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Long fingered, fine boned hands slowly loosen the ties of Megumi’s armour, the leather unknotting easily under sure hands. Gojo grins down at him but Megumi doesn’t look up, staring straight ahead at the wall of the tent. The fabric is thick, woven with patterns similar to every other tent in this accursed war camp - not thick enough to silence every sound, only most of it. He can hear the faint sounds of revelry outside, celebrating a campaign won; victory.
The defeat of Megumi’s people; his father’s army.
Of Megumi himself, offered as tribute. A thing. An arranged marriage, in name - but if he’s to be the King’s spouse, why is it that the man’s general stands here, undressing him?
This is not the first time Megumi has been dressed and undressed by hands not his own; it is the quickest way in or out of armour. His fellow warriors have stripped him of armour after a hard battle and he has done the same for them. He knows what it is like to have his cuirass pulled from his chest by friends, by those he considers siblings, by people tired enough their hands shake. The camaraderie, the quiet affection.
Gojo’s hand spreads wide across across his stomach, the heat of him feeling like a brand. His hand rubs against the fabric, against Megumi’s tense stomach underneath. Those long fingers curl in the fabric and lift. Megumi can do nothing but set his jaw as more and more of his skin is revealed for the man’s pleasure.
“You’re free to leave whenever,” the man says, casually. Megumi cannot keep the scowl off his face.
“I will not be the reason our people are thrown back into war.”
Gojo’s other hand glances against his skin, the backs of his fingers ghosting a line from his navel to the dip in his collarbone and back down again. One long finger hooks in the hem of Megumi’s pants. His every action reveals the lie in his words; how can Megumi leave, when Gojo treats him as though he’s already owned.
“You’re already married. Deal’s done. No matter what, there’s peace.”
Megumi finally looks at Gojo. The man prefers to keep his eyes covered, when he’s not killing his way through swathes of Megumi’s countrymen. Megumi has seen those eyes in person only across the length of a battlefield, a scant handful of times - the things he sees in his dreams do not count for anything at all. The dark cloth Gojo uses to cover his eyes is looped around the man’s neck. Without it, without his armour, with his hair falling gently around his face he looks so much softer; more like things Megumi will never thinks about. And his eyes are -
The same. The same as they’ve always been, every night in Megumi’s dream. They’re cursed, he knows. Ever since he first glimpsed the cold ice of them across the battlefield, he has dreamt them. Terrible dreams. Ruinous. Dreams of this brutal warrior, nightmares of him and his cruel king. Being held between them as their hands caress his body, as they press sweet kisses against his skin, as they move together inside of him.
“Cut my hands off for the presumption of touching you, if you want. Sukuna’d only laugh at me. You could turn us both away at every step - forever - and the peace would hold.”
“Speak plainly.” Megumi orders, scowling. Gojo’s fingers are still warm against his skin, still playfully hooked in the waistband of his trousers.
“Your soul sings to ours, Megumi. Can’t you feel it?”
Megumi scoffs, turning his gaze away once more. His people do not practise such ridiculous superstition. Such weakness.
“All I feel is your hand, General.”
A pause; the silence between them is only made more pronounced by the joy overheard from outside. Gojo does not remove either hand. He holds Megumi’s shirt up around, fisted hand hovering near Megumi’s sternum. The hand just barely in Megumi’s pants does not slide lower. Those eyes continue to stare at him. Megumi will not break.
“It’s your choice to stay,” Gojo says, leaning forward. Megumi does not move, could be carved from stone with how still he is. Gojo presses a chaste kiss to his cheek; soft lips lingering against skin. He presses another closed mouthed kiss right next to the first and Megumi doesn’t move. A third kiss, a fourth, a fifth. Megumi still does not move, even as the edge of Gojo’s lips brush up against his own. He can feel the plump swell of Gojo’s bottom lip against the very edge of his mouth. Sukuna’s General pauses there, lets the moment stretch. Megumi denies the anticipation swelling in his breast, the growing pace of his heart as it begins to thunder in his chest.
He waits, and waits, and -
Finally, lips drag against skin. Mouth meets mouth fully, faces tilted; no less chaste than the kisses which Gojo had given but the feel of it electrifies Megumi. He closes his eyes, unable to meet Gojo’s intensity. He has never had the luxury of such things, never felt especially inclined to them. Why should he waste time on such fleeting, shallow pleasure when he could be training?
Perhaps he should have spent long afternoons indulging in all the pleasure one body can give another; perhaps he would not have broken almost instantly, from barely a handful of kisses breathed against his skin.
Gojo smiles into the kiss, something that Megumi hadn’t realised could be felt, before this. Their lips move against each other for the next moments, purposefully, arousal sparking in Megumi’s gut. Then Gojo moves away, leaving Megumi’s lips cold and lonelier than he’d ever realised they could be. At least he can say that he has enough will power to stand firm instead of attempting to chase the man’s lips.
Megumi’s shirt is lifted higher. Gojo doesn’t ask; Megumi wouldn’t turn him away. It almost feels like a familiar action, Gojo sliding his shirt over his head. Megumi lowers his eyes and raises his arms. His gauntlets are not yet removed but, at this point, he would not mind overmuch if Gojo cut the fabric from his body. Or perhaps the man has forgotten and Megumi will have the pleasure of his embarrassment when the man realises.
Neither thing happens.
Megumi’s neckline is dragged over his head and then pushed backwards, behind, until the fabric is bunching up awkwardly behind his neck. Gojo slides it down a scant few inches, lowering Megumi’s arms at the same time, and Megumi abruptly realises that his arms have become bound.
His shirt is pinned in place from the elbows down by his gauntlets and now stretches tight across the muscles of his back. He cannot move his arms forward past the line of his body, though they’re able to move backwards easily enough. Gojo, that bastard, smirks at him while Megumi tries his best to work his shirt further down his arms. Watches with obvious glee as Megumi struggles for minutes and succeeds in only tangling the fabric around his elbows. It feels like it allows him even less movement now than it had before. He can still reach back but the slight foreward movement of his lower arms has now disappeared completely.
“You could ask for help,” Gojo points out. Megumi clicks his tongue, ignoring the man. Until the finger that’s still hooked into the hem of his pants tugs, suddenly. Pulling him forward until his bare chest is pressed to the silk of Gojo’s jinbaori. Megumi’s disgruntled hey is ignored, one of Gojo’s hands coming to steady his waist so that Megumi doesn’t trip. Gojo affects a look of comical astonishment, mouth dropping wide.
“Unless… Megumi! Do you like this?” Gojo gasps. He feigns shock as badly as he does surprise. He slides his hand down from Megumi’s waistline, cupping his quickly hardening erection through the thick cloth.
“Bastard,” Megumi hisses, feeling the way his face flushes. Gojo laughs at him; he’s still laughing when he swoops in and steals another kiss. This one holds only the slimmest resemblance to the ones which came before. Gojo leads with his tongue, dragging it across Megumi’s lips; sliding inside when Megumi’s lips part on a sharp breath. Wet and filthy, it feels like Gojo’s tongue is everywhere, dragging across places that Megumi hadn’t realised were so sensitive. Fingers are caressing his waist and a hand is eagerly massaging his dick through his pants and Megumi has never been so overwhelmed in his life.
His mounting need to breathe fights with how little he wants to part his lips from Gojo’s. Shamefully, he cannot stop the way he pants for breath when Gojo finally pulls away. The man blinks at him, blue eyes running over Megumi’s red face, and one pale eyebrow quirks upwards.
“Breathe through your nose.” And then he’s kissing Megumi again and Megumi does his best to follow Gojo’s advice. Working out how to focus his entire being on the way Gojo nips and sucks at his lips and breathe at the same time. It’s distracting enough - Gojo’s distracting enough - that Megumi doesn’t notice the lacing of his trousers being undone until Gojo’s pushing the fabric to his knees. Megumi’s still wearing his boots, his greaves. The fabric of his trousers pools around the metal.
“Are you going to take my trousers off?”
“Hmm. Wasn’t planning on it.” Gojo’s wide grin is no less annoying than it has been every other time he’s seen it.
“Why?”
Gojo’s fingertips run along the waistband of Megumi’s under things, from under his navel to the dip of his lower back, then returning. His hands stay above the fabric, to Megumi’s annoyance.
Why s houldn’t he be annoyed? If he is going to do this, then he shall do it. There’s no use second guessing the decision once he’s made it. He is willing - and willing to throw the other man to the wolves, should circumstance show Gojo to be a liar. Perhaps their peoples will return to war but Megumi will make sure that Sukuna is deprived of his best general, should such a thing happen.
And before then, Megumi will know hisGojo’s touch in the waking world as intimately as he knows it in his dreams.
“We~ll, I had this idea. Tell me if you like it,” he slides both hands downwards, cupping Megumi’s ass with his large hands. The fabric of his underthings is thin; it barely counts as a barrier at all. He squeezes, gently, thumbs rubbing across fabric and skin; moving closer to the the spectres in Megumi’s dream violate so often. Gojo’s smile is lopsided enough that it’s almost impossible to tell if it’s a smirk or not.
“You, restrained. Not heavily, just like this. Wrists, knees. Nice and tight if you want me to fuck your thighs instead of your ass. I’d like to fuck you right here, though.” Two fingers run down the crease of Megumi’s ass, searching until they find his untouched hole. They nudge against it; the heat and slight pressure of it enough is enough to have have Megumi crying out, shocked. So aroused it’s almost painful. Gojo kisses him once more, sliding their tongues together in a slow glide as he begins to rub at Megumi’s sensitive ass. The General uses his grip on Megumi’s to pull them even closer together, sliding one strong thigh between Megumi’s own.
The friction against Megumi’s hard dick feels amazing and Gojo does nothing to dissuade him from rocking against it. He appears genuinely delighted by it, by Megumi’s eager participation. Gojo presses a series of quick open mouthed kisses against Megumi’s cheek, his neck; hot and wet and just the slightest hint of teeth scraping just below his ear. A shiver travels the length of Megumi’s spine and so Gojo goes it again, teeth digging slightly harder into skin. It feels so good he can barely think, eyes fluttering shut against his will.
“Tell me you want it. I’ll give you whatever you want, Megumi.” Gojo’s voice is low, spoken right against Megumi’s ear and it’s too much; it’s completely overwhelming. Gojo’s voice, his fingers, his thigh; the bulge rubbing against Megumi’s own hip, evidence of Gojo’s arousal. Megumi comes without warning, arms jerking against their bonds, a soft, shocked sound leaving his throat.
“Fuck that’s hot,” Gojo mutters before kissing Megumi once again. He tries to kiss back, can’t really find the energy to do much more than let Gojo do as he likes. Mouth lax, Gojo’s tongue licking across his teeth, his tongue. He pushes Megumi away, which is wrong. Slides his thigh from between Megumi’s, takes his warmth, and leaves Megumi with nothing but one hand on his shoulder and the other on his waist. It’s not enough. Makes Megumi feel weird, bad; too cold and too alone. He feels too aware of the come staining his underthings, sticking them to his skin.
Megumi’s spine had melted not even full minutes ago but it’s already reforming and it’s reforming wrong. Uncomfortably, prickly; his skin doesn’t sit right, anymore.
“Oh, hey, what’s - oh fuck.” Megumi’s suddenly pressed against that broad chest. The man’s lamellar armour is too hard underneath Megumi’s cheek but one firm arm wraps itself around Megumi’s waist. A hand buries itself in Megumi’s hand, fingers rubbing gently at his scalp. He feels better with Gojo touching him, caressing him.
Megumi can feel himself relaxing again, the wrong feeling that had tried to set itself deep into the marrow of his spine being cleared away with each sweep of Gojo’s broad hand along his back. Everything feels nice, even the armour against his bare chest. Megumi finds himself distantly grateful that Gojo has long since discarded his nodowa. It means that there’s no armour in his way when he turns his face away from the light in favour of pressing against Gojo’s neck.
“Lets get you unbound, huh?”
Megumi shakes his head. Makes a sound that might have been a ‘no,’ at one point. Gojo huffs out a laugh, pressing a rough kiss to Megumi’s temple.
“Alright, how about we lay down somewhere nice. Together. You like to cuddle? Sukuna always tells me I’m an octopus.” They stand there, Gojo swaying them both back and forth for a few moments. The sound from outside seems even more distant, now, but Megumi doesn’t know whether that’s because the celebration has calmed down or because he can’t focus on anything other than the man holding him.
“You can’t really talk right now, can you?”
Rude. Megumi makes a sound, an offended and quiet grunt that’s more like a glottal stop. Words are too hard to reach for; he could, if he really needed to. But why should he struggle for speech when Gojo seems to understand him just fine, humming and pressing a kiss into his hair.
“Okay, new plan. No sexy fucked out scene for Sukuna to come home to. We’re gonna drink some water and cuddle and when Sukuna gets here, he can feed you some sweets instead of his cock, how ‘bout that.”
Megumi tilts his head further to the side, cheek thunking against silk covered armour, leaving the comforting darkness of Gojo’s neck. He can’t remember the last time, before this, that he spent any significant time hugging someone - let alone cuddling. He already knows it’ll feel nice, Gojo wrapped around him, but… he want the other thing, too. Sukuna. The Cursed King, who has spread devastation and violence and brought Megumi’s people low.
The thought of Sukuna’s hands sliding over Megumi’s body, pressing him down, taking what Gojo has already used - he shivers from the mere thought of it. He always ignores the dreams, the way they make him ache, but it’s all he can think of now. There has been an aching hollow carved deep within him, something he only noticed after he saw each of them on the war field. Gojo and Sukuna could fill it, fill him. Megumi finds that he is so desperate for such a thing that he whines, pressing himself against Gojo even harder.
Megumi’s swept off his feet and into strong arms, his only forewarning being the way Gojo’s hands release him. Then he is being carried further into the tent, Gojo laying him gently down on something soft. It’s plush enough that Megumi doesn’t even mind that his arms are caught behind him in a way that could’ve been uncomfortable. Or maybe it’s not the bedding, maybe it’s just his brain.
Did Gojo do something to him? Is that why he’s so floaty? Or is it because of the dreams. He’s had them ever since his father burnt the birth mark from his back, though it was only in these months of campaigning that Megumi realised who the men in his dreams were.
He lets the thoughts go, disliking the weight of them, the way that sour feeling starts to creep up his spine once more. Instead he focuses on the way Gojo’s hands are warm on his bare thighs, grounding.
“Can you nod your head?”
Megumi nods obediently, then shakes his head when Gojo requests it a moment later. The man makes a pleased sound, leaning down and pressing a kiss to a small scar just above Megumi’s knee.
“Alright, let me know how you feel this; I untangle your clothes then I tie you with something soft.”
Megumi thinks for a while then nods, accepting the trade. His mind wanders, staring up at the ceiling while Gojo makes quick work of his greaves and boots and trousers. He floats along happily. Blearily. Letting himself be pulled upright, his arms unbound. Long fingered hands rubbing along his wrists, his elbows, his shoulders. He relaxes even further into the firm touch, delighting in the kisses pressed to each place after Gojo has finished with it.
“Let’s get this off,” Gojo mumbles, mostly to himself. His fingers undo the ties to Megumi’s underwear and then he’s peeling them off. They’re wet with Megumi’s come, though it’s starting to dry. He lifts his hips when Gojo asks him to, staring up at the man through lidded eyes. Megumi spread his legs even further, watches as Gojo sways forward, visibly entranced by the sight of him.
“So pretty, so good for me.” Gojo slides both hands up Megumi’s thighs, one travelling higher to press against Megumi’s lower stomach, a solid weight more than capable of pinning him. With his other hand, Gojo runs a single finger along the length of Megumi’s spent dick. Megumi can’t twist away like he wants, Gojo’s hand keeping him still. The sensation is just on the edge of too much and climbing higher with each stroke.
“Too sensitive? Too much?” He asks, entire fist wrapping around Megumi’s dick. Arousal’s pooling thick in Megumi’s gut but that doesn’t erase the way he’s still too sensitive; it gives the pleasure enough of an edge that Megumi can feel it through every millimetre of his body. He wants less; he wants more.
If they’re gonna keep going anyway, the promised cuddles and warmth falling to the wayside, then… Megumi wants more. He wants the other thing Gojo promised. He’s not going to let the man weasel out of two promises in one night. He does his best to rally his thoughts, his body. Megumi takes a deep breath. Opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again, only the moan as Gojo roughly rubs his thumb against the sensitive head of Megumi’s dick. He does his best to rock both into and away from Gojo’s hand; remains held fast by the man’s muscular arm. He wishes he could see Gojo’s body, the way his muscles flex as they restrain Megumi. The man’s armour is impressive but annoying, hiding what Megumi wants to touch.
He huffs in frustration, closing his eyes in order to focus, to claw words from his hazy mind. He finds them, opens his eyes and reaches out. His hands land on Gojo’s arms, sliding against the silk for a moment before finding purchase on the armour underneath.
and then grabs the words stuck in his throat and shoves them out.
“Fff-,” he tries. Megumi grabs the words in his throat and shoves them out, pulling Gojo closer at the same time. “Fuck me.”
Gojo stares down at him, hand pausing in its delightful tournament of Megumi’s overwrought but hardening cock. Bright blue eyes bore into Megumi’s own; Sukuna’s General looks hungry, greedy. Megumi wants nothing more than to be devoured.
“How could I deny such a sweet invitation?” Gojo asks. He leans forward, presses another lingering kiss to Megumi’s mouth, before he sits up once more.
“Let me finish this real quick. Then I’ll make you scream.” Gojo’s smile is breathtaking. Megumi smiles back. He doesn’t get a chance to ask what, exactly, Gojo needs to finish before he’s finding out first hand.
Gojo’s starts working Megumi’s dick again; hard and fast. He stops attempting to keep Megumi still, placing a thumb and forefinger at one of Megumi’s nipples and starting to roll it with perfect pressure. Megumi can feel his peak approaching quickly, less of a shock this time but still overwhelmingly intense.
“Gonna come again? Just for me? So sweet and easy, better than I ever dreamed. You’re perfect, Megumi.”
Megumi comes, feeling as though it’s punched out of him. Violent and sudden and he never wants it to stop. The world could end and he wouldn’t notice, so long as Gojo kept talking.
“So pretty. Come should be the only thing you ever wear.” Gojo drags his fingers through the mess pooling on Megumi’s stomach,brushing against Megumi's horrendously sensitive cock. His entire body jerks at the brief contact. Megumi can literally see Gojo weighing up the pros and cons in his head, wondering whether he should play with Megumi's sore dick some more. Megumi doesn't know whether he's glad or not that Gojo doesn't do more than lightly run a single finger down the length of him. Even that has him near writhing on the bedding but it doesn't stop him from being disappointed when Gojo moves his hand away.
Gojo’s fingers trail down, wet and slick and starting to circle Megumi’s tight, faintly twitching hole. Megumi blinks up at him, all capacity for words having left him once more.
“Still want me to fuck you?” The tip of one finger just barely starts to push into Megumi’s hole. His entire body feels too sensitive; Megumi wants to feel more than just this. Needs it. He nods. Gojo grins, wide and toothy, and Megumi shivers uncontrollably as he's entered for first time.
Just one finger, slick with his own come, and Megumi already feels it so deep. Can’t stop the wanton sound that slips from his throat, loud and unrestrained.
“Gonna treat you so good; you’ll never leave us.” Gojo leans down, presses a kiss to Megumi’s chest that’s more teeth than anything else. Megumi threads his fingers through the man’s hair and keeps him there. He doesn’t want to leave. Nothing could make him.
Even when the light in the room changes, shadowed by another body walking past the candles, Megumi doesn’t want to move. Doesn’t want to be anywhere but under Gojo’s still full clothed and armoured form, the man patiently working a third finger into Megumi’s eager self.
Megumi stares up at the king he was married to mere hours earlier, and the man stares down at him. Slowly, looking very much like a satisfied cat, Sukuna smiles. Megumi blinks, tries to assess the man but all he can think about is the fingers stretching him open, the mouth biting sweet bruises into his chest, the way he knows Sukuna’s hands would run across his skin. He’s never seen this foreign king unclothed but he already knows the tattoos that decorate his skin; knows the way those strong arms would hold him close.
Somehow, Megumi finds the willpower to drag one of his hands out of Gojo’s hair. He hides any of the trepidation he feels and raises his hand towards Sukuna. The man reaches back without hesitation, crossing the last few steps between them and sliding their fingers together. The King raises Megumi’s hand to his lips, presses a quick kiss to each of his knuckles.
“Your mouth looks lonely.” Despite the way his heavy gaze had followed Megumi around during the ceremony and after, this is the first thing Sukuna has said to him since they were married. Gojo lifts his head, grinning, mouth still open from the marks he’s been leaving on Megumi’s skin - or perhaps he plans to talk. Probably talk, given the offended squawk he gives when Sukuna’s other hand grabs Gojo by the back of his neck and smooshes his face against Megumi’s skin.
“Not you, fool.” Sukuna rolls his eyes but he’s still smiling. His hand shifts from Gojo’s hair to Megumi’s chest. Sharp nails trail across his skin, up his neck until a strong hand grips him by the jaw.
“Is your husband welcome? Or should I watch, and wait, and have you once this fool has finished?”
Sukuna’s holding his chin so firmly that he can’t nod or shake his head. Megumi doesn’t want to stop holding Sukuna’s hand. He doesn’t think he’s able to unwind his fingers from Gojo’s hair either; wouldn’t want to, even if he could. All he can do is draw Sukuna’s hand closer, bring it up to his mouth and repeat the man’s same affections. Almost. Sukuna had kissed his knuckles and his knuckles alone. Megumi does not stop there. Chaste kisses brushed against the man’s knuckles and then he opens his mouth and drags his tongue along the man’s fingers.
“So generous,” Sukuna praises, leaning in to claim the first of many kisses.