.
And he was lost in the urgent need to make everything real that he had only experienced at a remove. He needed to pull down the veil that had separated him from the reality of this. He tugged at the elastic of her underwear, pulling her thong down roughly.
"Tell me to stop if you want me to stop," he gasped.
"Don't," she pleaded. "Don't stop. Please."
"Do you know how many times I imagined fucking you?"
"I don't want to think about the answer to that question," she gasped. "I don't want to think of what we've missed."
And it was like being a teenager again, a horny, desperate, clumsy kid. Except there was no barrier, nothing between them. He pushed the skirt of her dress up over her belly, his stomach flipping over at the sight of her smooth, pretty cunt. He dipped his head, licking up the seam of her, feeling her body ripple.
"Your pussy is so perfect," he gasped, and his tongue circled her clit. "I've thought about this so much."
She moaned, hands on her tits, a tremor in her thighs. But Gojo was determined to re-say everything and reiterate the truth in each retelling.
"Satoru," she exhaled.
He was almost shaking with arousal, made more keen by every use of his name — once only a morsel. One part of a small diet.
"Get on my face," he gasped, "Please."
She whimpered.
"Okay," she whispered.
Gojo sank down onto her bed, head buzzing with static, a summer storm in his blood too. Her hips rose, and Gojo felt the weight of her, her legs settling on either side of his head, her cunt hovering above his lips as she held the blue fabric of her dress in her hands.
"You're beautiful," he breathed, staring up at her, at the shape of her above him, and he saw her blush, her fingers tighten on the hem of her dress.
And then he pulled her hips down and her cunt was against his mouth. He felt the smooth skin, the soft folds, the sweet scent of her. She was gasping and grinding her pussy on his mouth, and he was lost in the previously only imagined taste of her, the sound of her moans, his tongue slipping inside of her. Gojo's stomach muscles contracted sharply at the peak of his desire. She whimpered, hips rolling, as his tongue licked into her, slick against her clit.
"Oh, fuck, Satoru," she was breathing. "You feel so good."
His fingers were on her ass, his tongue circling her clit. He wanted to devour her, he was desperate to taste her cum, to lick up every drop, to eat her until she couldn't take any more.
Utahime, he discovered, tasted soft. Peaches in the rain, diluted flavour.
"I'm close," she was panting. "Fuck, Satoru, I'm so close."
He pressed the flat of his tongue against her clit, and she moaned, her thighs tensing around his head, her pussy spasming, and Gojo heard her cry out. He licked her as she shook, a high-pitched, wordless sound in her throat.
And then her thighs were shaking and he could hear her try to catch her breath. He held her hips gently, and his chin was covered in her slick, a dream he'd had once. He was rock hard again. She shifted, sitting back, breath shallow.
"Did you know that I would want you this much?" Utahime whispered, her cheeks flushed, her hair a mess, her lips plump, her dress askew.
"Yeah," he grinned. "I hoped you would."
She was soft, pliable, rolling over onto the bed beside him, her hair spilling over his shoulder.
“Even though I tried to keep everything in. Even though I made the storyboard thing…to…keep it where I could manage it?”
“Pointless,” he deemed it, husky, smiling. “Neither of us did what we were supposed to anyway.”
“Yeah,” she whispered. “That was the trouble.”
He smiled, as she tried to sit up and he grasped her arm.
"No, stay here," he laughed, pulling her back towards his body.
Her legs tangled in his, her head on his shoulder.
"That was really good," she said, a shy smile on her lips.
"Yes, it was," Gojo grinned, letting silence pull them back into the lazy bed it had made for them.
He held her close, her face turned to his chest, his chin on her head. But his hand was pressed against her sternum and he could feel that her heart was racing, her breathing uneven. And his heart was pounding too, because they did not need words to slip back into the kind of heady, desperate sensation of their mutual desire.
Gojo could feel a change in the air, like the sky had opened.
"What are you thinking?" he whispered.
She shook her head.
"How many truths I have to tell you," she murmured, her hand tight on his bicep.
"Okay," he smiled.
The rain poured outside, a summer storm with a cool breeze to shift the gauzy curtains and diffuse the scent of her hair. And Gojo realised that this was the way his life was supposed to feel, all along. It wasn’t calm, it was just everything muddled and alright.
"Tell me," he said quietly.
"The dirty talk from the first video we did with sound? The dry-humping one for my channel?"
"Yeah?"
"The customer didn't request that. I did," she mumbled, cheeks hot. "I just wanted to hear you talk to me the way you talked in your videos."
Gojo smiled, kissing her head.
"Well, now you've heard it in person more than once."
"It's different when you're looking at me," she murmured. "Not at Suri."
"Yeah," he murmured. "Everything is."
They lay there together for a while, their bodies sticky with sweat, her breath even, her face on his chest. And it was easy, somehow, despite everything. He was just himself and she was herself, and there was no one else there.
"I've got a lot to confess too," Gojo said at last.
"Yeah?"
"I started this. I fucked up," he mumbled. "The reason the subscribers put two and two together with that video and the photo and started asking about collabs between us is because I said your name...I said Suri's name... on a livestream."
Utahime's gaze was long and quiet, her pretty brown eyes so open and frank as always.
"I know."
"You know?" he gulped.
"Yes. People sent it to me," she said uncertainly. "They sent the part where you said 'Suri'."
Of course, they would. Gojo wasn't sure why he had ever assumed that Utahime wouldn't find it when the screengrab from that one livestream had been splashed all over Twitter when all the speculation had started.
"Why didn't you...Why did you...?" he stammered, trying to reconfigure his understanding of the past few weeks with the idea that Utahime had known all along that he'd lost his mind to a video of her masturbating and that that had started this misadventure.
"I wasn't really thinking straight, Gojo," she said, pressing her lips together briefly, nervously. "Not from the second I saw you come apart like that."
Gojo swallowed, a tightness in his throat, his mouth dry.
"I guess the thing is," she began softly, "That I thought maybe...it wasn't really me. In your head, I mean. That it was Suri."
"Oh," he whispered, smiling wryly. "The reason I even said it aloud was because I was trying my best to recast Suri in your place. So I could feel better about the fact that I was jerking off to a video of my best friend."
He looked down, because Utahime's slender fingers traced a circle around the centre of his chest, absently ringfencing his heart.
"I'm familiar with the sensation," she said softly.
Gojo swallowed, feeling his cock throb, his erection reinvigorated by the gentle touch and her husky voice.
"You're saying..."
"Yeah," she whispered, a blush spreading across her cheeks. "At the end of the day, even though I wouldn't admit it to myself at first, the collaboration was an excuse. It was permission. And then I'd set something in motion that was an absolute disaster for me. You'd...allowed me so much of yourself. And yet, I couldn't be sure how much was you and how much was someone who was less...you."
Gojo frowned.
"You know that I was never acting, right?" he said, swallowing. "I'm not that good an actor."
"I know," she nodded. "But it's complicated, because you're...the same."
"The same as who?"
"The Gojo from the videos," she sighed. "You act the same."
Gojo reached out and pushed her hair away from her face.
"Because I was never acting with you. It was more effort to say what I didn't mean."
Utahime's hand slid up the side of his cheek and into the hair behind his ear. They held each other's gaze, mirroring touches, mirroring thoughts — emotional telepathy.
"I'm so relieved," Utahime breathed. "To hear you say it. Because I wasn't sure. I've watched the videos, all of them, and you were always so good at pretending. The first time I saw something different was when we...held each other on the couch. When you spent the night."
Gojo swallowed thickly, his eyes moving over her face.
"That's just proof of how bad I am at pretending all the time," he said. "And I don't want to pretend with you any longer."
"Then don't," she smiled, and her eyes were glittering.
His hand was moving over her thigh, over the naked outer curve of her hip, pushing the hem of her dress up, pressing his thumb into the hollow of her pelvis, bisecting her with his fingertips where he had so often felt the excitement of seeing her. Her eyelashes fluttered with the touch, the skin of her belly jumping.
"We can talk about what this is," she whispered. “If you like.”
"No," he smiled, and his mouth met hers again. "I know already what it is."
Utahime moaned into his mouth, and Gojo felt his blood burn.
He pulled back and rolled her over onto her back, hovering above her, the fabric of her dress caught in his hand. He looked down at her, her dark hair fanning out around her, the flushed skin of her neck and chest, the soft pink flush of her lips, and her brown eyes full, glistening, aching.
No mask.
"I know what it is, Utahime," he smiled, dipping his head and kissing the soft, hot skin of her neck, and she gasped.
"Satoru," she said, and her voice was hoarse, her legs parting under him.
"It's love, isn't it?" he murmured against her skin, and he heard her whimper, her hands grasping his hair, and he was sliding down the length of her, his lips against her collarbone, his fingers moving her dress higher. "You want me. And I want you."
Her breath was ragged as he kissed her between her tits.
"Satoru, please," she whispered.
"I'm not sure why it took me so long to figure it out," he whispered. “And in the end, there was nothing to figure out at all, only to accept. Like you had to.”
He felt her arch up as his mouth moved over her stomach. He had to blink through the wave of arousal it caused him, because he suddenly imagined the future fanning out ahead of him, like screens falling, and he imagined a whole life, a whole love, shared — her body in his bed, a child in her belly.
"Don't be so smug about it," she murmured, her face turning into the back of her hand, her cheeks red.
He laughed, reversing his direction and nipping the smooth skin of her throat as her hands slid into his hair and her grip tightened.
"Say it," he whispered into her artery, secrets into the blood, his cockhead pressing at her cunt.
"I want you," she breathed.
Gojo’s hand travelled down her body. She shuddered as pressed the tip of his middle finger between her folds, feeling the heat, the wetness, the smooth skin, even as his cock rubbed against her entrance.
"Say it," he murmured, sliding his cock against the sensitive skin, her pussy dangerously slippery.
Utahime's breath was shallow, gripping him desperately as he pushed her thighs apart roughly now, hitching up her leg.
"I love you," she whispered into the curve of his ear.
Gojo, eyes full of feeling, pressed his cock into her. He was surrounded by her, and her fingers dug into his shoulders, her eyes wide. His vision blurred as he slid slowly in. She was tight, wet, miraculous.
"Is it good?" he whispered, blinking through the tears. "To love me?"
He was sliding deeper into her, feeling her body arch beneath him, gasping at every slick inch, her thighs trembling.
"So good," she gasped, "So, so good. I can only love you. I could never do anything less."
Her body was a perfect fit for him, and he felt her pussy spasm as he reached the deepest point, the furthest he could slide, the deepest he could fuck her — and he had to swallow through the heat and the pressure. Gojo’s mind was blank except for the sensation of her, the sight of her, her mouth falling open, his body pressing hers into the mattress. No compartments, no chaos. Only her.
" Oh ," she whimpered.
Gojo could hardly speak, his heart pounding, and he pulled back and thrust into her again, watching her body jerk as he regained that profound depth too quickly, too urgently.
"I love you, Utahime," he choked, his vision blurry from the emotions pooling in his eyes. "I don't have the words for how much. Or how long."
He felt her nails bite into his shoulders. He’d never call her anything but her name when he fucked her.
"Please, Satoru," she breathed.
Gojo groaned, the heat building, the tightness, her hips bucking against his. He fucked into her, his breath shaking, wind in the leaves of the thing in his chest.
"Fuck," he panted, and he pulled her leg over his hip, his body grinding into hers, urgent.
"Satoru," she choked. "It feels so good."
"Good," he groaned, and his mouth was on hers, his kiss sloppy and desperate. "I want to make you feel good. Tell me what you like."
He fucked her hard into the mattress, her mouth gasping against his.
“You already know what I like,” she gasped. “Somehow you know.”
The pleasure was a dangerous, slippery thing and Gojo did not know how to hold it.
"I'm close," she choked.
He was thrusting, a long, deep stroke, into her but her body was soft and giving. He felt her cunt pulse, and she was tightening around him as he fucked her. Pleasure pulled her body taut, her pretty, slender fingers in his hair. Utahime cried out, her voice breaking, a sob in her throat.
"Utahime," he groaned, feeling her come on his cock.
Gojo buried his face in her neck, as the sensation built and built, a tension, a pressure, a coil.
"I love you," she breathed into his ear, a private truth.
And his orgasm hit him, an electric shock, and he came, gasping her name. He felt her hold him through it, her arms around him, her soft, sweet mouth pressed to his temple.
His breath was short, but he kissed her deeply, feeling her body softening around him.
They held each other, the silence always comfortable, kissing languidly as the rain clattered against the windows. His cock slid out of her, his cum sticky on her thighs. The long moment stretched and Gojo experienced, for the first time, the joy of not remembering hunger.
"I'm not done," he breathed at last into the corner of her mouth, feeling himself get hard just from the fullness of love.
"What?" she whispered.
"I'm not done," he murmured, his hands sliding over her skin, and then he tipped her over onto her belly, a soft sound on her lips.
He spread her thighs and slipped his hand between them, the slickness there that was both him and her together. He swallowed at the way her body responded to his fingers, the way her voice pitched high when he covered her body with his and his mouth sucked on her neck, his teeth scraping the delicate skin, and she was rocking her hips against his hand.
"I could keep doing this forever," he gasped, the weight of him pushing her into the mattress, her ass against his cock, his hand between her legs underneath the strata of both of them.
"Satoru, please," she choked.
"You want my dick again?" he murmured, and her pussy was slippery, his fingers moving smoothly over her clit, making her arch up into the shape of him.
She gasped, her head thrown back.
"Yes, I want it," she whispered. "I want you inside me."
Gojo knelt and his hand between her shoulder blades, pushed her down towards the mattress and she whimpered, her cheek on the sheets, her hips raised.
He moved, sliding his cock against her ass. She gasped. And then he pressed his erection into her heat. Utahime made a helpless, wordless noise, her cunt slick, the sensation blinding. He didn't even need to come, he realised, he just needed to feel this — Utahime's softness, their binding, their oneness. He fucked her slowly from behind, his hands gripping her hips, mesmerised by her pretty profile pressed against the covers, a flush on her cheeks that had become his favourite.
"Oh, god, Satoru," she moaned, her voice a sweet, high sound, cheeks wet.
"Is this what you imagined, Utahime?" he whispered, his hips jerking, his fingers squeezing the soft flesh. "When you made those lists?"
She looked back at him, her dark eyes heavy-lidded.
"Yes," she sobbed. "I imagined you would fuck me until I cried."
Gojo felt his heart clench.
"Oh, you're so good," he gasped, his thrusts growing a little harder, a tightness building in the base of his stomach even though he was pretty sure he couldn’t actually cum.
He could fuck her quietly too, lost in the visual pleasure of it, unable to speak because their bodies said enough to each other.
"I'm gonna come," she choked, and Gojo was lost in her, the soft sounds, the sight of her, the feeling of being inside her. "How are you doing this to me?"
"Utahime," he grunted.
"Satoru," she whimpered. " Fuck ."
Gojo groaned as her cunt tightened again, her pussy spasming, a high-pitched sob. He fucked her through her orgasm, his pace slowing as her breath synchronised with his cock sliding into her.
"Utahime," he breathed, his thrusts shallow, his hand moving over her ass. "Do you feel it?"
"Feel what?" she whispered, her voice shaky.
"How I fit you," he choked. "We always fit together so perfectly."
He could hear her breath shake.
"Satoru, come," she gasped.
And he did, a groan on his lips, shocking himself with the readiness with which he could do as she asked. His orgasm hit him gently, and he gripped her waist, his fingers digging into her skin as a gentle, shuddering pleasure bloomed through him.
Gojo pulled her body against his, the pair of them easing onto their sides with his arm wrapped tightly around her, his heart hammering in the aftershocks of pleasure. Her breath was shallow, and they were sweaty, tangled in each other.
"I'm sorry I was late so many times," he whispered into her hair, and he felt her swallow, a small tremble in her body. "But I'll do whatever I can to make it up to you."
Her body fitted neatly into the curve of his, and he didn't pull out of her, letting himself go soft inside her, letting their bodies warm each other.
"Okay," she murmured, her voice a little choked. "You can start by not leaving this time."
Gojo blinked, his eyes on her hair.
"I'm not going anywhere," he whispered.
Outside, the rain thrashed against the glass, pleasant and cocooning, as Gojo drew a circle on Utahime's bare belly, breathing her in. Gojo was still reconstituting reality with the new information he had been given, remembering bits and pieces that were differently shaped now and therefore clicked into the puzzle differently.
"Utahime, I've just realised...we didn't...I saw condoms in your kitchen. If you wanted to use them I could have—"
Utahime turned in his arms, her face flaming.
"Oh...I bought those because I was... toying with the idea of asking you to fuck me on camera. And I remembered you told me you always use a condom...and I...I probably would never have actually..."
In the silence, Gojo and Utahime, by the emotional telepathy that their raw honesty was causing them, slowly absorbed how much of an exception they were to one another.
"You'd let me fuck you on camera?" he murmured. "Then why did you freak out when it nearly happened?"
She flushed.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "It was too overwhelming. Everything I had denied myself was happening all at once. It was just...so much."
Gojo kissed the corner of her mouth.
"Don't apologise," he said softly.
"Don’t be so nice. I want to be a little mad at you," she smiled.
"For what?"
"Seems normal to be mad at you," she murmured. "Seems scary for you to know that I love you."
His heart clenched at the words said in Utahime's frank tone, her matter-of-fact delivery that would usually make him smile.
"That's fair," he sighed. "I think it's okay if you are scared. But I don't think you'll have to be scared for very long."
"Oh?" she murmured, smiling softly.
"Yeah," he whispered, kissing her softly, a thrill running through his body. “And I think, ultimately, we ought to just focus on what this is, and not the risk.”
Utahime kissed him back, slow, relishing. It was a thrill to him that she could move at the same pace as he did, like she also wanted to see all facets of this thing from all angles and at all speeds. She shifted, putting both hands on his bare chest.
"You wanted to film a video today," he reminded her hoarsely, his lips against her cheek. "We can if you want. I'll do it if you want."
Utahime sighed softly, her beautiful hand smoothing over his skin, making him feel like he had to grit his teeth to stop from groaning.
"No, I've made a decision," she murmured.
"Oh?"
"I'm going to stop," she said quietly, mapping the delta of veins down his forearm. "The videos, I mean."
"Really?" he whispered. "Why?"
"You know why," she said with a soft smile. “You know all the reasons why.”
Gojo swallowed, knowing there were other things she'd have to work out, other questions he could pose, but for now, he felt a little dizzy with the relief that this — the thing they shared — was completely theirs.
“What about your dad?” he asked, but he was already scheming, moving things in columns in his head and deciding on what he was going to force her to accept from him.
“I’ll figure it out. My counsellor exams are soon so the school won’t have an excuse for underpaying me for that job. Also, I’ve saved up from the videos to carry me over.”
Gojo nodded slowly. If he sold his apartment, he’d have enough to lend her. He’d fight with her about it later.
"Yeah, we’ll figure it out," he grinned, his thumb stroking the soft skin of her neck. "I'm just happy."
Utahime pressed her lips together, looking down, trying to hide a smile. Her mouth, as usual, was so expressive.
"I'm glad."
Gojo grinned, pulling her over him, kissing her windpipe.
"Can I tell you a secret?"
She frowned.
"Yes?"
"I’ve made a decision too. I'm cutting ties with my family. My dad. My grandmother. The trust fund. Everything."
Utahime slid her fingers through his forelock, pushing his hair away from his brow, her gaze steady and soft.
"Ah, you want to be roomies? A real riches to rags story," she teased dryly.
"Fuck you," he laughed.
He wondered why he thought he might cry, because his ribcage felt tight with happiness. Utahime was lying on his chest, her hair tickling his lips. It was an acute sweetness, something with a fine point. How delicious it felt to think about them starting afresh, both of them at Square One, everything that had cluttered pushed away. They could embark properly together, smoothly, freshly.
"So what now?" she asked with a smile in her voice. "You're destitute?"
Gojo stroked her hair.
"You'll feed me."
"Yeah," she said, her eyes wide and warm. "You hungry?"
"Always."
And then, in the kitchen, Utahime wearing his shirt, Gojo watched her fix them a little supper. She spoke softly, he touched her hip when she passed, she put her arms around his waist while they watched the sauce simmer together. It was quiet, no fanfare, no thunderclap, no lightning strike. It just had come to be.
He'd tell her later that he planned to stop too. She'd ask the proper questions — never one to let her ignorance on the topic settle. But he was thinking of a PhD, and perhaps academia, lecturing, a professorship. There was something a little addictive in the idea of being a little like her, and in finding meaning in work beyond money. There was something even more satisfactory in the converse symmetry of them — just like she had when they met, he’d probably have to apply for funding, a scholarship, something to make him see value in receiving. Before they'd finished eating, he reached for her.
To fuck her on the kitchen floor was a new, sweet liberty. She took him into her mouth. He worshipped each curve of her. Her legs parted for him, her body opened to him and she rode him, breathless and flushed. This was better than anything he'd seen alcohol elicit on her cheeks.
And he could fall asleep around her, breathe her in, slide his fingers into secret places, talk to her in the darkness, breathe her out. He’d done the second thing that Shoko had mentioned so long before, the thing beyond simply liking her — he’d pledged, he’d given over that little bit more.
It had taken him a while to find his footing, but he was a man who would never again get lost. He'd never be twenty minutes late to anything that involved her ever again.
Gojo held her hand on the train the next day. They didn’t meet at the entrance to the metro, they rode the subway together and he drew her into the lee of his body. He watched their reflection, their true selves reflected back at them in the dark subway window.
And when the train dipped back above ground, Gojo watched the world fly past them, the two of them just a blur to everyone else.