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Yuuji is a huge movie buff but damn, Gojo has a lot of movies. There’s at least 30 in this pile alone and more tucked into the entertainment center, drawers, cabinets. He’s gone through half so far and none will pass for movie night. Megumi likes boring movies and Nobara doesn’t appreciate his taste, so trying to find a movie they’ll all sit through is like finding a needle in a haystack. And like, sure, he can pick anything and one person will just scroll on their phone, but it’s so much better watching together. It’s been about 30 minutes since he’s left, so he’s only got another 10 to skim the last of his options before Megumi and Nobara give up and head to their rooms, or worse- stream something without him.
He shuffles to the side to pick through another tower, the collection totally disorganized since his liberation from the basement. It makes him cringe to be down here again. There’s a new layer of dust on everything and it makes the air taste stale, grimy. He’d only been free a month but that had been more than enough for every scrubbed surface to develop a fresh layer of dirt, though, to be fair, the place never felt clean anyway.
He’s still here though, indecisive and skimming titles aimlessly. He’s supposed to be paying attention but can’t really focus. His mind is elsewhere, a dark theater, a quiet conversation on the slope of the canal, the sound of screaming in the old school building. He’s gone to the movies since, but he doesn’t go alone anymore. And with as busy as they are, he doesn’t go at all. He missed the new Human Earthworm- and it doesn’t matter, he’ll see it eventually, but his heart twists at the thought he’ll watch it alone. Nobody else cares now that Junpei is dead.
He comes back to reality and the empty case in his hands is crushed. The pale brick walls are ominous, the couch is faded, the table is worn, and the ugly rug that’s been thrown onto the floor here has wrinkles and stains and looks ancient despite Gojo’s unlimited income. It’s barely cool but a chill bites him, goosebumps in its wake. Megumi and Nobara have probably gone to bed so it’s just him and all of his wonderful thoughts now. He needs to go back upstairs, get off this disgusting floor and out of this miserable basement so he can go back to the present and escape the dull, isolating memory of his time here. He had never been lonelier than in this room.
Although, Yuuji supposes that’s not entirely true. He had been depressed, unable to focus, insomniac but not entirely isolated. He did have Gojo. And Gojo paid attention. The visits grew. He came more consistently, more often, lugging convenience store bags filled with food and desserts to eat together over a movie or conversation and hounded him, hypocritically, about his sleeping schedule after the fourth time he’d returned to Yuuji passed out on the couch. That part felt a bit redundant. The futon wasn’t as comfortable, only a few feet away, and much less exciting than passing out on the couch and waking sleepily to coarse hands wriggling under him, supporting his heavy limbs and tucking him against the warm chest they belonged to. Gojo smelled subtly warm and earthy, in spite of his icy exterior, and hot to the touch too. Being in his arms felt like floating, like melting, running with a racing heart. It’s embarrassing to think about now but he had made a habit of being carried back to bed while staying here.
As much as one could make a habit while unconscious, he supposes.
Gojo was very perceptive. His gaze had felt heavy before training with Nanami, but after? Piercing. Its intensity left Yuuji with many questions- namely, what had changed. They were close but nothing could justify the constant weight of his eyes. During class, on errands or missions, Gojo may look away or address someone but the feeling of being watched never quite left until Yuuji was alone again. It made him shiver. Stupid. It felt so stupid, ridiculous, narcissistic to assume when he couldn't see past the blindfold but he had no doubt. When they actually spoke now, rare as it was, he felt utterly naked every time. Like Gojo had taken all six eyes to see his past and present, each atom between his birth and death and rebirth to his material form now, penetrating every pore as deeply as possible. The intimate scrutiny left him simmering, a mixture of encompassing shame and an aching yearning. A gut punch he could feel in his pussy.
But back when it was them against the world, Gojo would indulge him. Still does, now, but Yuuji never had to ask then, being glued to each other made mindreading easy. He pouts and Gojo pities, lays Yuuji’s head in his lap, pets his hair and tugs out knots. He makes a grubby motion with his hands and arms envelope him. A blanket is drawn over him before he realizes he’s cold. He’d occasionally fall asleep and Gojo simply maneuvers him into a more horizontal position, buries him in his chest like a secret. He pretends to stay asleep for those occasions. Gojo’s normally back within a few days and they start from the top, respectfully knocking knees until they’re comfortable again and Yuuji has his legs in Gojo’s lap, laughing at a crude joke or telling a story of his own.
It felt like breaking rules, and he guesses it sort of is, doubts Yaga would be pleased if he knew. Doubts it would be so awkward so often if everything was above board. At the same time though, it didn’t matter much. Sure, the single-minded focus Gojo has on him is bizarre, but it could be any number of reasons and he can barely believe it himself, let alone prove it to anyone if he had to. He’s always been confident the, er, sexual tension was something he dealt with that Gojo generously ignored, and he can’t imagine what he’d do if that changed. Yuuji could blur lines, mumble confessions and leave precarious silences but Gojo never broke character. Infinitely cool, and suave, a soft and reliable place to land Yuuji loved. He trips, Gojo sets him on his feet again.
It was stupid, but he knew that and figured there was little to no harm in it. Gojo may enjoy his company as much as Yuuji liked his, but it didn’t change any number of truths; Gojo was his executioner, teacher, and many years his senior. That’s not considering his role as strongest sorcerer, clan head, Yuuji’s position as a subhuman, points only relevant when their hands touch. He didn’t entertain it otherwise, no need to set himself up for heartbreak. It was simple to push down the feeling, less so to get rid of it- Gojo was basically the glue keeping him together at this point. He could see in those sharp blue eyes Gojo knew it too. It had been impossible to hide the bone-deep weariness he developed after Mahito. He got better- he wasn’t the same.
Megumi noticed immediately, and he’d deflected the question just as quickly. He didn’t need to talk, Gojo had been there- had been the only person there, showed up all those evenings despite his busy schedule, and Yuuji was incredibly grateful for it and wasn’t going to ask anyone for anything else, even if they had never addressed what happened, with Junpei or between them. Then they went back to the real world.
He shifts a stack of films. He missed Gojo in his absences then, and he still does now. A bonafide crush nurtured with every sparring session and tutoring session once he was reintroduced to life. They were still close, maybe a bit more discreet around Megumi and Nobara, but that made it special.
Precious, Gojo’s hand on the small of his back, his thigh, thumb rubbing his hip. Asking about his day and tucking flyaway hairs in the training yard on a snowy day, the fluff dusting both their shoulders. Gojo takes a hand to brush snow from Yuuji’s cold cheeks before it can melt, bringing the other to cradle his face.
“Boo!”
“Gojo!” He whips around, shooting up. “Hey! I was busy.” Gojo raises an eyebrow and peeks at the movies Yuuji’s clutching.
“Ah, yes, deciding between… Cats, or Magic Mike. A difficult decision.”
“Leave me alone, you cried watching Spiderman 2. I’m trying to pick a movie to watch with Megumi and Nobara. Why are you down here?” He asks just to curb any more teasing and ignores the small voice asking if Gojo is here to see him.
“Curfew, my friend!” Gojo chirps. Ah.
“What? What time is it?” Yuuji asks incredulously, his face falling. He hadn’t realized he’d spent that long screwing around, stuck in his head. Megumi and Nobara were going to rip his head off, had probably realized Yuuji left his phone in the dorm when Nobara called for the fourth time. Oops.
“Shoot, I probably just lost my turn to pick a movie for the next year. I am going to die if I have to sit through another art film,” he moans, sinking to his knees and resting his face on the low table.
There’s an amused hum above him and he can hear the shuffle of Gojo joining him.
He sounds tired. “What’s wrong with an art film?” It’s a dumb question because he knows for a fact Gojo doesn’t have a single one in his collection.
“You know exactly what’s wrong, Sensei. They feel like homework.”
“I could assign one!”
“Don’t tease me,” he whines. Yuuji rolls his eyes and slouches against the hardwood, turns his head away. He only vaguely senses movement, Gojo nearing closer.
“Tease you? Sounds exciting.”
Yuuji flushes. “Very funny,” Gojo can’t see his face and he’s glad for it, sure he’s red.
He can only tell Gojo is moving by the fluctuation of his energy until there’s an abrupt warmth draped across his back, arms round his midsection. Yuuji flushes, immediately awkward, shifting his weight to the side to create a little distance, unfamiliar with the attention after so long and blindsided by its suddenness. He’s leaning away only to be pulled even closer than before, knocked off-balance. That stark white hair buries itself in the crook of his neck and Yuuji freezes, half-laid in his lap. “I am very funny,” Gojo huffs.
“Of course, of course.” Yuuji’s trying to be playful and cool and casual but he can’t find any more words and his voice hitches, awkward and clumsy as he tries to avoid falling into his lap entirely. He cranes his neck up after a long pause to make eye contact, “What time is it?” He asks again, taking the opportunity to shuffle back a bit and onto his ass. Gojo’s still got an arm wrapped around him but at least his ass is on the ground again.
“No idea,”
“What? You came to get me for curfew!” Yuuji laughs, loudly, throwing his head back and leaning away, moving to stand as if to get his phone but Gojo is on him in the same movement. They rise together and he is pressing himself into Yuuji’s back again, wrapping an arm around his waist tighter, tying them together.
“You’re funny too.” Gojo says softly, warm air brushing over Yuuji’s ear. He shivers. “Sure, you’re right. It’s probably past ten-thirty now.”
His grip is clingy, strong and wandering. Yuuj’s so close now he can feel his ass resting against the other man’s front. It feels weird, feels purposeful.
“Ha-ha, Gojo-Sensei,” he laughs tersely, "Knock it off.” He gently pries away the arm wrapped around his middle again, careful and caught between giving the benefit of the doubt and genuine panic. He breaks away, turning to face Gojo with furrowed brows.
Gojo pauses. Lightens the mood a little. "Noo, c’mere,” He whines, “I’m gonna show you what teasing is.”
Yuuji blinks up at him, confused.
“Be good for me.” Gojo murmurs, and starts to creep forward again. Yuuji is bewildered by the circumstance, trips on his own feet as he walks back, brick wall behind him. He steadies himself, trying to maintain distance from the man stalking towards him while scrambling for space behind him as an escape route.
His efforts are wasted as Gojo blocks him in with one long step and he instinctively shifts away, heart pounding. Gojo moves fluidly, a hand coming up to grab his arms, raised in caution, and cross them over his sternum.
A bit pinned.
He’s lightheaded. The situation is moving too fast to keep up with, leaving him shaky on his feet, staring down at the chest of the man immobilizing him. The pressure makes it hard to breathe, his mind is racing as he tries to orient his thoughts before things spiral any further out of control. Gojo’s body is against his. Is this normal behavior for them? Have they ever done this before, anything close? Probably. Did it always feel this way?
Dizzier and dizzier as memories flash through his mind for reference, Gojo interrupts, clicks his tongue at him to ask for attention. It works and snaps him out of his reverie, looks up to meet an inscrutable gaze. He offhandedly realizes he’s barely been standing, barely breathing, even, slumped between this wall and Gojo.
“Very good.” A chill runs down his spine at the smooth voice, an icy feeling as Yuuji belatedly realizes the hands securing him have drifted to his sides instead, stroking the line of his hips, and he hadn’t even noticed- because somehow Yuuji’s powerful arms are still uselessly curled against his chest. He swallows the lump in his throat with great difficulty and twists his hands so they are pressing flat against Gojo’s chest instead.
“This is... Weird.” Yuuji admits.
There’s a part of him that answers plainly that it’s inappropriate, and furthermore, it’s a fact Gojo knows it too and is sure to keep escalating anyway and this was really fucking dangerous. But a louder, familiar voice reminds him that he trusts Gojo, implicitly, and whatever this is, it’s not wrong or at the very least not a threat to him. Gojo was not supposed to be attracted to him so it’s still very possible he’s the one making this weird, reading between lines that don’t exist. Wanting something he doesn’t even understand, an abstract need from an unavailable authority. He’s stock still, running circles in his mind searching for normalcy, accountability amidst absurdity.
Gojo makes a lazy sound, an acknowledgment and dismissal all at once. Those long fingers have moved to massage his lower back, inching down with growing intent. He leans in to rest his forehead along the length of Yuuji’s bare neck.
In the quiet before the storm, Gojo can hear the staccato of his heartbeat from here, nervous, on the precipice of understanding; of betrayal.
Yuuji’s breath stutters in the silence, cut only by the soft breath on his neck, loud in his ear, hot and wet. It makes him shiver, the tremble of a tightly coiled spring. “Gojo-” he rasps, interrupted.
“Does it bother you?” A kiss in his clavicle. “You could stop me, if you wanted,” He purrs, a hand gripping the swell of Yuuji’s backside harshly, ripping a strangled sound from the boy’s throat. He lifts his head but spares no distance, cheek to cheek as he brushes his lips against Yuuji’s ear.
“You’re so pretty.”
Yuuji pulls away and tucks his head down, dumbstruck. In fact he’s practically choking on his own spit, eyes wide and hands fisting creases into the ironed white shirt pinning him and he can feel a thought creeping over him, begging him to do something, anything, besides sit here and get fondled by his homeroom teacher.
But Gojo’s done with pretense.
“You really are so beautiful. I love the way your ass looks in your uniform. I can’t believe you run around like this ,”
“And complaining about me teasing you,” He groans, his voice frustrated and hoarse, pinching at the baby fat clinging to Yuuji’s hips like he’s nipping the cheek of a petulant child, “Hah, what a joke. You wanna know what it’s like to be teased?”
The way he’s rambling is disconcerting. “You filled out well. You were smaller before, still adorable, you’re gorgeous now. Cute, muscular, soft. Mine.”
Gojo’s moved both hands to grip his ass shamelessly, meticulously kneading lower, and when, in the next motion, Yuuji feels fingers pressing against the loose fabric of his slacks and boxers to stroke at his entrance he flinches into motion. Bracing his arm against Gojo’s chest, he channels his cursed energy and shoves, knocking the other man’s grip loose and then yanking the arm holding him down long enough to turn away, darting to the opening he’s made on his left-
He gasps, collapsing in an attempt to relieve the crushing grip on the mound of his chest, kept from crashing by the same arm he’d just wrenched away.
In the blink of an eye Gojo has skimmed his fingers under his uniform and up his body, pinching him crudely, unforgivingly harsh. “And where do you think you’re going?” Gojo asks melodically, but his voice is drier now. Angrier.
Yuuji places a hand over the large hand grasping him, trying to break the steel grip, scared by Gojo’s tone despite himself. “What do you mean?” He snaps, but it comes out more fragile than upset the way he wants it to. He clears his throat.
“Please stop, just- let go-” he’s cut off before he can continue, Gojo releasing his nipples to cup his pecs instead, violating, and flipping him around to slam him face first into brick.
He cries out at the movement, his skull ricocheting off the surface, head ringing on impact and blinding him with pain. He’s delirious for a moment, his cheek pressed against the textured surface and gazing unseeingly somewhere to the side as he gasps for breath. He thinks the skin on his face is broken and his ribs bruised. Gojo was maybe too strong for anyone’s good.
Was this his fault? It felt ridiculous to ask but just as silly to think it wasn’t. Something had happened, he’d done something- something to explain why Gojo was so mad, punishing to this extent. He looks back, wonders if Gojo had just never liked him; immediately wonders after if he actually always had.
He is probably concussed. His head feels gross, waterlogged, filled to bursting with grief and pain and confusion and notably, he’s really fucking nauseous. His body feels weightless but he can’t actually stand, and distantly he can feel his bare knees scraping painfully against the brick wall, dragging him closer to consciousness.
There’s sweltering heat against his back, searching touches on his chest, hips, his thighs and up again. Against his stomach and ass, the very mound of his pubic area, rough and unpredictable in their exploration.
He can see his own hand in his field of view, flat on the grit of the wall. It slips.
“What are you talking about Yuuji?” Gojo laughs. “I thought you liked me.”
Yuuji gives some kind of pathetic moan as an objection, as a request, ironically wanting comfort in the same arms holding him hostage but fixed in place and too weak to do a damn thing either way. "I know you like me. It’s cute.”
Yuuji can tell from his tone that Gojo’s smiling now, fond, and nothing’s actually changed but he feels calmer and there’s an odd tug at his heartstrings at the thought. He’s not relieved, he’s still terrified but there is a distinct, vile satisfaction in pleasing the older man. The rotten feeling is almost as disorienting as the shock was. Gojo has a mild hand in his hair, brushing over the bruised knob on his forehead and the other gently cradling his jaw, slowly crooking his neck back to peel him from the wall.
The adrenaline is crashing. Gojo’s supporting him so he won’t fall but it’s damn near. He’s folded helplessly into the large man’s arms, heavy body lifted effortlessly, but Gojo’s touch is careful now. It’s scary, profoundly reassuring. He hates it but when he’s unceremoniously dumped onto the short couch, the fleeting feeling is ripped away and somehow it feels like a loss.
It’s all jarring- Gojo is so genuinely sincere, soft, and then carelessly self-serving.
Given space, he’s able to breathe for a moment, and then he’s gulping for air, trying to understand what the fuck just happened and catch up while he can. A streak of panic goes through Yuuji when it clicks that he’s been moved, laid out on a soft surface. He’s breathing tightly to help the nausea of moving, but it rapidly progresses to wheezing in his panic and that’s disastrous. His hands begin scrabbling for something to ground him as his breathing gets faster and shallower, eyes wide, locked to where Gojo stands beside him silently.
He eventually manages to roll over and prop himself up onto an elbow, hand bracing against the couch in a move to get up, but he’s only curling in on himself. The motion makes him sick and blurry again, unable to escape, and Gojo knows. He’s moving leisurely, settling in the space by Yuuji’s legs. Nudging the stiff limbs aside as necessary. “Hey, you’re okay. Take a deep breath.”
He splays a large hand over Yuuji’s exposed midsection, the other rubbing his thigh comfortingly. Yuuji’s trying, but he’s definitely hyperventilating now and he’s helpless to do much besides lie there desperately gasping for breath, squeezing his eyes shut. Gojo’s hands still feel nice, familiar. His doting presence is soothing.
It has to be enough, because the hand massaging his thigh begins to work on his belt, his pants, exposing him.
Yuuji’s staring at the table but can feel Gojo place a hand on the inside of his stiff thigh, lifting his leg and adjusting his grip to nudge Yuuji onto his back for better access. He prods the slit under Yuuji’s boxers. Instinctually his legs crumple, going to close but Gojo just pries them back open and sets a knee on his thigh to keep it that way. Yuuji whimpers, his head’s fuzzy and the light touches skimming him where he’s so overstimulated burn.
Gojo uses a free hand to tug at the button of his own pants, undoing it and dragging the loud zipper nonchalantly and now that Yuuji’s looking, he’s unable to tear his eyes away. He’s broken from his spiral when Gojo touches more purposefully against his underwear, long fingers pressing the fabric at his entrance, gentle pressure down his clit then dipping deeper, wetting his fingers and threatening more until he drags them back up again slowly.
It feels obscene to smear the material against his pussy the way Gojo is but it also feels nice. It’s soft, but there’s a bit of friction, ticklish in a pleasant way. Gojo’s obviously experienced, and Yuuji is emotionally exhausted, powerless to his whims, soaking despite everything. He’s squirming at the bizarre sensation, chest tight with some perverted type of excitement, and it makes him cringe.
He distantly wishes they were on a real bed, with real pillows to bury his face in, a blanket to layer over himself. He’s sensitive to the touch, lips pressed tightly closed to catch the whiny sounds that creep up his throat when Gojo moves too suddenly, too quickly.
Gojo catches his eye and Yuuji realizes he’s been staring at the spot where Gojo’s fingers meet him, enthralled by the feelings and attention. He immediately looks away, humiliated to be caught getting off on this, and forfeits any attempt at sitting upright to move an arm over his face instead.
The movement stops and he can feel his entire body slide as his legs are pulled forward, around Gojo’s waist to shuffle them closer. The man looms over to meet him eye-to-eye. Yuuji’s unlocks the death grip he’s got on the couch with his other hand to hide better.
There’s a chuckle, and Yuuji has only a moment to pretend he’s okay with what is about to happen as his arms are wrenched from where he has them, tightly pinned to the couch on either side of him instead.
Gojo leers down at him, his face pulled into a friendly expression. “Don’t do that again,” he instructs, “and don’t be quiet.” He winks.
He leans in and pecks Yuuji’s cheek, under his eye, his scraped jaw. Yuuji is trembling but he won’t pull away, simply watching, stone still as Gojo moves about. Gojo finally kisses him on the lips and moves to grind his dick against the wet spot of Yuuji’s boxers in the same instant, rough denim on thin cotton and he keens into Gojo’s mouth uncontrollably.
Yuuji is entirely caught by surprise, inexperienced- Gojo’s penis is so hard. It’s weird, he didn’t know it would feel that way- but they’re pressed firmly together now, Gojo’s hips moving, rolling up and down, hot and slick and satisfying. He had no idea it would feel so intense. The friction scratches an itch deep inside him and he can feel himself getting wetter by the second, twitchy and excited in response. It makes the tickling sensation in his gut more obvious and intense, a craving he’s completely unprepared for. Gojo’s humping carelessly at this point and rubbing against Yuuji without regard, the angle pressing his dick against Yuuji's entrance, his clit, rubbing the lips of his cunt and it’s so vivid, barely two layers of fabric between them, he can feel the tightness building in his stomach. Gojo is erratic and inattentive, grinding again and again in tight circles that leave Yuuji shaken and mewling.
At some point Gojo hikes up his hoodie, tugging it over the swell of muscle to rest at his throat and tweaking the bruised nipple revealed in his hand. Yuuji’s breath catches at the contact, short gasps that make his gut clench, every nerve ending on fire with an unfamiliar heat and he’s just at a total loss for what to do with it. He’d certainly never felt like this in solo sessions, wildly deceptive pain and pleasure. He felt betrayed by his own body.
His hips finally stutter involuntarily in reciprocation and Gojo groans, kneading Yuuji’s pec obsessively. Gojo’s lips suddenly find Yuuji’s nipple and he arcs back into the couch in surprise.
“Aah-! Mmfgh-” he presses his lips together to keep an obnoxious moan from slipping. Gojo pulls away abruptly. In fact, Gojo stops moving completely.
Yuuji freezes, in humiliation, fear, eyes locked to the floor, but slowly, like prey in the eyes of a predator, he drags his gaze up to Gojo’s to search for answers. It’s scary trying to read his expression while disoriented, crashing from the high. Gojo looks disgusted and Yuuji wonders if this is an opportunity to bolt, like, maybe, Gojo realized he was a weird and gross and stupid little kid. He realizes what is actually happening, the way you do in an emergency, at the same moment Gojo decides to punish him for it.
Firm hands grab him and Yuuji’s knees are propped up against his chest, kept there with one broad hand. His limp arms come back to life, a hand shooting out as if to stop him but Yuuji is learning better by now. The damp spot he sports is crudely on display but not for long as Gojo roughly grips the band of his underwear and yanks it down his hips.
He cries at the sudden movement, decidedly afraid after the shit Gojo pulled earlier, all the emotional whiplash. The air is tepid but his cunt is warm and wet so the contrast is worse than it should be, uncomfortably cold. His hands have found a grip on the bunched fabric of his boxers for comfort. He’s making eye contact with Gojo and before he has a chance to apologize, he watches him raise a hand and then bring it down again to crack against his bare pussy.
“Ah-!” He pitches forward in pain, legs folding, then flinching still again at the steely expression he receives for it.
“This is your warning, first and only. Don’t do it again. Tell me.” He says sternly, an abruptly gentle edge to his tone that Yuuji normally appreciated, admired, from his teacher. Just another lesson.
“I won’t do it again.” He recites quickly. He clings to the instruction he’s been given, hopeful somehow that obeying will make Gojo go back to normal- or at least nice again.
Gojo strokes a hand over his butt, knuckles brushing over Yuuji’s bare clit before dipping a finger inside of him. His head falls to the side with a shudder, and he chokes around a humiliated gasp. He’s nervous, anxious and anticipating the next strike, but Gojo crooks his finger again in a sweet way that makes Yuuji lurch forward with a whimper and collapse again, emotional and horny. He can feel his muscles loosening, legs falling open a little more than he’d like, but he can’t really find it in him to care at this particular moment. He’s too relieved to be worried. His eyes wander over to meet Gojo’s again and his gaze is unimpressed, fixed on Yuuji as if he missed the memo. Yuuji goes to sit up, confused, only to be caught by surprise as Gojo shoves another finger inside of him in a grip and yanks him back down, dragged by his cunt like a dog on a leash, completely unprepared for the strike of Gojo’s hand on his pussy.
“No. Let me correct myself- tell me what you did wrong, Yuuji.” he chides, pumping his fingers before stroking the sticky hand over Yuuji’s aching pussy. “Who’s been taking care of you?” He asks, “How are you gonna fix it?” Yuuji wants to cry.
“I’m sorry,” He gasps, “Sensei. I didn’t mean to, I wasn’t- wasn’t supposed to be quiet. I won’t. I won’t do it again.” Yuuji refuses to look up at least, to give Gojo the gratification of his tears or whatever, but he can feel hands caressing the backs of his spread legs, coming to a rest on his ass, a soft kiss pressed to his shin. He’s still folded into himself, knees bent, on display as part of whatever bizarre punishment or kink this is supposed to be. Gojo rests his cheek along the inside of Yuuji’s thigh and he stiffens, hyper aware of how close Gojo’s face is to his pussy- his eyes remain stubbornly fixed away, on the dimmed TV now, but he can feel Gojo’s breath casting down his leg, the weight of all six eyes as always, and it makes something twist in his stomach, trickle from his body.
Gojo’s begun panting, staring down at him. “Good boy.”
A hand pokes between his legs again and he can feel the knot in his stomach turn. His nausea left but he feels sick, Gojo keeps touching him and there’s nothing he can do but take it. Everything stings.
Gojo’s hand goes from gentle poking and prodding to a firm pressure, long fingers spreading the lips of his pussy and now he’s truly exposed. He can feel something in his chest break, his body going limp, but Gojo is in sync, the hand hitching his thigh back now supporting its weight. Gojo doesn’t spare him a glance though, seems to understand where Yuuji’s at, at this point. Gojo’s content to be totally in control, spreading him further. Cool air hits Yuuji’s throbbing clit, soothing the heat there. He’s sick and uncomfortable and exposed but he’s scared. Not bold enough to risk another round of abuse. Certainly not strong enough to stop him. Left to the mercy of Gojo’s whims absolutely.
A thumb drags over his entrance to bully his clit expertly and he squirms at the sensation. It sort of hurts, but the pain arrives instead as a frustrating ache in his gut. Gojo slowly removes the hand bracing against Yuuji’s leg and gives him a meaningful glance. Yuuji leaves the limb where it is obediently. Gojo gives him a soft smile, rears a hand back and Yuuji flinches in anticipation as he watches that pale hand come down to crack against his spread cunt anyway.
His legs crumple against his best effort and he lets out a harsh cry of pain, hands reaching for Gojo’s, not daring to pry him off but desperately holding on for comfort, silently begging him for relief as Gojo rubs cruel circles into his clit.
His hands are pushed away and he wraps them around himself tightly for lack of a better thing to do. Gojo’s gentle voice casts over him. “Shh, shh. Listen to me. You won’t do it again?”
His pussy is throbbing red, on fire from the strikes. He’s trying to breathe through the pain, but it’s impossible, he’s delirious with anxiety and the ominous silence makes it worse by the second. His chest is tight as he searches for air, answers, but the line of thought is blurry panic useless to him and he knows it- knows anything besides utter submission is bad right now. Gojo’s thumbnail digs into him harshly.
“No, no, I won’t, I said, I promise-!”
Smack.
“And you’re sorry?” He says idly, curiously, like he isn’t bruising Yuuji’s cunt a darker shade with every fell swoop of his hand. It feels condescending and Yuuji hiccups around a whine as the tears begin to pour. Gojo’s face stretches into a grin like the cat who got the canary, a hand darting out to wipe at the wetness on his face.
“Yes, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he weeps- another crisp smack between his legs, “I’m so sorry,” Yuuji sniffles out before he starts to cry for real, sobs like he did as a little kid and somewhere, he can hear Gojo groan over the pain and betrayal ringing in his ears.
“That’s much better, baby. Are you okay?” He croons, rubbing the folds of Yuuji’s smarting cunt in some kind of mock comfort, pulling his boxers off fully to open Yuuji’s legs and get closer, resting his body on top the boy. Giving puppy eyes, rubbing Yuuji’s teary cheeks sweetly as if he didn’t torment him to the point of incoherence.
Yuuji’s just barely stopped bawling so he certainly hasn’t stopped crying, but he stutters a nod in blind obedience. It earns him a pursed look anyway and his exhausted body tenses, instinctually terrified. After a deliberate pause Gojo brings him into a hug instead, kissing the top of his mussed hair.
Yuuji slumps immediately, melting into the embrace. Gojo’s clothes feel cool, numbing to his flushed skin, and he’s big enough to make even Yuuji feel tiny. His arms find their way around Gojo’s neck, small hands bundled in the fabric stretching across Gojo’s broad back. He’s shivering uncontrollably and its like his tear ducts have broken, he’s breathing better now but water pours from his face, practically drowning him. It makes it a little harder to breathe which is annoying. He ignores that and prefers to rub his snotty face into Gojo’s shoulder, which makes it even harder to breathe but the cool material feels wonderful on his torn up cheek and Gojo’s body is firm and nice. Gojo’s nice, cradling him bratty and weak as he is. Loving him useless as can be. Gojo’s moving him around and Yuuji notices he’s kinda stiff so he stretches out his legs a bit, straightening his back, adjusting himself in Gojo’s arms and settling again. He guesses he’s been terrified for a while but he doesn’t really feel like that right now. Right now it feels like Gojo is taking great care of him, and he totally is, which is vulnerable and confusing somewhat, somewhere, distantly. Gojo’s got a knack for comforting him. Gojo is his teacher, his mentor, practically his dad- taking care of his schooling and bills and clothes. Gojo is a good guy.
He’s a bit disoriented from lack of oxygen because tears are still streaming down his face and his breath hiccups sometimes to match. He’s clutching to the body above him that’s been grounding the big spinning thoughts. It’s funny. Gojo beat him to tears but Yuuji really loves him. His presence is just relaxing, fullstop. He’s been rubbing Yuuji’s back, and somewhere past the haze he realizes Gojo’s been speaking too.
“You’re okay, Yuuji, it’s okay. You’re safe,” He can hear the way Gojo’s voice builds, becoming more emphatic, intense, and now that he’s noticed it he focuses on the dreamy lull. “You’re a quick learner, baby, you’re gonna be alright.” He croons, “You’re a good boy. My good boy.” Yuuji lets out a shaky breath, unwraps his arms from where they’re locked around Gojo and bundles them back against himself protectively. “Oh, hey, kiddo. Welcome back.” He says softly, looking down at Yuuji. Brushes the pink locks from his face and kisses his forehead.
“Stay there.” He’s blinking water from his eyes as Gojo untangles them and sits on the couch. In the freezing air now between them. Yuuji realizes his jacket and shirt are gone now too. Gojo leans back to adjust himself and Yuuji sees his dick. At some point, Gojo had pulled himself out, precum streaking shiny and wet where he must have been touching it.
He watches the man straighten, get a hand on himself and direct it to the area between Yuuji’s legs, but it’s perplexing. Was Gojo really going to do this? Were they about to have sex right now? He knows there’s an obvious answer to these questions but it feels absurd so he’s a bit dumbfounded at the moment, glancing at it and away now and again. His eyes keep unfocusing, going in and out of clarity as his brain slowly tries to put everything together, like a child placing building blocks. Searching for an explanation, something to say this isn’t what it seems, just a dream and he’s going to wake up in a better reality where Gojo is the man Yuuji thinks he is and not about to rape him in this awful, lonely basement.
He wants to beg him to stop but he can barely tell what’s happening anymore so he gives up and lets his head loll back. His body gives a defiant shudder when he feels a poke at the opening. He’s trying to hold onto the resigned, indifferent feeling but then Gojo is actually pressing in, his stomach drops at the sensation and things are starting to feel too real. It’s entering slowly but steadily and Yuuji can feel the force of it in his lungs, knocking the wind out of him. His clit and labia and lips are swollen, burning anew at the friction and it’s another layer of discomfort, another petty injustice that somehow makes it all the more unfair. “Please,” he chokes out, the pinching in his lower half becoming a splitting stab as Gojo bullies his way in.
Yuuji is crying again, groaning and he can’t stop, couldn’t even if he wanted to, Gojo is a brick wall upon him and his dick is on the line of uncomfortably thick, long, terrifying. He already feels pushed to his limit and it still isn’t over, another spike of pain as Gojo hits resistance and continues burying himself snug inside anyway.
“Wait, you’re too big-” Yuuji squeaks, eyes wide and hands clawing where Gojo’s got a hand braced against him to push deeper. The unfamiliar pain is giving him a clarity he wishes he didn’t have right now. He can actually move in this position too but he just spreads his legs further, lifts his hips, desperate for an angle that’ll relieve the pressure inside of him. Gojo’s watching him intently, amused by his participation, his resistance, and Yuuji’s eyes roll back in pain as the man sighs and bottoms out.
His dick throbs inside of Yuuji, deep and uncomfortable. They’re both panting and his face scrunches in discomfort. He isn’t aroused enough to fit this kind of length inside of him and he’s not sure it would fit well even if he was, but Gojo just drags himself out to sink in again with the same persistent control, making room for himself. "Gojo- please -” He’s so far inside Yuuji feels like he’s gonna break, might gag, and with every press he speeds up. Yuuji can feel his pussy flutter tightly around the intrusion and he groans miserably. There’s a harsh thrust, an agonizing warning that strikes something sensitive inside of him.
“Sensei. Now give me a second,” Gojo finally answers, his voice controlled.
Yuuji presses his lips together in frustration for a moment before Gojo fucks another garbled sound from him, goes to press a hand over his watery eyes only to yank it away, lessons learned. Gojo carries on all the while, patiently trains his pussy to take it, building in force and speed until he’s got a solid rhythm fucking inside. He smiles down at Yuuji, breathing heavily.
“I told you, baby. You can do it. You feel so fucking good,” he huffs, and Yuuji wants to be mad or humiliated but he’s gripping the sides of the couch at this point, Gojo’s thighs slapping against his as he bounces on his dick.
He’s never had sex before, so he doesn’t know what the standard is, but now that he’s loosened up Gojo’s dick feels amazing. It’s thick and curved just right to drag against his sweet spot and then long enough to hit another, deeper inside of him that makes his abused pussy ache with arousal. He shudders at the sensation, Gojo is rough and his skin is raw but the soreness has changed to something more addictive and his resolve is breaking, his cunt beginning to clench around the length in time. He wants to move, wants Gojo to go faster, harder, deeper.
Gojo seems to read his mind and thrusts up into him roughly on the next stroke. Yuuji cries out, jerking forward and pitching his hips to meet Gojo’s uncontrollably, gasping and squeezing around him. He grips onto the body above him mindlessly to steady himself, grinding back and forth. He’s squirming, trying to control himself when Gojo suddenly pushes him back and changes the angle. It fucks a choked gasp out of him, eyes wide, and he can’t help but throw his head back into the couch with a loud moan as the friction keeps coming. His clit is teased with every new thrust, rubbed along Gojo’s length incessantly. His mouth is open, slutty sounds coming unfettered and choppy now and deliriously he prays Gojo won’t call him on it.
He feels like he’s going to come undone, Gojo the one to fuck him apart piece by piece. He can hear and feel himself getting messier, thrusts becoming loud and sloppy and wet. His stomach is tight, his clit’s soaked and raw and suddenly Gojo brushes it with dry, coarse fingers that make Yuuji’s voice break in a loud cry. His hips begin stuttering- and then his legs are yanked up and he loses the feeling, his stomach rolling unhappily, cunt aching.
“Sensei!” He snaps instantly, upset. Just as quickly he flinches away, afraid and guilty, the arousal that’s been pooling inside of him ebbing unexpectedly. He didn’t even want to cum, he didn’t even want to be having sex right now. He didn’t-
“Oh, Yuuji,” Gojo replies, smitten, interrupting his thoughts and sparing him an adoring glance before dropping his gaze to admire where he’s still slowly penetrating Yuuji.
“Don’t worry, you’re doing so well. You’ll cum soon, fuck, I’m here.” Gojo moans, bottoming out and bringing a hand down to grope Yuuji’s chest, rolling the fat and muscle in his fingers and using it as an anchor to fuck him harder.
The incessant, undivided attention is getting to him. Yuuji has the presence of mind to be unhappy about his circumstances again, but if he thought he was overwhelmed before, he’s getting fucked stupid now. He’s whimpering and whining and squeezing the hand mauling his tits, fingers drifting down to stroke his clit but too scared to touch. Gojo seems to like that and brings a hand down himself to press against the nub in reward, a pressure that shifts and moves with the rough fucking, the press of his thumb hard and overstimulating and then so light Yuuji feels needy for a split second until he’s struck with the next thrust, grinding harshly on his clit and pushing him into oversensitivity again.
He’s near tears at this point, edged and fucked into oblivion. The rhythmic sound of their skin meeting is sick and erotic, only making him hornier, and he plants his feet so he can rock his hips to meet Gojo’s, groaning at the movement. He does it again, trying to keep up with the frantic pace and shivers. He can feel Gojo’s dick dragging against his walls as they rut into each other and every part of his pussy is so raw and responsive right now he feels like he’s gonna fall over the edge.
He lets out a sob at the sensation and finally looks up to meet Gojo’s eyes, those pearly blues glazed over, mouth open and letting out groans and huffs as he ruins Yuuji. His white lashes flutter when he meets Yuuji’s gaze. “Hi, baby.”
He breaks his pace to thrust deep, slow, affectionate, rubbing his dick along every sweet spot Yuuji has and then out again, gently increasing speed as he does. He feels like he could cum just from this teasing, pushed to the edge emotionally and physically and Yuuji’s boneless, eyes shut and his mouth hanging open as choked sounds escape him, face pinched in pleasure as they get going again and he’s fucked hard and senseless.
Gojo pinches that bruised fucking nipple and slams perfectly into his clit and his vision whites, his entire body shuddering as his pussy throbs, waves of pleasure racketing through his body again and again as he’s fucked through his orgasm, stretching longer than it should be as Gojo keeps nailing him. His moans are turning to pained gasps the longer it goes on but Gojo doesn’t seem intent on stopping, pace lost, jabbing into him deep and erratic. Yuuji would hold his breath to keep the tears away but he can barely breathe as it is and as his whimpers turn to hiccuping, Gojo only gets faster and more aggressive. He goes to hold Gojo’s hand, trying to find an anchor and bear it but Gojo swats him away and shoves his face into the couch and he’s freaked the fuck out because he really can’t breathe now. Yuuji’s heart is pounding hard, chest rising and falling rapidly as he desperately waits for Gojo to let go but it’s not happening. He’s not stopping, Yuuji’s vision is spotting and he’s already begun scratching and tearing at Gojo’s hands but that’s not working either. Gojo’s gripping one leg, pinning him with his body so there’s nowhere to go, nothing to do but wait for him to finish, and somehow Yuuji’s core is tightening as much as his lungs are. Gojo is pushing it, because he’s about to faint. His pussy is going numb from the abuse, but Gojo begins mauling his clit, rapidly thumbing it side to side and Yuuji could puke but he starts to cry again instead and that’s a wrap, he’s passing out and cumming hard.
“Fuck. ”
—
Yuuji’s pussy is shiny with slick and flushed an angry red from the sex and spanking. So tight, hot, made for him from the pink curls to the stretched lips.
His chest is heaving and flushed red, eyes barely open. He’s strewn about the couch, naked limbs loose and hair sweaty, sticking to his forehead in an endearing, fucked out way. There’s dried tear stains on his face and he’s barely coming to, not alert enough to be upset yet. It’s cute to see him like this, slutty, bred and obedient. The cum dripping down the kid’s ass satisfies Gojo in a simple way and he resists the urge to take a finger or two and push it back inside, fuck it in and out until it’s so deep it’ll take days for it to wash out, nothing the kid can do but wait and watch his boxers stain with Gojo’s cum nights in a row. Maybe steal the underwear from Yuuji’s hamper after.
He’s actually disappointed to see Yuuji calm, had a fantasy of the teen screaming and shoving him away after but he supposes he got a bit carried away today. He looks Yuuji over one more time, appreciating a job well done, and tucks himself away to stand.
He gives Yuuji another kiss and now, Yuuji reacts, inching away minutely. “It’s way past your bedtime. Put your clothes on and go to your room, soon as you can stand again.” Yuuji blinks owlishly at him, half awake, so he waits for the kid to process the words, sit up a little and check back into reality.
“Gojo-sensei?” He croaks, seeking what, who knows.
Gojo grins brightly at him. “What?”
The impersonal treatment seems to shake him out of whatever trance he’s in because Yuuji shrinks, curls up, made aware of his nudity. His expression wrinkles and goes faraway again, cloudy eyed a long moment. “Helloo?”
Yuuji doesn’t reply but he does eventually meet his gaze again, something definitely broken there. Gojo holds eye contact, aloof and unafraid, waiting for an answer. Pushing the kid to another limit.
“Any homework?”