Archive of Our Own

The Gojou brat is coming over.

Naoya can hear the voices outside preparing for his arrival. He’s already seen pictures, so he knows exactly what kind of face to imagine in his head as he kicks his desk chair to the ground. He enjoys the heavy thud of it hitting the ground, the way it makes his heart race.

They will expect him to make nice. He won’t say a single polite word to a boy that has the whole world falling at his feet just because he has some ugly blue eyes. Maybe no one has ever told him how wrong he looks. How much like a ghost, how little like a person. Naoya can be the first.

He hears a faint snicker outside the room. With a flash of white-hot anger, he yanks open the fusuma. One of his brothers is already disappearing around the corner.

“Cunt!” he yells down the hall, and slams it shut again.

For the past several months, the Gojou clan and the Zenin clan have been in talks. He knows they are coming to an agreement, but on what he doesn’t know. Sure, the Gojou clan has this new brat, but he's just one snot-nosed runt, even if everyone whispers his name like they're invoking a god.

The Zenin have roots as old as sorcerer history, and they have plenty of marriageable girls—unlike the dying Gojou clan. When Naoya finally comes of age, they will have him, too. And he will never bow to someone like Gojou Satoru.

Today is the first time the young Gojou heir comes along with his family. Naoya is dumped unceremoniously outside to entertain him while the adults disappear into the main building.

“What’s wrong with your face?” Naoya demands. He sweats slightly in his robes and crosses his arms, scowling. He didn’t have time to think of something more insulting before his aunts came to drag him from his room.

Gojou looks at him impassively. He is no different from the pictures. If anything, the cold look he wears on his face is even colder.

“It’s only natural for someone extraordinary to look unusual,” Gojou intones. The way he says it makes Naoya think it’s something he’s been told, or told himself, even, as he cried before bed because the other children laughed at him.

This emboldens Naoya. “What about your hair?” he taunts. “It’s whiter than my grandfather’s. No way that’s your real color.”

“It is.”

“Liar.”

Gojou tilts his head. “Maybe you should think about changing your own hair.”

“What?”

“Right now you look so…plain. I never would have guessed you were the Zenin boy if your aunts hadn’t introduced you.”

Naoya falters. “You—,” he says, anger trembling in his voice. He is not plain. His brothers are all ugly, but he is pretty; everyone tells him so. Well, they don’t say pretty, only his father says that. The others say he is a promising young man who is sure to make girls blush one day. That bothers him a little. He doesn’t want any blushing girls staring at him with their big, weepy eyes. And then Naoya realizes something else in what Gojou just said.

“You haven’t seen any pictures of me?” he says incredulously.

Gojou shakes his head.

Naoya gapes at him. He can’t remember a time he didn’t know what the Gojou heir looked like. He’s been hearing about the Gojou clan all his life, instructed to memorize as much of their history as his own, and Gojou has never been forced to examine a single picture of Naoya?

Naoya lunges at him.

And just like that, they’re tangled in a fight, all sharp nails and poorly clenched fists, not a spark of cursed energy between them. Both of their fine white robes are covered in blood and grass stains by the time the sun goes down. When the women come to collect them, they are horrified to discover the mess the two young masters have made of themselves.

Because Naoya hasn’t seen his mother since he turned five, and his father never cares where he is unless he needs to train, the women that look after him—various aunts, and an older cousin or two—have long ago been granted permission to administer discipline as necessary. Not that Naoya finds himself in such a situation often—he is the golden child, after all. No one would ordinarily dare to hit the youngest, strongest son of the clan leader.

Unfortunately, he stumbles outside the ordinary when he beats the Gojou heir nearly half to death—and takes even worse himself.

Before he can even blame it all on Gojou, an aunt has him firmly in her lap, using the back of his collar to push his head down, and begins walloping his bottom. He cries out in pain, in horror at this humiliating punishment, and kicks out wildly, upon which she then strips his lower half mercilessly, exposing his bare thighs and underwear to the evening breeze, and spanks him until he is hiccupping with tears.

He is painfully aware of Gojou coming closer, standing above him. Those pale feet curling in the grass below him. Dazedly, he watches as a glob of saliva slips from his open lips and falls toward those delicate toes. The stab of disappointment when Gojou moves aside at the last second quickly turns into a gaping wound as fresh impact rings out against him, sending shocks of electricity through his veins.

When his aunt finishes, she makes him step out of the robes and hand them over to be washed. The fact that this leaves him a single piece of clothing away from being naked is not her concern. And— “Young master, stop stealing your cousin’s underwear. Next time it happens, she will tell your father.”

“Daddy won’t care!” he bites back, finally triumphant. “Daddy said I can do whatever I want to the girls.”

His aunt looks at him, something unreadable on her face. “He will care that you are wearing it,” she says.

Then she turns to bow deeply toward Gojou. “Young master. Your parents are awaiting your esteemed presence at the gate.”

Gojou looks Naoya up and down. His eyes linger on the white underwear, the little pink bows that sit against his hipbones. Naoya flushes, suddenly feeling ashamed. He swallows a hot lump in his throat and hmphs, turning his chin away pointedly. As Gojou leaves, he sneaks back to stare. Even in his dirty robes, even shorter than all the women, Gojou holds himself high. There’s something about the back of his head, his ugly white hair, that makes Naoya shiver.

Abruptly, hatred rises in him. “Next time I’ll break your nose for real!” he shouts. His aunt hisses and pinches his ear while she drags him back to the main house.

The next time his own nose breaks, but he gives Gojou a nasty black eye for the trouble. Once again, they fight too long, and again a gaggle of aunts come down to collect them. This time he is prepared.

“Auntie,” he moans. “I tried to stop him, but he wouldn’t listen—uhhh—”

He is on the ground before he can say anything else, mean hands, rough from housework, already smacking the soft, tender part of him.

And then someone hits the ground beside him with a surprised grunt, and Naoya watches, wide-eyed, while Gojou stares at him, equally wide-eyed, as one of Naoya’s aunts holds the Gojou heir against the ground and spanks him.

After a long, shocked silence, Gojou bursts out indignantly. “Stop it!”

He thrashes on the ground, but the aunt doesn’t budge.

“Apologies, young master. Your esteemed parents instructed this one to dispense the appropriate discipline if necessary.”

Gojou’s face tightens. “Stop it!”

“Perhaps the young masters will take better care of their clothes next time.”

The pain fades into a dull background sensation as Naoya watches the boy across from him, entranced. He feels the impact jolt through him at the same moment he watches Gojou’s body jerk from a different hit, the sounds blending together. Gojou screws his eyes up and keeps his mouth shut in a thin line, but his face grows redder and redder, and when the aunt finishes the spanking with one last barrage of hits, Gojou spasms on the ground and goes limp.

Naoya himself feels wound tighter than a bowstring, and his own final spanking just keys him up more. When his aunt releases him, he crawls over to Gojou. The boy is curled in on himself, knees up to his stomach protectively. His robes are pushed up past his waist, exposing his plain cloth underwear. Naoya acts on instinct alone. He reaches out, slipping his fingers through the gap of Gojou’s loose underwear and brushes up against hot balls, and something wet; sweat, but too thick, and when he pulls his fingers back out, strands of white cling to the tips.

“Young master—”

He doesn’t need to be told. He scrambles to his feet and allows his aunt to lead him away. When he glances back, Gojou is being covered in a new robe and ushered toward the front gate.

When the Gojou clan next pays them a visit, the little heir is notably absent. Naoya fumes on the engawa, watching as the sky turns red and begins to darken. It isn’t like he wants to see the brat, but how come he gets to stay home and do whatever he wants while Naoya’s whole life is interrupted by these stupid adults?

If Gojou ever stops being a coward and comes back, Naoya vows to ignore him completely. Naoya will make him realize he isn’t that important.

Several months pass this way, with Gojou never appearing. And now that Naoya is back to being bored on the weekend, he starts chasing an abruptly urgent new interest—

pornography.

By this point, he is well familiar with the art of getting himself off; that has been happening successfully since he was much younger and discovered his girl cousins had pretty underwear in their drawers where he had only black shorts. He hadn’t understood why he felt the urge to put it on, the first time, and why it felt so good to rub against his hand through the delicate fabric, but years later it has become a thing he does on routine, thinking about it little more than he thinks about brushing his teeth, or bathing.

But recently, it feels like something is missing. Memories of Gojou’s pale, shocked face, his little shakes of pain and humiliation, rise in Naoya’s mind unsolicited when he lies sleepless in bed. Even after he brings himself off and cleans up, the thoughts do not disappear.

So he seeks out further knowledge, to broaden his education.

His brothers, useless as they are, have always been pathetically proud of their large vocabulary of dirty words and phrases that Naoya doesn’t understand simply because they are older and have spent their adolescence primarily fucking their fists—or the house girls, depending on which brother—instead of faithfully refining their power. Not that it would have mattered for them, in the end. Naoya would have always had them beat by the time he was five. The least they can do for him now is provide him with some of their lewd resources.

One Saturday night, he carelessly slides open the door to his older brother’s room, the demand already on his tongue, and is greeted by the sight of two girls sprawled on a large bed, their fingers each buried inside the other, while his brother slams into a third girl from behind with a hand around her throat as she makes raspy noises and struggles against the ropes binding her hands to the headboard.

Naoya’s mouth closes. The two girls meet his eyes and falter. One, with long dark hair, tentatively reaches out for his brother’s shoulder, but before she can speak, her head is shoved viciously into the bed.

“What, bitch?” His brother snaps. “That desperate to get fucked?”

She whimpers unintelligibly against the sheets. His brother abruptly pulls out of the first girl, her body collapsing like a limp doll, and yanks the second girl’s hips up so that his swollen cock disappears between her legs.

“My whores are trained better than that,” he says. He spits between her cheeks and pushes forward. A terrible cry rips from her throat.

He laughs. “You thought I’d use the loose hole you’ve been playing with? Dumb slut.”

“Master…” the third girl says softly behind him. “Your little brother is here.”

He finally looks up. He spares Naoya only a disinterested glance.

“It’s polite to announce yourself,” he says.

He pats the small space beside him, and the third girl crawls there obediently, head down. His hand shoots out and gropes her breasts, squeezing them so tight that Naoya imagines plump grapes, ready to burst. His brother’s hand relaxes and draws back to pinch at her nipples. Something white is leaking from them, sliding over his brother’s fingers. He wipes them on her stomach distastefully.

“I don’t like this one’s leaky tits,” he says, and pushes her off the bed. She makes a quiet noise and does not move.

“Go feed the baby,” he says, mock-sweet to her. Then, in a flat voice to Naoya, “Don’t bring her back tonight.”

And he turns away from them both, continuing to fuck roughly into the limp girl beneath him.

The girl on the ground begins to crawl toward Naoya.

A flash of sharp fear, tinged with revulsion, shoots through him. He backs up hastily, mindlessly. With sweaty palms, he bolts out of the room. He breathes deeply. His instincts scream at him to run, but he is also frozen in place—and a biting voice mocks him for wanting to flee from a weak, broken woman.

The fusuma slides open.

She bows to him, then closes it behind her. She stands before him silently, eyes lowered, waiting. Naoya’s line of sight is directly at her breasts. He stares blankly at them, mouth thick with saliva. He has only seen the flat chests and pinprick nipples of his younger cousins before, but this girl is older and fuller. Her breasts are heavy and sagging, her nipples dark and wide and—wet.

Naoya swallows. She is only a woman. Nothing to fear.

In his room, he experiments with her body. Cautiously at first, but with growing confidence. He has not acquired the pornography he desired, but perhaps he has gotten something better. He can learn this way just as well, he supposes, as he scrutinizes her immobilized body, held open for display by the old ropes he had once used for training. But he doesn’t have a bed like his brother, only a futon, so he ties her ankles to her wrists and stuffs his panties in her mouth to muffle her pained moans.

With her legs pulled apart, he can see the pink folds of her pussy twitch. It leaks white, too, like her nipples, but thicker. He dips a finger in to sample it and finds it surprisingly salty. Then he notices her wide eyes and looks closer—it is much the same as his own spend, not that he has ever looked at his in the light like this. With a twisted feeling, he realizes this must belong to his brother.

His stomach is oddly warm. He pulls her entrance open further, and watches as it struggles, clenching in on itself, before a gush of white spills out. She whimpers and throws her head back, appearing defeated.

Naoya pushes his fingers in through the white, amazed at how easily they slide into her. It is so hot inside, like she is feverish, and the way her walls shift and compress makes a little thrill run through him.

He becomes curious as to how much width this malleable, fleshy thing can fit.

Leaving her trussed up on the ground, he scours his room for appropriate tools. He has pens on his desk, a ruler, which temporarily excites him, but it is so thin, so he keeps searching with growing frustration until he remembers the old box in his closet. With a rapidly beating heart, he retrieves it and kneels between her legs.

“I haven’t played much since I got tired of beating my brothers,” he tells her as he opens the box. “But now it excites me again.”

He holds up two carved chess pieces. “Which color?” he asks.

She looks at him fearfully and shakes her head.

It is as though a wall has come up between him and his usual irritation with females. He is entirely captivated by each new moment—his patience has opened into a bottomless well.

“That’s fine. I’ll be white. You can see how we’ll play.” And he digs through the box to pick out a white pawn. He spreads her apart with one hand and slips the piece into her with the other. It peeks out for a second as her folds twitch around it, like it’s tasting it, and then Naoya pushes the base softly with his thumb and watches with fascination as it disappears inside. When he stretches her folds wide, he can still see a hint of white peeking up at him.

Distantly, he notices the stiffness in his pants. It holds no interest to him at the moment, though.

He withdraws from her momentarily to sort through the box. The white pieces he lays on the floor, and the black ones he leaves inside.

“Your turn,” he says finally, and holds the box below her foot, close enough that her fingers can wiggle over the pieces. She is seemingly trying to run her fingers over them to guess their size, and he feels a flicker of anger. Without thinking, he reaches up to squeeze her breast like he had seen his brother do. Then, inspired by her flinch, he pulls back and slaps the heavy flesh hard, sure to catch her nipple.

She squeals through the gag.

“Take the first piece you touch,” he tells her.

She nods frantically and quickly plucks out a piece.

Naoya smiles and takes it from her.

“Playing your queen so soon?” he teases, rubbing it through her wetness. She tries to squirm away but only manages to flail on her back like a flipped turtle.

Naoya feels a surge of meanness at her pathetic display. With no further warning, he shoves it between her folds, pushing straight past the resistance, until all that is visible is the dark base. That, too, he taps on with his index finger until her greedy lips swallow it up.

He considers his own array of pieces next. He holds up a knight. “This is an interesting shape,” he muses. “Hmm. I feel like breaking the rules now. You don’t mind, right?”

She groans helplessly.

“This is much better than playing with my brothers,” he tells her conversationally as he slides his two knight pieces into her at once.

Those are harder to convince her pussy to take, but once it does, he is filled with an almost overpowering rush of satisfaction.

Her turn sees him adding a stout rook to the growing collection inside her. He decides on a handful of pawns for his turn, which he pops into her one at a time and watches raptly as her pussy heaves around them until it has no choice but to surrender and let them in. The last one he takes his time with, swirling it around the slick area, now sopping wet with traces of his brother’s spend as well as this girl’s own sticky fluids. When he drags it up, it brushes over something small and round, and the girl convulses beneath him, a scream tearing out of her chest as her pussy tightens—Naoya stares as it spasms around the base of the pawns he has just pushed in, his stomach hot as he imagines the pieces inside, and then a pawn pops out, along with a trickle of clear liquid.

The girl goes abruptly limp, her eyes rolling back in her head. When Naoya gingerly picks the damp piece up again and pushes it back in, she gives no acknowledgement, nor does she respond when he adds the final one.

With a new curiosity, he probes that spot higher up with his finger. She shudders violently the first time he touches it, then begins to cry through her gag as he continues rubbing over it, fascinated by the pointy little nub. He pinches it, rolls it harshly between his thumb and forefinger, grinds his thumb into it, and when that gets dull he flicks it with each of his fingers, one after another. After a number of minutes spent torturing the overstimulated bud, the girl’s body begins to shake again. This time he reaches down quickly with his other hand to clasp over her entrance and hold all the pieces inside.

She screams again, voice cracking, as she cums for the second time. Naoya slips a finger in after a moment and marvels at the rhythmic clenching of her inner walls. He can feel the pieces shifting inside, and the sharp edge of what feels like a knight jabs his finger. He wonders how it feels for her, all those little dips and divots and rough spots trapped inside her, crowding against each other, into her softest parts.

Naoya has to stifle a moan into his fist.

“You can’t fit them all, probably,” he says, withdrawing his finger. “Too bad.”

He dumps all her remaining pieces out, save one, and holds the box up. Her eyes are unfocused and glazed over; she doesn’t seem to notice. She slowly reaches into the box and draws out the king, and Naoya takes it from her loose fingers to set about working it into her stuffed pussy.

Her breathing has settled after she came again, but now she begins to breathe loudly through her nose, whimpering against the gag, as her chest heaves. She has been trapped in this unnatural position long enough that it must be very painful. But still, she keeps cumming. Not that this was his goal, but he thinks it is an entertaining side effect. He bets to himself that she will cum again at least once more before he finishes.

The king is clearly bumping against the other pieces inside of her, so Naoya plays with it a bit, halfway in, trying to find a good spot to push in fully. He dips his first two fingers inside her and drags her lips apart so he can see deep inside. The jumbled sight of the mismatched pieces mesmerizes him. With a slightly trembling hand, he slides the king in the rest of the way.

She thrashes on the ground. Naoya doesn’t bother to restrain her; as she struggles, her pussy shudders and begins to gape, and the base of several pieces slip out, just enough to be visible. Naoya stares mindlessly at the hole’s poor attempt to free itself, and so is taken entirely off guard when the girl manages to roll onto her side and begins squirming forward in a feeble attempt to escape.

He laughs. It is truly pathetic. It can’t even make him angry. In fact—

“Are you trying to remind me about your other hole?” he says lightly, reaching out to squeeze her ass. He uses both hands to pull her cheeks apart and reveal the tight whorl of skin there.

“I’ll finish the game here,” he decides.

He rolls her back over, eyeing the ruined pussy with satisfaction, sloppy mouth bulging with pieces, and spits on his fingers. He wants to see her ass broken the same way.

He plunges two fingers into her at once, piercing through the modest resistance as she cries out. It is easier than he thought to start fucking them into her, and he remembers his brother; he probably played with this hole all the time. No wonder she opened up for it like this.

Without warning, he pulls out. Then he yanks the gag out of her mouth and replaces it with two chess pieces. She chokes slightly around the plastic but as soon as he takes them away, determined they are wet enough, she begins to plead.

“Young master—please don’t! I can’t take anymore!” Her eyes are red and splotchy, fresh tears filling in the corners. “Your brother will be upset if something happens to me!”

Naoya smiles. “You know, that makes me want to break you even more.”

He holds the white king and queen in his palm. His final move. He ignores her senseless cries and begins to squeeze the queen into her asshole. It pushes back against him feebly, but he bullies it forward slow and relentless until it sinks flush against her hole with a delicious wet pop. Without giving her a second to adjust, he quickly fits the king against her rim, enough to exert pressure but not enough to slip it inside. As she pants with ragged breaths, he rams it forward in one sharp motion to fit alongside the queen, not letting up until it is completely inside her, visible only at the base.

She screams. Her body convulses; her breasts catch his eye as they bounce while she shakes on the ground, still bound and unable to move any of her limbs. Her shrieks gradually turn into wordless cries as she cums again, and when Naoya goes back to flicking that little hidden nub above her pussy, a violent rush of liquid squirts out around the pieces and she makes a strangled sound, then appears to fall unconscious.

Naoya retrieves a camera from his desk and takes several pictures of her from different angles. His favorite shot is right up between her legs, showing off her gaping front hole, wet and loose and pierced with a dozen different pieces, all jutting out of her at different lengths, and below that, the second hole, the king and queen tucked up nicely inside and stretching the rim broadly, refusing to let it shrink back to its tiny pucker.

After this night, Naoya often finds new ways to corner her. At first she thinks clinging to his brother will protect her, but after the first dozen times he carelessly tosses her out, she begins looking for new hiding places. Once Naoya takes her outside, cornered on the little pebble garden, slamming an artificial cock—which he found exploring his older cousin’s room—into her until his hand cramps. She cries out as footsteps pass hurriedly along the engawa behind Naoya, but no one stops.

Eventually she abandons her doomed attempts at elusion and comes to Naoya’s room herself, head lowered, eyes empty.

He loses interest then. It’s no fun like that. He moves on to other girls, usually younger than him. Sometimes he feels unsettled by the way the older women look at him.

A year passes this way. And then—finally—it is time for more talks with the Gojou clan.

The Gojou heir once again shows his pasty face.

They approach each other warily outside the house. Naoya tries to snatch his hand, and a sharp gleam flashes in Gojou’s eyes. Naoya’s hand grabs nothing but air.

Naoya rolls his eyes. “Ugh, you’re so jumpy. Just like a girl.”

Gojou eyes him steadily and doesn’t respond.

Naoya feels his skin grow hot. Something about that look—it’s not the one he wants to see on Gojou’s face.

“Come on,” Naoya says, mustering all the authority he can in two words. “We’re going to my room.”

And remarkably, Gojou follows him. Naoya holds his head up high as he marches through the halls. Soon enough, he’ll have the little brat eating scraps out of his hand.

“So,” Gojou says finally, once they’re seated on Naoya’s floor. “What do you want?”

Naoya crows. “Oh, so he does talk!”

Gojou’s stare is unwavering. “I don’t like talking to people beneath me. It’s a waste of time. But seeing as I have nothing better to do…” He sighs dramatically.

Naoya clenches his hands. “Is that so? I thought maybe you just lost your nerve after last time. Realized you were out of your depth.”

“The only thing I realized,” Gojou enunciates slowly, “is that you are a pervert.”

A startling wave of heat washes over him.

“So are you!” Naoya retorts. “I felt your underwear!”

He expects some anger out of him at that, maybe an incoming blow, which would segue nicely into Naoya’s proposal for their evening, but Gojou just smiles.

“That’s why you’re the pervert,” Gojou says.

Naoya shakes his head in disbelief. He gets to his knees and crawls toward Gojou, backing him against the wall. Like this, he is taller. “You like being hit. I saw it. You didn’t even know. You’re an only child, right? I bet you don’t know anything about fucking. Probably fumble your own dick trying to get off.” Naoya puffs out his chest. “I know plenty, though. I can teach you, if you ask nicely.”

Gojou clasps his shoulder. “I would never ask you nicely for anything, Naoya. You don’t seem to realize how generous I’m being by talking to you in this shabby room at all, pretending I don’t see your freak porn.”

Naoya flushes and glances toward the desk. Sure enough, his photos are splayed over the surface. Gojou meets his gaze, unbothered, when he looks back.

“Oops,” Gojou says. “No need to get self-conscious now.”

Naoya thrums with anger. He plops all his weight down on Gojou’s extended legs, with nothing else in mind but the desire to crush him. Gojou lets out a huff of air.

“What are you doing?” he says, disdain seeping into his tone.

Naoya slides his weight over Gojou’s lap and exclaims gleefully when he presses into a bulge.

“Aha!” he says, jabbing a finger in Gojou’s face. “Pervert!”

Gojou’s face finally darkens. His eyes dart to the side for half a second. “It’s ‘cos I know you’re wearing those stupid panties,” he mutters.

A light shiver skips down his back. Naoya likes wearing panties, after all, so of course he’s wearing them, he’s always wearing them. He knows his aunts wish he would stop, and he knows he would get beaten senseless by his father if he ever finds out, but Naoya didn’t expect Gojou to have any thoughts on the matter.

“I am,” Naoya confirms lowly, just to see Gojou’s face tighten. “Wanna see?”

Gojou glares at him defiantly. “I remember.”

“Well, you couldn’t touch last time,” Naoya points out astutely. He would make a great lawyer, if his family didn’t already have enough money for three lifetimes. “Look, we’re both bored, okay? If we fight again, we’ll get in trouble. So, why don’t we play a game instead?”

There. He said it. Not quite like how he rehearsed in his head, but he thinks he has a solid advantage as it is. The close proximity seems to work well with Gojou.

“What game?” Gojou says flatly.

Naoya grins. “A fun one. We see who can get the other off quicker.”

“That’s a stupid game.”

“You just know you’ll lose.”

A small smile tugs at the corner of Gojou’s mouth. “You know, you’re right about one thing, Naoya—I don’t have experience. I am an only child. I’ve never seen porn, except outside of shop windows. And still, I could get you off in under a minute, right now.”

Naoya scoffs. As if. This spoiled young master needs a lesson in reality more than ever. “No way. What are you betting?”

Gojou pauses, considering. His blue eyes twinkle. “If I’m wrong, you can fuck me. You’ve still never gotten your baby dick wet, have you?”

Naoya blanches. How could he know that? Naoya himself doesn’t understand why he hasn’t. The opportunity presents itself daily. He can just never hold the interest, when it comes down to that moment.

He recovers quickly. “Fine,” he says. “Hope your ass is ready to be dominated. If I lose—which I won’t—I’ll let you fuck one of the Zenin girls.”

His heart beats rapidly. He’s certain Gojou will protest, demand an equal wager, but Gojou just smiles lazily at him. Naoya doesn’t think he has ever seen Gojou smile before this night. It’s an unsettling sight.

“Fine,” Gojou agrees. “So, has my minute started?”

Naoya splutters. Does this pervert actually want to be fucked? “Yeah, idiot,” Naoya says. “Tick tock. 50, 49—”

The breath is knocked out of him when Gojou shoves him off his lap, back to the ground. Naoya just manages to catch himself on his elbows, glaring up at him.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he starts indignantly, and then yelps in a horrified panic when Gojou sticks his leg out and presses his foot meanly into Naoya’s crotch.

Gojou ignores his protest. “My hands are too good for you. I think your dirty little cock will appreciate my feet just as much.” He drags his toe up and down the outline of Naoya’s rapidly hardening cock. “Hmm. Maybe even more.”

“This is ridiculous,” Naoya insists, ears red hot. “I’ll never come like this!”

Gojou just looks at him and continues working his foot. His heel pushes against Naoya’s balls and a terrible noise escapes Naoya’s throat. Gojou smirks and continues upward.

“I think, deep down, your body knows where it belongs. Nothing more than a toy to be played with. Such a cute little cock, but all it wants is to be stepped on. Even if I let you fuck me, your cock wouldn’t know what to do—oh?”

He pauses when Naoya moans, loud and broken.

“Already? I’m being nice, so pull your pants down.”

Naoya mindlessly scrambles to do just that. He moans again in relief when Gojou’s foot returns to his bare cock, poking out from the waistband of his underwear.

“I wonder if this is how giants feel, looking at people,” Gojou muses absently. Naoya barely registers the words. With each stroke of Gojou’s foot, his warm, calloused skin against Naoya’s cock, pleasure paints over his insides in layers, building towards an explosive release— like nothing he has ever felt.

Gojou snaps his fingers, and Naoya’s eyes go to him instantly. He begs silently for him to continue. The look Gojou gives him suggests that he is aware of those internal cries.

“I will let you dirty my foot,” Gojou says, “provided you clean it up after. Deal?”

Naoya bites his lip. “I wanna cum,” he whines, bucking into Gojou’s foot. “Make me cum!”

“So bossy,” Gojou observes. “You’re more entertaining than I expected, Naoya.”

Naoya’s nails dig into the floor. “Make me cum!” he demands again, voice cracking this time.

“You’ll clean up your mess?”

“Ugh—yes, whatever! Just let me—mmph!” Naoya shoves his fist in his mouth. The two of them watch as his cock spurts enthusiastically into the air, coating Gojou’s toes in white. A few thick globs slide down to his ankle. Naoya’s mouth waters. He wants to bite that foot.

“Let you?” Gojou says lightly. Naoya blinks, trying to clear his head. He doesn’t know what he means—oh.

“Shut up,” is all he can come up with as he turns red under that inescapable gaze. He reaches down to tuck his cock back into his underwear, feeling self-conscious. Maybe it is small. He needs to see Gojou’s to compare.

He catches Gojou staring at his underwear and smirks. But it falls away when Gojou’s eyes return to him. Gojou holds out his foot expectantly, still coated in white.

“Clean it up,” Gojou says evenly.

Naoya grumbles. “Yeah, okay. I’ll get a towel.” He starts to stand.

Gojou leans forward and grabs his shirt. “No,” he says, eyes twinkling again. “Use your mouth.”

Naoya stares at him incredulously. “Are you insane?” he snaps. “As if I would ever put my mouth on your foot, you delusional freak—”

Less than a minute later, Naoya is lapping between Gojou’s toes like a dog desperately licking a plate clean of scraps. As he follows the trail down the slope of Gojou’s foot, Gojou puts a hand on his head—just holding him. Something about that makes Naoya slip even further from rationality. The taste of his own spend is not pleasant, but it does nothing to prevent his dick from hardening once again. Long after the mess is gone, Naoya continues suckling on him, moaning shamelessly when Gojou shoves his foot in deeper and forces Naoya to make room in his mouth.

Distantly, he feels Gojou moving above him, and then arms are guiding him up. Naoya whines in protest, eyes half-lidded.

Gojou shushes him. “You’re a real slut,” he says quietly, voice mildly awed. “You could probably cum just from licking my feet, huh?”

Naoya nods mindlessly before he even understands what Gojou is saying.

Gojou pets his hair before pushing his head down to his lap. Gojou pulls his cock out of his shorts. “Suck this instead,” he says gently, guiding Naoya’s mouth to it. Naoya greedily gobbles it down, choking when he takes it too far, but immediately tries again. Hot tears spill over his eyelids. Gojou continues stroking his hair all the while.

“You’re cute,” Gojou says. “I think I’ll keep you.”

Naoya resents that. He’s going to say something back—that this is his house, Gojou’s in his room, and if anyone is keeping anyone, Naoya is keeping him—but that all falls away when Gojou starts to cum in his mouth and without wavering for a second, Naoya eagerly takes it all down his throat.

After, he struggles to open his eyes. The room seems unstable, tilted somehow. A feeling of dread starts to seep into his bones, weighing him down to the floor. He whimpers, ashamed of his fear.

“There, there, pet,” someone says above him.

That same person—fuck, it must be Gojou, how humiliating—helps him stand and walk forward until he feels the familiar soft give of his futon. Naoya collapses onto it gratefully, and then a solid weight plonks down behind him. Naoya pushes back into it, pleased when an arm slides over his chest.

“Your mouth is pretty when you cry,” Gojou whispers into his neck.

Deep down, Naoya knows this is all wrong. This is not how it was meant to be. He tries to think of a retort.

“Your cock is pretty when…” he tries, muttering into the sheets.

Gojou laughs. It’s an odd sound. It makes his stomach twist with both anticipation and unease. “When…?” Gojou prompts.

“When it’s in my mouth.”

“Well, I don’t mind keeping your mouth busy. We can do it again next weekend.”

“Mhmm,” Naoya murmurs drowsily.

When he wakes up again, it is the middle of the night—going by the lack of light through the window—he’s sweating, and there are hands on his pants, dragging them down.

His blood goes cold. He lashes out with a fist while he tries to scramble away. His eyes blink rapidly in the dark.

Someone catches his fist. “Wait, Naoya. It’s okay, stop.”

He glares at the faint outline of Gojou. “The fuck are you doing? This wasn’t the bet! Especially not while I’m sleeping!”

“What?” Gojou actually sounds unbalanced. “No, it’s not like that. You’re burning up and muttering in your sleep. I thought taking off your outer clothes would help.” Gojou grabs his tense hand and slaps it across his admittedly hot forehead. “See?”

Naoya rips his hand away. “Fuck off. Liar.” He slides back so far he slips off the futon.

Gojou stops moving and just stares at him. “Naoya, seriously. I wouldn’t do that. Not while you’re unconscious. I know—” he breaks off with a frustrated noise. “Look, just—I know. Okay?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Naoya says. All the blood has drained from his face. He feels light-headed. “I don’t know.”

“Fine, you don’t know. But I know. And I wouldn’t.”

Neither of them move.

“Come back?” Gojou says lightly.

Naoya considers him. That outrageous hair catches little bits of moonlight through the window and gleams like a single jewel. For a moment, Naoya sees his room not as his room but somewhere unknown, treacherous, and imagines how it would look to a stranger stepping foot inside for the first time.

Something heavy twists in his stomach. Naoya continues to sweat. With an inward sigh, he strips off his shirt, then his pants. Wearing only a pair of white panties, with a little bow above each thigh, he crawls back onto the futon.

“I’m not embarrassed,” Naoya says haughtily, daring Gojou to argue.

“I know,” Gojou replies. “Why do you wear them?”

Naoya shrugs. “I like it. Feels good.”

Gojou hums. His hand slides down to tug at one of the bows. “Do they make you feel sexy?”

Naoya shrugs again, but this time says nothing.

“I like them better on you than a girl,” Gojou tells him. “They make me want to suck your cock.”

Naoya startles slightly. He turns to stare at Gojou, who is already sliding down. “What?” he says, but his voice comes out shaky.

“You heard me,” Gojou says. “Can I?”

“No,” Naoya says, just to be difficult.

Gojou pauses. He rests his chin on Naoya’s thigh, cheek pressing into the bulge through his panties. He bats his eyes, looking up. “Are you sure?” he says, false sweet.

“Yes,” Naoya chokes out.

Gojou sighs and pats the bulge. “Well, okay,” he says. “If you’re sure.” And he scoots back up and turns on his side. “Good night.”

Naoya blinks at the ceiling. What? That’s it? He thought Gojou would just do it anyway, and Naoya could pretend like he was doing him a favor. But like this—

He probably lasts thirty seconds.

“Please suck my cock,” he says quietly, face heating. There is no response. He drops the please. “Suck my cock,” he insists. “Gojou!” Naoya grabs his shoulder and forces him onto his back, revealing Gojou’s face, biting back laughter.

Naoya scowls at him. Gojou pats his cheek. “Silly pet,” he says, still with a trace of laughter. “If you ask nicely, I will.”

“Suck my cock,” Naoya says. Then tacks on a sarcastic, “Please.”

Gojou laughs again. “Good enough! I don’t feel like moving anymore, though.”

“What?” Naoya snaps.

Gojou just looks at the ceiling, smirking. “Your cock will have to come to me.”

“You—” Naoya splutters. He roughly climbs over Gojou and unceremoniously shoves his clothed bulge in Gojou’s face. “Fucking here! You bitch—ahh.”

Gojou has the cock in his mouth in a second, easily tugging down the waistband with his thumb and popping it in like it’s a sour candy, the kind that you have to really suck to get the full flavor. It’s incredible, and almost too much. Naoya feels like he’s surrendered all control of his dick—it belongs in Gojou’s mouth now, and Gojou will decide if he ever gets it back.

Naoya fists the sheets on either side of Gojou’s head and thrusts limply into Gojou’s mouth. His legs are trembling. Gojou makes an encouraging noise around him. Naoya whines and his hips jump forward, starting an erratic rhythm.

Like this, him straddling Gojou’s neck, cock shoved down his throat, he should be the one in charge. And he is—he could choke him, make him cry and beg for relief, and he will, he’ll show Gojou whose house this is, whose room they’re in—that even power like his has its limits.

A short time later, Naoya’s hips are held firmly in place by Gojou’s hands while Gojou’s mouth laves every inch of his cock with saliva. Naoya babbles nonsensically, no longer sure what he is saying.

“Please, I need—let me, please, wanna cum—” he half-sobs. “Please! Can I?”

His eyes have long since rolled back toward the ceiling, but they snap down when Gojou pulls off his cock.

Gojou wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, then returns it to Naoya’s hip.

“I never said you couldn’t cum,” Gojou says, lifting one perfect white eyebrow.

“You didn’t?” Naoya pants.

“Nope.”

Naoya watches in despair as Gojou runs his index finger from the base to his leaking tip, then taps it neatly and pulls away, smiling as it twitches forlornly in the air, begging for more attention.

“C—can I, though?

Gojou laughs. It’s not a cruel sound. “Can you what, pet?”

“Mmph—” Naoya bites his lip when Gojou begins idly playing with his balls. “Can I cum?”

Gojou tilts his head like he’s considering. “Well, since you need permission so badly—sure, you can cum. Not in my mouth, though. I’ll jerk us off together...” Gojou pauses. “Wow.”

Naoya whimpers above him, hips spasming as his orgasm rips through him. His cock erupts against Gojou’s face, splashing his cheek, his forehead, up into his hair. Gojou doesn’t close his eyes, and Naoya is caught, helpless, in his gaze as he paints the Gojou heir’s face white with his spend. A gnawing feeling grows in his stomach, eating up the space left behind by the blaze of his orgasm.

“You said I could!” he insists, voice high. His cock twitches against Gojou’s cheek.

After a long second, Gojou’s face relaxes. He looks thoughtful. He pets Naoya’s side. “Shh, don’t worry. I said you could. I just didn’t realize how desperate you are. What happened to all your experience?”

Naoya climbs back to the futon. Before he can think twice about it, he plasters himself to Gojou’s side. Gojou smells like sweat and men’s deodorant. Naoya inhales deeply with each breath.

“It’s different,” he mutters. “Girls. They’re weak. Boring.”

Gojou hums. “They don’t know what an obedient pet you make. Is that why you still haven’t fucked one?”

Naoya bites his arm. Gojou hisses and pulls his hair sharply.

“How do you know that?” Naoya demands.

“You just told me, idiot.”

Naoya huffs. “Whatever. And don’t call me a pet! I can fuck girls just fine. I just don’t want to.”

Gojou looks down at him dubiously.

“Yet!” Naoya adds.

Gojou rolls his eyes. “Whatever you say, young master.” He reaches under the sheets to grab Naoya’s hand. He brings it between his legs. “Now jerk me off. It’ll make you feel better.”

Naoya grumbles but he still makes his mouth nice and wet to spit enough saliva into his palm and then he grips Gojou’s cock and every time it twitches against him his stomach does a little flip, thrumming with electricity. Gojou closes his eyes and occasionally moans in appreciation as he runs his fingers down Naoya’s ribs. His mouth hangs open slightly. Naoya leans closer, entranced by it. He wets his lips. Their mouths are almost touching when Gojou’s eyes shoot open.

Naoya jerks back. His hand tightens instinctively, and Gojou hisses.

Before Gojou can open his big mouth, Naoya scrambles for something. He remembers the bet. “So,” he says quickly. “Which girl do you want?”

Gojou frowns. Sure enough, he’s distracted.

“The bet. You won, idiot. So which of my cousins do you want to fuck?”

Gojou groans. “You’re such a freak.”

Naoya jerks him faster.

“Mmm, I’m close. You gonna catch it all in your hand?”

Naoya flushes. “Sure, whatever.”

“Haha, okay. Not my futon that will be ruined.”

“Ugh, come on! Which girl?”

Gojou’s eyes flash in the dark. His mouth is a slant. “I’ll pass. Not really interested in girls.”

Naoya’s hand freezes. “Like, not at all?”

Gojou shrugs. “Not really.”

“That’s weird,” Naoya tells him.

Gojou stares at him. Then snorts. “Yeah, super weird. Look, I’ll keep it in mind, okay? You owe me a girl to fuck. Don’t forget.”

“I won’t forget,” he says testily. “Are you almost done?”

“Not my fault you killed the mood.”

“You—! Fine, I’ll use my mouth.”

“Wait—”

Naoya only spends a minute with his mouth on Gojou’s cock before it’s spilling down his throat for the second time in twenty-four hours. It tastes just the same as before, maybe worse, and yet Naoya is fascinated—he’d be happy to swallow it again in the morning, just to feel that same sticky weight sliding down his throat, the inescapable fact that it came from Gojou burning him up inside.

Thinking about morning, though, makes him finally realize something.

As Naoya crawls back up the pillow, suspiciously eyeing the arm that Gojou flings across him, he turns to look at Gojou with narrow eyes. “Why are you still here? It’s the middle of the night. No way your family just forgot your esteemed presence.”

Gojou laughs. “Before we arrived, I told my family I would be spending the night here. They were pleased to hear the Zenin heir and I were on better terms.”

It feels like Gojou just dumped a gallon of icy water on him.

Before?

So what—had all this been Gojou’s plan? How could he have known? It’s impossible. This whole time—

Naoya turns on his side silently.

Gojou pushes up behind him. Low voice against his neck, he says, “Don’t cry if I can’t see.”

Naoya jabs an elbow backwards. “I am not!”

“What is it?” Gojou coos. “You don’t like that I read your mind? You should be grateful. I’m a responsible pet owner~”

Naoya pulls the sheets over his head. “Fuck off!” he shouts, muffled. “I’m not a pet! I’m gonna kill you in the morning if you’re still here!”

When Naoya wakes up to the sound of birds outside his window and the warmth of the budding sun’s rays across the floor, he blinks peacefully for a handful of moments, feeling a dull tingling sensation spread sluggishly through his body, and rolls onto his other side, prepared to go back to sleep. Then he realizes, as his face meets a solid chest, that the sensation is not one of sleeping relaxation but Gojou fondling his balls like they’re his own personal fidget toy.

Naoya attempts to jerk up, but Gojou’s hand is quick to pin him down. When Naoya settles, the initial shock fading, Gojou smirks and his hand returns to play with Naoya’s balls, only now, he starts stroking his cock, too.

“You’re still here,” Naoya says, voice scratchy from sleep.

Gojou hums. “Yup.”

“You said you wouldn’t,” Naoya accuses him, jabbing a finger in his chest. He’s not angry, though. All that is buried beneath a lingering sleep-haze. “In my sleep.”

“Well, I do lie,” Gojou says bluntly. “Not about that, though. Actually, it was your needy little cock that woke me up, and I was just trying to comfort it until you woke up, too. It didn’t take long. Whatever you were dreaming, you were really begging for it.”

Naoya squints, trying to recall. “Really?”

“Mhmm. Now that you’re awake, want me to continue? Or should I leave the two of you alone?”

Naoya throws his head into the pillow. He sighs, now resigned to his fate. “Just finish. Make me cum.”

Gojou laughs. “Oh, no. Not like that.”

Naoya scowls. “Please.”

“Closer,” Gojou says. “But nope.”

“Please make me cum,” Naoya tries, face heating.

Gojou leans in, and for a terrible second, Naoya thinks he is going to kiss him. He closes his eyes and waits, heart thudding. And then—teeth are digging into his bottom lip. He whimpers.

When his eyes open, Gojou is right there, watching him.

“Beg,” Gojou says.

Naoya does not hesitate.

They build a tenuous relationship—not quite a friendship, not quite not-a-friendship; something in between, slippery and thrilling. Even after the family talks resolve, and there are no more weekly visits from the Gojou clan, the heir himself pays regular visits to Naoya’s room. They spend a whole season playing with each other, then a handful more. Naoya no longer bothers chasing after the women in the house. They are weak prey, like deer, a dozen all the same. He is interested in the lion.

His aunts compliment him on beginning to act more like a man than a boy, and Naoya brushes them off like harmless flies, but one time an older cousin, already married with kids, sees Naoya walking with Gojou outside and decides to praise Naoya right there, and thank Gojou for his assistance and patience while she’s at it.

Gojou smiles. “Of course.” His false smile grates on Naoya’s nerves, but it’s the one Gojou uses the most. “We enjoy similar activities.”

The cousin returns his smile innocently and bids them a good afternoon. Naoya glares behind her as she goes.

“She thinks she knows everything, ever since she got married,” he says as they walk back to the house. “Wanna fuck her?”

Gojou snorts. “And after she just praised you. If only she could hear you now.”

Naoya shrugs. “I don’t care.”

“Yeah, I know. You sure talk big, though.”

“What?” Naoya demands. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, nothing,” Gojou says cheerfully, eyes sparkling.

Naoya finds out what he means later, when they’re on his futon and he’s naked on his arms and knees while Gojou is still dressed, except for the bare cock peeking out through his robes. Gojou rubs it between Naoya’s legs and waits for him to beg for more.

They have never gone all the way—Gojou maintains that if Naoya ever beats him in a bet, Naoya can fuck him right then, which has never happened, and Gojou has never brought up the reverse; Naoya has never volunteered.

Today, though, the atmosphere is already different. It’s finally summer, and sweat drips between the two of them, adding to the fire already crackling in Naoya’s stomach. They have been at this for months and months and it’s always good but lately Naoya keeps dreaming about how it could be better.

Gojou slaps his cock against Naoya’s ass a few times before slotting it back between his thighs. They have already spread oil on his skin, so when Gojou slips between his legs, it’s a warm, slick passage that awaits him. Gojou moans and thrusts forward lazily, dragging himself slowly against Naoya’s soft inner skin. Naoya bites back his whines and tries not to push back too much, or even arch his back.

They got a little too into it the other day—Gojou started whispering about how he was going to breed his tight little pussy full and Naoya went completely limp beneath him. He couldn’t string together anything besides dazed mumbles for several minutes. Neither of them realized he had come until Gojou rolled him over and they discovered the sticky mess beneath him.

But now Gojou starts to go even harder than last time. While Naoya is simply enjoying the position, the smooth glide of a cock between his legs, occasionally brushing up against his balls, Gojou reaches out to push Naoya’s face into the sheets, which also makes him finally arch his back.

He makes a little pleading noise in his throat, but Gojou ignores him.

“Look at you,” Gojou says, not exactly kind. “Such a cock-hungry whore.”

Naoya moans softly.

Gojou slips out and roughly grabs one of Naoya’s cheeks, pulling it to the side. A cold rush of air kisses the delicate skin there. Naoya shivers. His heart thumps like a drum in his ears.

Gojou’s cock glances over his hole. Then it returns, purposeful, and rubs over him, spreading the oil and Gojou’s own leaking precum.

Naoya feels like his throat is collapsing. He can’t manage anything more than a broken gasp.

Gojou starts to put pressure on his hole, the tip of his dick threatening to sink in with just a little more effort.

The reality of it hits like a slap in the face. Naoya struggles against the hand holding him down. “D-don’t,” he says blearily. “Not there.”

“Hmm? Why not?” Gojou’s tone still has an odd sense of detachment.

“It’s not…” Naoya tries. The embarrassment feels like willingly swallowing poison. “…not wet enough. It’s not ready. It’ll—hurt.”

The cock disappears. Gojou must move his face lower, because suddenly Naoya feels his hot breath against his hole.

“So that’s the only reason? Not because you don’t want to be fucked?”

“No…don’t fuck me…please, Gojou.”

“Shh, shh. You do want it, though. You just want to be ready. But you’d beg for it, wouldn’t you? Beg for my cock inside you?”

Naoya shivers violently. “I—” he starts, and then stops with a gasp when Gojou’s wet finger suddenly traces over his rim. “No, no, no,” he moans, even as Gojou’s long finger slides into him. “Ah, AH!”

“Settle down, pet. It’s just one finger. You must have had a finger up here before. Maybe two? You take it so well—let’s try another.”

Naoya shrieks into the pillow as Gojou slips another finger in. It stretches his hole uncomfortably. One was already a strange intrusion inside him, but now with a second, he feels like a skewered pig.

He kicks his feet petulantly, and Gojou pets his hip. Then his fingers pet him, too, on the inside, stroking up against his walls, and Naoya shudders. All the fight leaves his body at once.

“There you go,” Gojou praises. “Good pet. Do you want me to stop?”

Naoya moans.

“What’s that? I don’t speak whore.”

Naoya takes a big, hiccupping breath. “No,” he says weakly.

“Will you beg me to keep going?”

Naoya doesn’t know the answer.

Gojou laughs slyly. “Let’s find out.”

And his fingers start moving. Before, they were leisurely exploring Naoya’s insides, and the strange weight of them was odd—unpleasant if anything. Now they slam into him, again and again, pushing deeper, mercilessly fast. Naoya’s knees quickly give out, but Gojou catches him and helps hold him up; just limp weight being rammed into endlessly.

Naoya’s breaths come out as ragged gasps. He tries to find his tongue. He’ll beg Gojou to stop.

“Harder,” he whispers instead.

Gojou doesn’t pause. “Oh, you want more?” He pats Naoya’s ass fondly with his free hand and slips a third finger inside him, which immediately joins the others in their onslaught.

Naoya cries out. “No—too much!!” He clings to the pillow beneath him as his body trembles with the force of it. “I can’t—”

Gojou goes still. The abruptness startles him. He clenches around the fingers instinctively, and then shivers when his cock twitches in response.

“Should I stop?” Gojou asks. His voice is much lower than usual.

Naoya squirms, caught beneath him. “I don’t know,” he says, pained.

“Well, that big tough guy from earlier wouldn’t want to continue. Right? He wants to go fuck his cousin. Or watch her get fucked, whatever. He’s pretty weird. But you’re not him. You’re my pretty pet, eager to please. Desperate to be fucked.”

A bolt of understanding pierces the fog of lust surrounding him. “That’s what this is?” Naoya mumbles. “I don’t get why you—”

“Shh, you don’t have to understand. That’s not your job, pet. You just have to be a nice hole to take my cock.”

Naoya whimpers. His mouth hangs open against the sheets. The unmoving fingers inside him are making him unhappy. He wants them to fuck him open further, make him ready to take Gojou’s cock—wait, what? No, this wasn’t the plan, he doesn’t want it to happen like this—Gojou curls his fingers, and Naoya’s vision explodes.

When he blinks again, the sheet beneath him is damp. Gojou doesn’t seem to notice. His fingers repeat the motion, and waves of pleasure crash through him.

“Don’t stop,” Naoya cries. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I’m just a hole for your cock, I’ll take it so well, please—don’t stop!”

“There you go, shh. I’ll fuck you nice and hard.”

Naoya wails throughout the experience, never falling silent completely, as Gojou uses his fingers to fuck another two orgasms out of him, until his hole is raw and tender and feels bruised deep inside. Then Gojou pulls out his fingers and wraps his palm around Naoya’s limp cock.

Naoya protests feebly, tries to bat Gojou’s hands away, but Gojou just chuckles and strokes him faster.

“Tell me, Naoya,” he whispers into his ear. He sucks on the lobe and releases it with a wet pop. “What are you?

Naoya thrashes in his arms. “—your hole! Please, it hurts!! I can’t cum anymore, please—mmhhh.”

His cries turn into senseless moans when Gojou starts sucking down his neck. “What else?”

Naoya’s heart beats rapidly. “I don’t know!” he wails. “I don’t—”

Gojou clamps a hand over his mouth. “Shh, you’re gonna bring the whole house in here. Just listen to my voice. My hand feels nice, right? I know you’re sore. Give me one more, okay? Your sweet cock’s been working so hard, it’s so close. We can’t stop now. You want to be a good pet for me, don’t you?”

Gojou slides his hand away, now soaked with saliva. Naoya looks up at him dazedly. It doesn’t feel like his cock is close, but if Gojou says it is…

Oh—

He remembers the answer.

“I’m your pet…” Naoya whispers.

“Aww, very good! I knew you had it in you—look, there it goes, oh, just a cute little trickle, how sweet.”

Distantly, Naoya feels his cock release, but it doesn’t bring any new pleasure, just a relieving end to the constant stimulation. Naoya takes in great gasps of air, feeling his body finally relax from the tension.

Then Gojou flips him onto his stomach and spreads his cheeks.

Deep dread pierces through him. He tries to reach behind him. “Use my other hole,” he pleads. “That one can’t take anymore. You—broke it.” He shudders. It feels true. When Gojou presses his cock up against his bare hole, he winces. It will rip him apart. Instead of protesting, he sobs quietly into the sheets.

But the intrusion never comes. Naoya listens to the sound of Gojou’s heavy breathing, and something else, slick and rhythmic, and starts to wonder—

With a low groan, Gojou cums against his hole. It spills against him in hot spurts, and Naoya gasps slightly at how it feels—it’s almost pleasurable. When Gojou’s fingers probe at his rim, he already knows what’s going to happen; he bites his lip when Gojou slips some of the cum into him, massaging it into his inner walls.

Now when Gojou turns him around again, onto his back, and collapses beside him with a pleased exhale, Naoya can feel it trickling down his thighs.

“It’s like you said last time,” Naoya mumbles.

Gojou tosses his head to the side to look at him. His face is flushed a healthy red, and his eyes are big and bright. He smiles at Naoya. It looks real.

“What’s that?”

“You…inside me.”

“Hmmm?” Gojou’s smile turns mischievous. He props his face up with an elbow.

“You know…” Naoya swats at his arm. “You put your cum inside me.”

“I bred your tight little pussy?”

“Don’t call it that! Fuck you, I already told you—”

Gojou wrestles him flat. He scoops up the discarded lace underwear from the sheets and dangles it in front of Naoya. “So you can wear girl panties,” he says, “But I can’t fuck your girl pussy?”

“It’s not a—I’m not a girl!”

“I know. You’re growing into a big, strong man. I heard your cousin. And your aunties. By the way, they really mean they’re glad you smartened up enough to know your place. Kids will be kids, but we’re older now. You bust my face again, and your family will have a serious problem.”

“You,” Naoya starts bitingly. He deflates beneath Gojou’s unimpressed gaze. “Why are you being so—”

Horrifically, Naoya’s eyes begin to water again. He spends several seconds blinking, refusing to shed tears with an audience while he’s fully cognizant.

Gojou just looks at him. “You know I like to see you cry. Why are you trying to hide it?”

“That’s different!” Naoya insists, now sniffing, too. “Fuck you! I’ve told you it’s hard, after—you’re supposed to be—!”

“Yeah, fine, you’re a little princess. Come here, then.”

Gojou tugs him close and kisses him, nice and slow. Naoya melts beneath him. He wraps his arms around Gojou’s back and clings to him while Gojou breaks from his lips and scatters quick kisses down his jaw, to his neck, between his collar bone. Naoya strokes his hair and thinks that maybe it’s not the ugliest color in the world.

Gojou eventually breaks free. He reaches back behind the pillow for his phone, then a bright light illuminates his face. Naoya thinks he’d look better with a swollen eye. He knocks the phone out of Gojou’s hand.

Gojou turns to him incredulously.

“What, so important you can be away from your phone for a few hours? Am I supposed to believe that?”

Gojou scoffs. “Believe it, because it’s the future. But no, idiot,” he retrieves the phone and shines it at Naoya. “It’s just a shitty mobile game.”

Naoya glares at the pixels. “Well, fuck that. I’m right here.”

“You wanna go again?” Gojou lifts the sheets, glancing down. Naoya is still naked; Gojou is still not. “Didn’t I break your asshole or whatever?—Oh, is that word too offensive for you?”

Naoya feels slightly ill. “It’s fine…” he says.

Gojou climbs over him. His weight sits heavy on Naoya’s stomach, half-crushing him, but also serving as a sort of reassuring tether to the floor.

“Well, you know what the next step is,” Gojou tells him, eyes sharp. He grabs his own crotch. “You really wanna do that right now?”

Naoya’s eyes are glued to Gojou’s hand. “No,” he says. Even to him, his voice sounds shaky. “Not now.”

“It’s not like I’m gonna knock you up.” Gojou raises his eyebrows. “Unless you really do have a pussy down there.” He mock-gasps and runs his hands up Naoya’s chest. “Don’t tell me—these are your tits! So flat!” Gojou bends down to bite one of his nipples. “Lucky for you, I like that in a girl.”

Naoya shoves his face back. He’s smiling. He doesn’t often smile around Gojou. “You’re so easy. I know what you’re doing. I’m not just gonna dance in your palm.”

Gojou smiles back at him. “But don’t you always, pet?”

Naoya shivers the way he always does when Gojou calls him that and they’re not actively tangled together. He’s long since lost the fight to get Gojou to drop it, so all Naoya can do is deny him the satisfaction of reacting.

“How do you even know all that stuff?” Naoya says suddenly.

“Hmm? What stuff?”

“Like that. Your stupid ‘pet’ bullshit. And you’re always talking about breeding my pussy recently. What even is that?” As he says it, everything clicks. “You’re looking at porn.”

Gojou laughs and pats his head. “You figured it out! Good boy. Yeah, I look at porn. Not like your freaky home-made shit, though.”

“You said—” Naoya swallows thickly. “You weren’t experienced.”

“Naoya, that was forever ago. Though, to be real, I’ve been buying porn since I was a kid and realized I had a cock. You’re the idiot that believed me.”

“…Buying?”

“Yeah. There are people for that, you know. The butler hopes I’ll remember him a few years from now when I take over the estate. Too bad for him.”

“Get out,” Naoya says.

Gojou perks up. “What?”

“Get out,” Naoya enunciates.

“Just for that? C’mon, don’t be so petty. Let me stay. I’ll suck you off.”

“I hate your mouth! I don’t want my dick in it!”

“You love my mouth—I’ll remind you.”

“No!” Naoya exclaims. “Seriously, fuck off! I don’t care if daddy punishes me, I’ll hit you again!”

Gojou, for once, says nothing about Naoya’s father. He gives Naoya a serious look. “What about later? When you wake up?”

“Shut up!” Naoya shouts. He feels his nostrils flare. “Just go!”

Gojou lifts his hands in surrender. “I’m going.”

He gets up from the futon and collects himself. It only takes a few seconds.

“Well, bye,” Gojou says from the doorway.

Then Naoya is alone.

Good. He doesn’t quite know why he is so unsettled by this sudden shift. He just knows he doesn’t want to see Gojou’s stupid face again for a long time.

He falls asleep easily, certain that tonight will be the night he doesn’t have nightmares, willfully ignoring the fact they are always worse after fooling around with Gojou.

He wakes up damp, skin plastered to the thin blankets. He whines and kicks them off, already feeling a deep sinking feeling in his gut. Normally this would be the time he turned on his side and buried his face in Gojou’s sweaty neck to fall asleep again breathing in sync with Gojou’s rise and fall of breaths.

His eyes flash open when he remembers that is not an option. He bolts halfway out of the futon.

Gentle hands pull him back down.

Naoya thrashes.

“What—?” He twists his neck. A vague outline of Gojou’s face stares back at him. “You?”

Gojou scoffs. “Who else, bitch? Ugh, you woke me up, too. I almost thought you were all better.”

“I told you to leave!”

Gojou wraps his legs around him. Naoya, against his better instincts, sags into the contact.

“Yeah, but you didn’t mean it. And if you did, you’re an idiot, and this could be considered charity work.”

“Fuck off,” Naoya mutters. “You should still go.”

Gojou makes a sympathetic noise. It drips with sarcasm. “Okay, sweetie. And you should go the fuck back to sleep.”

“I hate you,” Naoya says, hugging the arm wrapped around his chest. Gojou squeezes it against him.

“You’re cute,” he says. “I hate you, too.”

Naoya is asleep again before he knows it, and this time, if a nightmare resurfaces, it makes itself scarce in his memory by the time morning arrives.

They go on like this for another year.

Both of them are home-schooled, obviously, but in the fall, Gojou starts attending an after-school group for children of affluent families. An invite-only situation. Naturally Naoya sends a representative to obtain one of his own, which is how he discovers it’s not sorcerer-exclusive—these families are old, wealthy, and entirely boring. What’s the point in bothering with social politicking if no one important is involved?

“What is it,” Naoya says testily as they walk up sunny steps to the palatial building, looking like something out of eighteenth-century England. “Does your family want more tax breaks?”

Gojou snorts. “My family thinks it would be prudent to have me mingle with the masses. Of course, to them, the masses mean families with lineages stretching back to the Heian era.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Yeah. They’re getting nervous, the older I get. If I’m a little attached to ordinary people, maybe I won’t wake up one day and decide to burn the world down.”

Naoya scoffs. “But why waste your time with trivialities? If they were really worried about growing your conscience, shouldn’t they have you mingling with other sorcerers? It’s not like it matters if you kill a non-sorcerer now and then.”

“Aww, sweetie,” Gojou says from behind him. “Don’t you get it?”

Naoya looks back and sees Gojou breezily fixing his hair in the corridor mirror. Naoya glares, but Gojou barely glances at him as he strides toward the great gold-inlaid doors.

“To me, everyone is a non-sorcerer.”

There is a girl. Her hair’s dyed a brash blonde, pulled into two loose pigtails, and she’s wearing something that was once a school outfit and now is more like a costume in a porno, blouse low enough to flash her tits, skirt so short he can see her bare ass when she walks.

She looks more like a cheap whore than a daughter of an old-money family, but Naoya supposes that’s the way girls will be—try to educate them, sophisticate them, but at the end of the day, all they’re really good for is spreading their legs and taking seed.

A few games of chess start up, while others start chattering away about tea in the kitchen. The slut goes to Gojou, of course she does, but Gojou, unsurprisingly, barely pays her attention. He’s more interested in the two boys already a dozen moves into their game.

She slinks off to the side. Naoya watches her. She moves to the window, facing away from the room. Her posture drops slightly, like she thinks no one is looking. Pathetic. But that sulkiness looks good on her.

He sweeps over, boxing her against the wall.

“Hi,” he breathes in her ear. His hand slips under her skirt. No underwear. He bites her earlobe and hums. “Did someone pay for a whore to show up?”

She stiffens. He pushes closer against her to nip any ideas about running. “How dare you—” she starts, primly.

He pushes three fingers into her cunt. She gasps, contracting around him. He shoves them deeper. “Only sluts are this loose. You came here to fuck, don’t lie.”

She tries to squirm away. Her breath fogs up the glass. “S-stop,” she pants.

He squeezes in a fourth finger. Plunges them in and out like he wants her to tear. It makes a delicious noise—if the room fell quiet, everyone would hear the slippery sound of her cunt being abused.

His thumb presses softly against her asshole. Then more insistent. “If I like your pussy, I’ll let him fuck your ass. You know, the one you threw yourself at. If it’s from the back, maybe he can pretend you’re a boy.”

She steps back on his foot, digging her heel into the bone. He hisses.

“I’ll scream,” she says, tough-like. But her voice cracks.

Naoya slides his hands up to cruelly squeeze her tits. He wants to break them. She squirms, rubbing against him in the process, and it gets him even harder. It takes every ounce of willpower not to flip her skirt up and fuck her right here. But he has a plan; it will be better if they disappear.

“I like when whores scream,” he murmurs against her ear. “But don’t do it yet.”

“Why the fuck not?”

He laughs. “I’m either fucking you here, down on the ground with everyone watching you take loads from a stranger, or in the closet with nothing but coats to judge you. Your choice.”

To let her know he is serious, he unzips his pants and pulls out his dick. He pushes it between her legs, catching some of the dripping slick, then guides the head to nudge against her folds.

“Fuck,” she pants. Her voice wobbles, like she’s close to tears. “You’re crazy.”

He bites her neck in response.

On the way out, he pointedly avoids seeking out Gojou, though he knows exactly where he’s seated and his eyes traitorously slide that way before he catches himself.

There is a closet, turns out, back by that mirror. Naoya doesn’t bother waiting for his eyes to adjust; he just shoves her inside and as she scrambles for purchase against the back wall, he grabs her hips and slips into her pussy.

He fucks girls now, it’s no big deal. The first time happened a few months ago. His cousin slipped while she was outside training, and as she was climbing back to her feet, brushing dirt off her clothes, Naoya stalked over from his perch on the engawa. It was the most natural thing in the world to push her down again, tear her robes, rip her panties, spread her pussy, and shove his dick deep into its tight warmth. She got wet enough for both of them. That night, when a maid came to his room with food, he got up from sitting alone in the darkness and fucked her, too, right in the doorway.

It wasn’t all that he expected. They were too weepy, pussies too tight around him, spitting up so much slick, and their noises—he enjoyed those sounds less when he was inside them. It was hard to keep up a rhythm, and it was hard to cum.

He’s thought of Gojou every time since.

Like he does now. But only because Gojou’s outside, just two doors away, and he brought Naoya here, basically gave him this girl to fuck on a silver platter. Like a gift. Or an offering. Naoya wonders if this is Gojou’s way of apologizing for being a bitch recently as he spears her on his cock.

He plays idly with her asshole, flashing at him in the dark as her other hole gets rammed. Works her up to two fingers. He imagines Gojou’s cock, long and delicious, sliding into the furled hole, inch by inch, as she shrieks beneath him. Imagines Gojou pressed behind him, trailing his still-dripping cock between his legs, up and up.

Naoya falls forward suddenly, gasping. His stomach is pressed against her back, and it makes him nauseous to be so close to her, but he can’t stop his hips; they slam forward rapidly, Gojou whispering encouragement behind him, and then he’s cumming.

He rubs his hands over her stomach. Pulls out to watch the thick white strands spill out of her throbbing pussy. Normally he would shove it back up, play with her insides more, but today he can’t get himself to move. He just stares as she whimpers and shakes her ass at him, and when he still doesn’t move, she swears and slips her fingers back to work at her clit. She doesn’t go near the mess he made. Maybe it scares her, too.

No, he’s not scared. That’s a stupid thought. He just—

Light spills into the room, right down the center. For an absurd moment, his heart starts racing. He turns around.

Gojou stands in the hall.

Naoya smiles. It’s stiff, and he already knows. “Want a turn?” he says lightly. “I broke it in for you.”

Gojou doesn’t even look at the girl. He steps inside, still watching Naoya’s face, but there’s not much room, so he’s standing right behind—all he has to do is pull out his cock, and then—Naoya could even do it for him, slot it in place—

His mouth is dry, head pounding, as Gojou starts to move. He thinks, this is it. He’s going to see Gojou fuck a girl still stuffed with his cum, Gojou’s dick will be sliding through his cum—

Gojou wraps a hand around Naoya’s balls and squeezes meanly. Naoya gasps and tilts forward, and Gojou slips that hand up in time to catch all of Naoya’s second load between his fingers. As Naoya pants heavily, blood rushing, he blinks blurry eyes and reaches for Gojou, ready to fall into him.

But Gojou steps back, and Naoya goes to his knees.

“You’re disgusting,” Gojou says. He wipes his hand on Naoya’s check before he leaves. No second glances.

Naoya doesn’t realize he’s crying until he reaches up to wipe the cum away. The girl starts moving above him. He doesn’t look at her. He doesn’t care about her anymore. Thinking about her stupid smooth pussy and her short skirt makes panic freeze under his skin. She’s so ugly up close. How could he have ever thought he wanted it?

Then something comes swinging down in his periphery and he glances up in time to see her standing over him, hand raised and holding something, which he realizes is a shoe when it connects with his temple and he crumples into emptiness.

For several long weeks, Gojou doesn’t come by. Naoya doesn’t worry. He doesn’t even think about him. He spends all day doing many things and thinking about even more and none of them pertain to the obnoxious, intolerable Gojou heir. He doesn’t drag any girls to his room; his appetite is all dried up. The few enterprising ones that ambush him at his door, fresh with puberty and newly awakened ambition, he sends away. At night, in his room alone, he tries jerking off. The first time he wraps a trembling hand around his cock, the warmth, the way it twitches, nudges the painful coil of dread that seems to have taken up permanent residence in his stomach—he retches uselessly in the bathroom. There’s no relief, not even when he strips his cock swift and merciless in the hot shower.

After that, Naoya doesn’t touch his cock. He slips back to his room twice a day, old enough now that no one can stop him; his duties, after all, are minimal and largely based on ceremony. Once he’s the clan head, he’ll be busy. He’ll never run out of things to do. But for now, he shoves a vibrating toy up his ass and humps his pillow. He thinks about anything, anything but Gojou, and it’s a game—how long can he hold out before those eyes creep in, pin him to the floor, laugh at his pathetic display. The moment he loses, that’s when he cums. He takes it up to three times a day, three failed challenges. He’s so horny he can barely stand it, and at the same time, he feels more and more wretched each time he crawls onto the futon, like he’s peeling back his skin when he strips his clothes, and the nausea in his stomach is always there, simmering in wait, building toward something terrible and unavoidable.

And then one evening, on his way back from a walk on the grounds, he sees Gojou waiting in the hall.

He starts to speak, but the words get choked up and he swallows quickly, hoping Gojou didn’t catch the sound. But, of course, his eyes lift, meeting Naoya’s, and his face doesn’t change but he beckons with his finger and disappears into Naoya’s room without waiting for a response.

Naoya goes, thoughts scattered, eyes unfocused.

He’s already stripped by the time he joins Gojou on the futon. Gojou looks him up appraisingly then opens his arms. Naoya, with a sharp, violent breath, throws himself forward.

Gojou trails his fingers along his spine. Naoya can’t stop shivering. “Did you like your time in the doghouse?” Gojou says finally, and though his touch stays light, his voice is harsh.

Naoya shakes his head.

Gojou sighs. “Of course not. You want to be a good pet, deep down. I know. It’s not your fault you’re such a pathetic mutt.”

He reaches lower and laughs when he finds Naoya hard.

Naoya can’t resist. He opens his mouth and the words come tumbling out. “Are you going to fuck me?”

Gojou laughs again, quieter, but even colder. “No. I don’t feel much like giving you my cock.”

Naoya whines, low in his throat. He rubs his head against Gojou’s stomach. “Please,” he mutters. He wraps his hand over Gojou’s, still holding his cock. “It hurts.”

Gojou removes his hand. “If all you want is release, why don’t you show me how you like to fuck? You can use the pillow if you like.”

“No…” Naoya protests softly, shaking his head, even as he looks into Gojou’s eyes and knows he would do anything this older boy asked.

Gojou looks back, unmoved. He nods at the pillow. Something crumbles in Naoya.

“Yes,” Gojou says, mockingly sweet, and Naoya’s lips move to echo him.

“Yes,” he whispers.

“Oh, fuck, oh, fuck,” Naoya chants as his hips fuck forward uncontrollably, cock rubbing against the soft pillowcase. It’s white, like Gojou’s hair, but not the same absolute white. Off-white. Dirt mixed with snow.

He wants to jizz on Gojou’s face and pull his head down to rub his leaking cock through Gojou’s hair, keep him there until it dries and do it again, make him a crusty, stinking mess, a whore just like his cousins, his whore.

Gojou sits cross-legged before him, watching him with as much interest as he shows any kind of performance. Naoya has sat beside him often enough in the theater to be familiar with that blank expression.

For some reason, his dick gets harder, watching Gojou barely watch him.

Naoya slides forward on his knees, pushing the pillow up. He bows his head between Gojou’s legs, low enough to rub his cheek over the faint bulge in his pants. He only gets a second there, mouth open, breath coming in pants as his hips surge with renewed energy, until Gojou rips his head back, fist tight in his hair.

Naoya gasps, caught in midair. Bright pain lances through his neck, and he struggles in place, whimpering, but Gojou just tightens his grip. He’s looking at Naoya now, really looking, and there’s something burning in his eyes, swallowing the pupils whole.

“Cum like this, dog,” he says, and his other hand wraps around Naoya’s neck.

A dreadful shudder rushes through him. His body shakes pathetically. Gojou’s grip just tightens more. Naoya’s vision starts turning grey. He tries to maintain his rhythm but all he manages is a few frenzied thrusts before he goes limp.

The weight around his throat vanishes.

“Naoya?”

He can’t open his eyes, but his eyelids flutter. He takes a deep, rasping breath. It sounds like shards of glasses rattling against each other.

Something touches his cock. He groans, then his body goes rigid, and barely conscious, his cock shoots off, rope after rope, as Gojou’s hand works him through it, reaching around to cradle his balls when he’s finished. Naoya whines in protest, but he can’t move.

“Please,” he begs, voice broken. He manages to peek out from heavy lids, and a little jolt runs through him. Gojou is right there, an inch from his face, a smile playing around his lips.

“I thought you could take more than that,” Gojou whispers back. He trails a finger along Naoya’s jaw, then down to trace his throat. “Despite everything, you’re actually fragile. Aren’t you?”

Naoya wishes Gojou would put his weight around him. He doesn’t answer, but he tries to convey that desire with his eyes.

“If I fucked you right now, I could break you,” Gojou continues. He presses a gentle kiss to Naoya’s slack mouth. “Should I?”

Naoya stares at him. He tries to shake his head.

Gojou cocks his head, still smiling. “What’s that? Speak up, doggy.”

“Don’t,” Naoya says. “Not a dog.” His voice trembles, and when he swallows he tastes salt.

Gojou looks at him. His eyes soften. “Okay, baby,” he says sweetly. He pulls the covers up over them both.

A horrible noise escapes his chest. Naoya turns on his side, trying to hide his face against Gojou’s chest, and Gojou lets him. Below, he feels Gojou stroking himself off, but he doesn’t mind. He listens, blood thrumming, as Gojou grunts, and when it sounds like he’s getting close, clipped breaths, Naoya slides further under the sweaty covers and lets Gojou’s cock slip into his mouth and spill down his throat. Naoya licks it clean, then lingers, even as it goes soft around his saliva, and he would have stayed there, eyes closed and drifting off, if Gojou didn’t reach down and tug him back up.

Gojou wipes Naoya’s mouth with the corner of the sheet. Naoya can’t focus his eyes properly, but he tries to smile. He’s rewarded with a thumb sliding over his bottom lip.

“I hate when you act that way.” A hot whisper against his ear.

Naoya nods against Gojou’s chest.

“I won’t be this patient again, Naoya. I’m not touching your dick if it keeps fucking pussy. I won’t call you baby and hold you like this.”

Naoya can’t help himself, even though he could so easily keep his mouth shut and drift off to sleep. Part of him wants that, desperately. And the other part—

“But you’d still fuck me. Right? I could make you want it.” His arms tighten around Gojou’s ribs. “You couldn’t avoid me forever.”

Gojou laughs, low in his throat. “Yeah, probably,” he says easily. “But then you would be a dog, after all. Less than, really. Just a sloppy hole. Do you really think you could handle that?”

Naoya doesn’t have to think hard. His eyes clench shut, but he keeps the rest of his body loose—at least, he tries. Gojou must feel some shift with his unfairly preternatural senses.

“Shh,” Gojou murmurs, and squeezes Naoya in response. “It’s okay, baby. I like it this way, too. You’re a nasty little cousin-fucker but you’re fun—and strange as it is, cute. We can stay like this, as long as you don’t fuck it up.”

“Okay,” Naoya agrees, voice hoarse.

He can hear Gojou’s smile. “That’s a good boy.”

The first time they fuck for real is nothing extraordinary. It’s only a month later. Gojou is back to coming around most days, every night. They haven’t talked about girls or sex or the future at all, just training and books and routinely jerking themselves off, casual between friends. Gojou rolls over one evening, tossing his book to the side and placing his head in Naoya’s lap.

“Are you ever going to let me inside?” he asks nonchalantly, tracing a little pattern on Naoya’s pajama-clad thigh.

Naoya swallows. “You mean…”

Gojou smiles, all charm. “I wanna fuck you. Can I?”

Arousal floods him, so thick it makes him light-headed. Naoya’s mouth feels numb when he tries to move it. He’s not an idiot; he knows what Gojou is doing. Just like Gojou knows the best way to flatter Naoya, to entice him, to make this a thing Naoya can give him, can choose to withhold. The prospect of telling Gojou he can do anything, even if it’s pretend, is intoxicating.

“You can,” Naoya manages finally. He tries to steady his voice, inject more confidence. “Yeah, let’s fuck.”

After all the anticipation, the tension between them, the bitterness, the inevitable expectations—Naoya feels ridiculous, lying there with his face in the pillow, hips awkwardly raised, as Gojou jabs him with his condom-clad cock. He’s had four of Gojou’s fingers in him before, not to mention a dozen different toys, so the stretch is really not the problem he imagined. If anything, it feels like Gojou slides in too easily, a neat merging of their bodies, when Naoya wanted it to—not hurt, exactly, but something else. He wanted to feel Gojou carve a hole and shove himself through it until Naoya felt he would break but still have to lie there and take it and make it fit, make it welcome.

Faint sparks of arousal intensify when Gojou hits deep, just right, but his dick keeps almost falling out when he pulls back, and mostly he’s not touching Naoya; his hands are braced on the blankets, on either side of Naoya’s hips.

It’s over quick. It feels like Gojou just started fucking him when the thrusting intensifies and his hips make a satisfying fleshy slap-slap-slap against Naoya’s ass and suddenly he’s gasping, curling into Naoya’s back, hot breath against his neck.

“Naoya,” Gojou murmurs, voice low and husky. He sounds disoriented. Naoya’s heart beats erratically. He tries to turn around, and Gojou shifts to accommodate him. Then they are face to face: Gojou is still holding himself up, boxing Naoya in, and his face, usually so pale, so empty of anything, is flushed, cheeks glowing. His mouth is slightly ajar, and there’s a wrinkle between his brows that Naoya finds inexcusably cute. Gojou bites his lip and groans when Naoya reaches down curiously to fondle his soft cock. But he doesn’t move his hands to swat Naoya away. He just hovers there, eyes wide and soft with lingering arousal.

“Naoya,” he repeats with a slight whine.

Naoya lets it drop. “So?” he says, wearing false indifference. “Are you glad I let you?”

He waits for the scoff, but Gojou just smiles, eyes still regarding Naoya with something that’s quickly becoming unnerving. Gojou finally lets his weight collapse, nearly crushing Naoya with surprise. “So glad,” Gojou purrs into Naoya’s neck as Naoya makes a show of being bothered. “Will you let me do it again?”

Naoya nods stiffly, palms slick with sweat. They twitch, wanting to go to the broad expanse of Gojou’s skin suddenly within reach, but he restrains them.

“What about without a condom? Can we do that?”

Naoya nods a second time. He barely registers the words. Both of them must know he would agree to anything right now, and he wants to resent Gojou for knowing and still asking, but he can’t.

“Thanks, baby. You’ll look so good pumped full of my cum—”

Naoya can’t stifle a small whimper. He remembers his own cock, finally, still hard against his stomach. If it had flagged at all, it has more than recovered.

“—mm, yeah, you think so, too. And after, I’ll eat it out of you, just like this—”

And Gojou is yanking his legs up, startling another involuntary noise from him. Gojou holds them against his stomach, exposing him completely, utterly humiliating him, and before Naoya can snap a response, Gojou’s tongue is buried in his stretched, tender hole.

This, in a sharp contrast to the actual fucking, seems to last an eternity. It’s not until Naoya has released against his stomach once, and a second, pitiful time, just a dribble, that Gojou resurfaces. He presses a few light kisses to Naoya’s sore cock and wipes the spend on his stomach away with a t-shirt.

He flops beside Naoya, a leg thrown Naoya’s shins, his arm flung over Naoya’s chest. There are several quiet moments. Naoya’s body feels the way it does after an especially strenuous training session. He’s sure that if he tried to stand, his legs wouldn’t be able to support him. Naoya waits until his breathing is under control again, then rolls his head to look at Gojou.

“You didn’t last very long, you know,” he says immediately, because he can’t resist.

Gojou rolls his eyes. “I’ve never stuck my dick in someone before, bitch. Just watch. I’ll last longer next time.”

“Next time,” Naoya says, and instinctively glances lower. Gojou’s cock is already half-hard again.

Gojou catches him looking. He waggles his eyebrows. “Interested?”

“No,” Naoya says flatly. He fixes Gojou with a challenging look, daring him to argue. It’s a lie, after all, and they both know it.

“Hmm,” Gojou says. He turns onto his side. Naoya’s heart freezes.

“Wait—” he starts, reaching out tentatively. Before he can finish, Gojou is spinning back around, climbing over Naoya and pinning his wrists to the blanket.

“So, you are interested?” Gojou says brightly, and kisses Naoya before he can protest. When it seems like Gojou is about to slip away for a breath, Naoya surges up, nearly freeing his wrists, and kisses harder; he licks into Gojou’s mouth the way he had felt Gojou’s tongue inside him; he bites his lip and tugs, tastes blood, and he still doesn’t want to stop; he wants to tear Gojou to pieces, and the knowledge that he’ll fail makes him want it all the more.

Eventually one of them breaks the kiss. Naoya can’t tell which of them it is, and then they’re both scrambling, possessed by the same wild frenzy, positioning themselves until Gojou sinks into him and Naoya locks his legs around his back and groans, long and hard, and doesn’t stop; the noise turns into something else when Gojou hits that spot inside him, and he’s gasping but it’s not enough, he can barely breathe, and then Gojou does it again, and again, and Naoya thinks he’ll never be the same after this, they won’t be the same—he's practically shouting now and he can’t stop, so Gojou lays a palm gently over his mouth and bends down, close enough to kiss, and murmurs, “Baby, baby, what is it? You’re too loud,” and something inside him snaps, an ugly, cold sensation in his chest even as the heat of orgasm suddenly erupts and Naoya is choking on sweat and tears and snot, no longer moaning; making a choked, rattling noise in its place.

Gojou tries to ease out, but Naoya’s legs are clamped firm around him.

“Naoya,” Gojou says. His voice is carefully controlled, but Naoya can hear the hint of worry. He’s getting easier to read, Naoya thinks. All it took was letting him inside. Laughter expands in his chest, coming out wet and cracked.

“Does something hurt?”

Naoya shakes his head. Don’t stop, he means to say. What comes out is: “I’m sorry.”

Gojou stares at him. He lets go of Naoya’s wrists, and Naoya quickly covers his face, recoiling inwardly at the slickness beneath his palms. “I like it, I like it so much,” he spits out. He swallows a fresh sob. “Like this. Like this, I like it. So please don’t stop.”

“Whatever you say,” Gojou tells him. And because he is Gojou, and there is possibly nothing he can’t perceive when he puts his mind to it, he continues slowly, “The first time, was that wrong?”

Naoya doesn’t expect him to say it like that. Wrong. Was it wrong? Or bad? Or was it fine, really, and he’s just been overcome with histrionics at losing his virginity?

He nods, heart ready to jump out of his throat.

Gojou nods in return. He pushes forward a little, experimental. Naoya groans through it, squeezes his legs encouragingly. “I think I get it. The view was pretty nice before, but this is better. I’ve got you, okay?”

Gojou doesn’t wait for an answer anymore. He resumes pounding into Naoya, only now he’s tugging Naoya down, further and further, until his hips aren’t on the bed, he’s caught in Gojou’s lap, and like this, the angle is even sharper, every thrust hitting with perfect precision, and when Gojou reaches up to idly play with one of Naoya’s nipples, just one glance at his expression, like Naoya is a favored doll, beloved but powerless, no chance of moving his limbs on his own, is enough to send Naoya over the edge into a fresh rolling wave of orgasm. He can feel his hole spasm in response, and Gojou makes an appreciative noise and thrusts harder, then abruptly goes rigid, head bowed, and Naoya can feel a faint warmth spreading inside him.

“Fuck,” Gojou murmurs when he pulls out. Naoya’s hips are lowered back to the bed, and his legs sprawl apart, limp, leaving enough room for Gojou to crawl between. He pushes Naoya’s thighs wider, seemingly just to hear Naoya moan at the ache. “This is sexier than any porn.” A finger nudges at his hole, and Naoya feels a sudden gush. He tries to clench down, but Gojou keeps him open.

“Don’t wanna be empty,” Naoya whispers.

Gojou has two fingers inside him the next instant. Naoya’s mouth falls open.

“There,” Gojou says, watching him closely. He works the fingers soothingly, petting him from the inside. “Now let me keep my promise.”

Naoya tries to remember what that means, then Gojou’s face is between his legs and he’s rolling Naoya’s balls lightly in one hand while his mouth goes to work at his hole, and Naoya can feel the semen dribbling out of him; a strange sensation, and an unflattering image, he thinks, until Gojou dips both thumbs into him and pulls his hole wide. Naoya gasps at the rush of cool air against the hot saliva.

“You look so fucking sexy, Naoya,” Gojou mutters, staring at his hole. “Leaking my cum. I wanna stuff you so full it’s spilling out of your mouth, until your hole can’t close anymore—what if I could knock you up? Should I try? Fuck, but I wanna eat it out of you, too. How long would it take, do you think?”

Naoya blinks. He feels a laugh bubbling in his chest again, but it doesn’t hurt so much this time. “Take to what? Knock me up?”

Gojou nods so earnestly that Naoya snorts. “You’re insane,” he says. “Porn ruined you.”

Gojou frowns and opens his mouth to speak, but Naoya pushes his head down. “Don’t talk while you eat,” he warns, and for a long time after, there’s only sloppy, wet noises between them.

“That was my first time,” Naoya says later. They have both finished for the final time, bodies pushed to their limits and probably further. The blankets are tangled around them, and Naoya is lying against Gojou’s shoulder, tucked under his chin. It’s starting to become slightly uncomfortable, but he feels too leaden to even think about moving; and, a part of him begrudgingly admits, it is undeniably pleasant to lie against Gojou this way, bare skin against bare skin.

He can feel Gojou’s eyes on him. “I know,” Gojou says simply.

“Let’s do it again.”

“Like, tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

“I think I wanna pierce your nipples.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard. Come on, you’re into it, too.”

“…Fuck off.”

Gojou buries his face in Naoya’s hair. He says something inaudible, and before Naoya can snap at him to speak up, Gojou presses a dry kiss on him. “Good night,” Gojou says, halfway through a yawn. Naoya’s mouth shapes the words, but they come out silent. By the time he manages to speak them, he thinks they are both asleep.

Weeks flow smoothly into months, and months stretch into short years. Naoya sometimes thinks that his life has sped up ever since Gojou came into it. The years before and after are almost equal now, but the first half is a fathomless eternity, better left unremembered, and the second half is a blur, gone before it even comes into full focus.

What are we, he asks one day, when Gojou’s fingers slip absently into Naoya’s mouth and tease his bottom lip. They are reading, and Gojou doesn’t seem to realize where his fingers have gone until Naoya mumbles his awkward question. He withdraws them slowly.

A shrug. “We’re nothing,” Gojou says.

Naoya blinks. His eyes water slightly. It’s still humiliating, but he doesn’t try to hide his tears from Gojou anymore. It usually makes Gojou hard, and that can be productive. But Naoya had never been such a crybaby until they met. Something about Gojou brings it out in him.

Gojou doesn’t seem aroused now, though. He tilts his head. “What?”

“Nothing?” Naoya hisses.

Last night, Naoya sat in Gojou’s lap, speared on his cock, and rode him until Gojou was babbling. When Naoya asked am I good, Gojou said you’re the best, and when Naoya gritted out I have feelings for you, Gojou said I love you, baby, I love your pussy.

Lately, every time Naoya sees Gojou, the older boy looks different in some small, insignificant way: a new hairstyle, new glasses, new smile, new phrase on his tongue. New friends in his life. New opportunities. New school—gone are the days of home-school.

“Did you fuck someone else?” Naoya demands. “That boy. With the bangs.”

Gojou scoffs. “Fuck no. He’s a cunt. Naoya, I’ve told you already—I’m not interested in sex with other people. I like porn, and you, for some bizarre reason, and that’s all.”

“Then explain nothing!” Naoya shouts. He’s on his feet without realizing it, book thrown against the wall.

Gojou folds his arms. “Not if you’re gonna be a little bitch about it. What do you expect? You wanna be my girlfriend? You could probably pass. But what’s the point?”

“What’s the point?” Naoya repeats indignantly. “What’s the fucking point? The point is—”

Naoya realizes he doesn’t have an ending to the sentence.

“See?” Gojou says grimly. “We won’t last the way you want. But nothing about this world will. Things are changing; I’m changing them. So what if I pretend I haven’t had my cock in all your holes at clan meetings? Who cares what they know?”

Naoya, for the sake of his sanity and self-esteem, has grown adept at tuning out Gojou’s self-aggrandizing proclamations for the future of Jujutsu society. He doesn’t process anything after:

“We won’t last?” Naoya echoes.

Gojou bites his lip, seeming to consider something. He stands, opposite Naoya, and guides him over to the futon, lowers him to the blanket. Gojou slides in beside him, arms wrapped around his stomach, chin tucked into the curve of Naoya’s shoulder.

“Sweetheart,” Gojou murmurs, tilting his head to nibble Naoya’s ear. It’s over for him now, Naoya thinks distantly. That word, that tone; Naoya has degraded himself in ways he could have never imagined just to hear Gojou call him so gently, to lather him with praise and affection. One word, and he’s dissolving in Gojou’s practiced hands.

Naoya leans deeper into the pillow, presenting his exposed neck. Gojou huffs a small sound of amusement and obliges, tormenting him with lips and tongue and teeth until Naoya’s skin is mottled with dark bruises, spots of blood here and there between. Gojou licks over one bruise until Naoya’s shaking against him.

“Naoya, sweetheart, baby, you’re perfect for me. Such a good pet. We’ll last as long as you want, okay?”

Naoya hums. He squeezes Gojou’s arms. “Okay,” he agrees, eyes closed. He wrinkles his nose when he feels Gojou’s chilled hands slip under his robe the next second. He endures Gojou’s groping, wishing they could just lie here for the next hour and the one after that until the world was dark and Naoya could pretend everything might end in the night, and Gojou would never get up and take his body away, never leave Naoya in the empty morning to play pretend at the Zenin’s second-in-command when everyone knows only one family matters these days.

“Mm, I thought you still had it in,” Gojou remarks when he finds the snug base of the plug keeping Naoya loose. This morning Gojou had slipped it in on a whim after he finished inside, right before he crept out in the faint dawn light. Naoya had expected him to forget by the evening, but he had left it in regardless. If he liked the way it felt when he moved, a constant reminder, then no one had to know.

Gojou plays with it lazily, tugging just to put pressure on Naoya’s rim before letting it sink back inside. “It’s hot that you yelled at me while you’re still plugged up with my cum.”

Naoya can hear the smirk in his voice. He flushes. “Should I yell at you some more, then?” he retorts.

Gojou makes a noise of consideration. “If you like.”

And he gets Naoya yelling again soon enough, plug replaced with real, throbbing cock, and a firm hand stroking him off at the same time. Even now, Gojou is the only one that can touch Naoya’s cock without an adverse reaction. Whenever Naoya tries to jerk himself off, it sends him running to empty his stomach, and if he hasn’t eaten recently, he simply lies in mock paralysis on the futon, a terrible knot in his chest, slowly wrapping around his lungs, until every breath is a challenge.

After Naoya’s cock spurts its release, Gojou quickly strokes himself over Naoya’s chest. While Naoya lays there, dazed, limbs tingling, he’s rewarded with hot cum splashing across his face. He licks his lips and Gojou bends down to get the rest. Later, Gojou tries to casually sneak the plug back in place, but Naoya slaps his hand away and sends it skidding to the opposite wall. Maybe he should have guessed something had shifted when Gojou actually apologizes. It isn’t real, he can tell, but that doesn’t make it any less unusual.

The next week, Gojou only comes around twice. Naoya has nightmares the other nights. He sleeps only two, three hours, and spends the rest motionless, staring at the blank ceiling. Gojou doesn’t explain, and he doesn’t ask. But this is the beginning. Naoya allows himself to cry once, alone, because it had been fine and now it is not and there is no sense to it. Only the utter unfairness that is Gojou.

Months later, he sees Gojou with that boy. The one that looks like he cuts himself and makes double suicide pacts with girls but never goes through with them. In their ridiculous school uniforms, strolling the city street without a worried thought for who may see. Naoya bites his cheek hard enough to draw blood.

That night, he places bets with himself that Gojou will show up. That he won’t. He does—hours after Naoya would normally be asleep, when they would both be asleep—which means that Naoya has to go through with it.

He resolves to feign sleep, but when Gojou crawls under the blanket and pulls Naoya to his chest, the shock of it immediately topples his clumsy acting. Naoya tries to worm free.

“I’m sulking,” he snaps. “Let me go.”

“That sounds stupid,” Gojou mutters. The exhaustion in his voice, the slight rasp, surprises Naoya further. He hugs Naoya tighter, almost painfully. “Go to sleep, and sulk there.”

“That’s not—” Naoya swallows the rest. He waits until Gojou’s breathing finds a steady rhythm, until the rise and fall of his chest is undisturbed and his arms relax around Naoya. Then he extracts himself carefully and crawls on his knees to the other side of the futon. He pushes Gojou forward, and Gojou goes easily, slipping from his side to his stomach, face smushed sideways into the pillow. He pulls back the blankets. Pulls down Gojou’s thin boxers.

Naoya stares at him like that for a long minute. Then he wipes his mind blank. He slicks his cock with lubricant from the desk drawer, ignoring the pang of wrong that claws in his gut, and rubs a few drops against Gojou’s hole. It starts to excite him, seeing Gojou like this, one hand spreading his cheeks, the other prodding at his entrance. Suddenly he feels frantic. He needs to be inside him. He needs it. They need it. If Naoya can just—can just—

He shoves forward. The resistance is brutal. He can’t remember why he didn’t prep him with fingers, something about it waking him, and then it would be all too clear it was a terrible idea, but it was the only one, it had to work, better to go all at once. Right?

Naoya registers the heat and the tightness suffocating his cock first, not yet marveling that this is Gojou, and Naoya is inside him, and then he is flung backward through the air until he slams into the wall and he remembers the plug that day forever ago and for a moment wishes he was dead.

Then he’s being swaddled in a warm embrace, right there on the floor, halfway collapsed. He’s certain there are bones in his body that are broken, but he can’t locate them, and with this warmth, he can’t feel any pain. It smells nice, too, he realizes. Familiar. Comforting. Gojou’s smell. His pillow carries the scent, and so do his clothes. Naoya has never figured it out. Maybe it’s just detergent. He doesn’t know how things like that work.

“Who?” Gojou demands. His voice is razor sharp; urgent, emotionless. But the way he stands above Naoya, gently cradling his back, says everything his voice is missing. Naoya feels himself losing consciousness. Oh. He must have hit his head. Pathetic, really.

Naoya squeezes Gojou’s hand. “There is no one else,” he says. “It was me.”

He feels Gojou go rigid against him. A survival instinct tells him to count the breaths until the protective shield drops. Why, he wonders. What will that do? Except tell him exactly how quickly Gojou can stop loving someone.

“You?” Gojou says, tone now a mix of scorn and disbelief. “Naoya, are you fucking playing with me?”

He drops Naoya back to the floor, but the shield comes with him. Gojou does a quick scan of the room, then another, slower. Thorough. Useless. He finally looks to Naoya again, and that’s when the shield flickers out.

Gojou drags him back to the futon by his hair. The shocking pain of that, and the sudden resurgence of the pain everywhere else, shoots through him like a shot of caffeine to the heart. His vision doesn’t clear, but the fog stops advancing.

“The fuck is wrong with you?” Gojou spits. “Are you fucking possessed? Are you tired of living? Because I was this close,” he holds up a thumb and forefinger, a centimeter apart, “to ending your life! I am still this close!”

Naoya stares straight ahead. “I—” he tries. His voice cracks. “You always fuck me.”

Gojou laughs cruelly. “Yeah, you’re a fucking whore. If I didn’t give it to you, you’d be getting it from someone else. Your uncles, probably. You wouldn’t have made it through puberty without begging one of them. Or your brothers; maybe they could cut your dick into something like a pussy.”

It takes a second for the words to land, but when they do, the wall becomes nothing. Naoya would rather Gojou had unleashed a barrage of physical hits, rather be slammed from wall to wall, ceiling to floor, until he couldn’t tell which bones weren’t broken, than have to face this Gojou, face twisted into something unrecognizable, telling him the truth.

“I thought,” Naoya says slowly. “That I could fuck you, and you would see, and I could have you the way you have me.”

Gojou slaps him so quickly Naoya doesn’t see his hand move, just feels the burning imprint of it. “So you tried to rape me?” Gojou says incredulously.

Unexpected rage ignites in him. “Yeah, and you’ve never raped me?” Naoya tries a cold laugh of his own, but it gets stuck in his throat.

“Like when?” Gojou shouts.

“Like the first time you fucked me!”

Gojou’s face clouds over. “What are you talking about?”

“You just—you just threw me, face down, on the bed, and rammed inside and I couldn’t see, or—or breathe—”

“I asked you if we could fuck! This was right after I fucking asked you, are you fucking serious—"

“—and you didn’t say anything until it was over, and it was just like—” Naoya cuts off into wracking sobs.

Gojou flicks his forehead meanly. “Like what?”

“Like him!” Naoya screams.

They stare at each other: Gojou’s face composed once again; Naoya’s chest rising and falling rapidly. For a brief second, Naoya thinks he sees something flash across the surface of Gojou’s face, and he can almost feel that warm, protective touch again.

“You’re ridiculous,” Gojou says finally. It’s not what Naoya expected. His heart sinks. “You’ve been raped, and you have raped, and you don’t even know what it is. I’m not him, Naoya. I’ve never been that way. I’ve never raped you.”

Naoya shakes his head. “Shut up shut up shut up—”

A touch under his jaw coaxes him to lift his head. “If you wanted to fuck me,” Gojou says, “why didn’t you say anything?”

This time there’s a beat of silence before Naoya snaps. The force of it shocks even him. “I didn’t want to!” he screams. “I just wanted to own you, the way you own me! And it’s not fair because I knew it wouldn’t work, and you’d still leave! But I had to try.”

Gojou’s hand falls away. “Was I leaving?” he says, sounding detached. “I didn’t realize.”

Naoya tries to slap him, but obviously Gojou catches his hand long before it becomes a threat. Then Naoya pretends that’s what he really wanted: a way to force Gojou to hold him. “Don’t deny it,” he says bitterly. “I’ve seen you with him. If not him, then one of his girlfriends. I’m sure he only keeps the prettiest ones around.”

Gojou’s composure cracks, reveals a faint glimpse of the blaze in his eyes. “I’m not interested in Suguru!” he shouts. “Or his imaginary girlfriends! I don’t like girls! I’ve never liked girls—I’ve told you since the day we met! I like you, and porn, and that’s it!”

Gojou takes a deep breath. “Now it’s just porn, I guess.”

Any other time Naoya would have scoffed at the absurdity of Gojou's statement, the severity of his voice, but now it feels like Gojou has just cleaved him open for the final time. He goes to his knees without thinking. Pain shoots up from his wrist as he moves; that must be what broke.

“Don’t go,” he whispers, grabbing for Gojou’s hand and nearly falling flat on his face. He manages to entrap a leg; from there he quickly noses up to Gojou’s cock, tucked away in those thin boxers. He can feel Gojou looking down at him.

Naoya tries to think of something that they have never done before, something nasty Gojou wanted from him that he refused, so he can offer it now, but his mind remains empty, despite cataloguing dozens of sexual experiences and positions. “I’ll suck your cock,” is all he manages. He lands on a better idea. “No, make me suck your cock. Rape my throat. We’ll be even.”

Gojou pushes his face away. He starts taking down clothes from the closet. “Fuck off, Naoya. We’re done. I told you we’d never make it.”

Naoya half-crawls, half-stumbles after him. “No, no, no,” he says. “You said we’d last as long as I want. I still want. I—I still want. You said—”

Gojou’s in front of the doorway now. He’s sliding the fusuma open.

“You said you loved me,” Naoya whispers.

Gojou doesn’t turn around. “I said I loved your pussy,” he says. “That’s all.” He sweeps down the hall, not bothering to close the fusuma behind him.

Naoya sinks to the floor. He stares into the dark hall, the shadows flickering. It’s nowhere near dawn. It’s not time for Gojou to leave. People are still awake, people are—

He hears footsteps. The same faulty survival instinct from earlier tells him to hold his breath. Play dead. Be dead. They made so much noise. What had he been thinking?

He knows who it will be before the shadow materializes into flesh and blood before him. Even as he hopes for an auntie, a cousin, an uncle—fuck, even a brother. Those conjured faces all fall away when his father steps into the doorway.

He has not seen his father alone in years.

He fills the entire frame with his presence, far darker and stronger than his average height, lean stature would suggest. The gourd of liquor dangles at his waist, as always. Naoya can already taste the vileness of it with just a glance.

“If you’re done disgracing this family,” his father begins, words slurring precisely as Naoya remembers, “I suggest you make yourself useful again. Clearly my tolerance as you aged was a mistake. But that’s the way some boys will be—try to educate them, sophisticate them, but at the end of the day, all they’re really good for is spreading their legs and taking seed.”

“Yes, father,” he whispers. Suddenly it does not matter that he is almost an adult, that he’s nearly as tall as his father, that the last time his father came to his room, Naoya swore the next time he would either kill him or kill himself, that he had spent months practicing the perfect blow until it appeared his father was never going to return, after all.

None of it matters. Naoya is a child again, weak and ignorant, bullied by his older brothers, and bully in turn to the girl cousins his age, who watch him with the same tired eyes that he knows from the mirror, who wear the same marks of abuse on their wrists and neck and cannot speak without a wobble. He is not like them; he proves it each time he kicks them down.

But he is.

It is laughably easy now to admit what he had fought with every breath as a child. And what does it matter?

Naoya’s head is bowed, so he does not see the moment that life departs from his father. He hears the thud, and then the rolling, as the gourd comes to a halt by his knees. He looks up, cautiously, and sees his father, forever possessing the youthful spirit of a man half his age, collapsed on the tatami floor, clutching his chest—that spot where the heart would be, if he had one.

“Congratulations,” the clan elders say in harmony. “The new Zenin family head.” The sound echoes around the closed room. Down the hall, he knows, is the similarly-sized room hosting the cursed spirits that would happily devour him. The fact that he is here instead means they have no better option. He is the best option—he spent his life ensuring it. He could not be sure they would recognize it.

More recently, post-orgasmic and half-asleep in Gojou’s arms as Gojou mumbled nonsensically about strange desserts he’s been investigating, Naoya has doubted whether it remains the best option for him. Some unusual ones have opened up as more favorable alternatives.

But he is the best in this family, and this family is the best of three in the nation. It does not matter that Gojou will always be the best in the world. That world does not concern him any longer; Naoya’s new world is much smaller. It could fit in this room.

He glances around the faces lining the wall, circling him. He sees eyes like his own reflected back, all of them prepared to turn bully to avoid becoming the bullied. There will never be an ally among them. This Naoya understands.

He bows.

“You honor me,” he says, not bothering to hide the disdain in his voice. “Let us begin.”

It is the hottest day of the year and Naoya must attend a meeting at the Tokyo Jujutsu high school.

"Who should I kill for this," he muses aloud. His niece, who functions as a sort of errand boy for him, turns ashen and runs out. He scoffs. Not her, obviously. Of all the children his brothers have turned up over the years, this one he hates the least. Possibly even prefers her. He can admit it’s no simple convenience or coincidence that this is the third summer he’s enlisted her as unglamorous apprentice to his official politicking duties.

Well, it’s not like Naoya needs her for this. Formalities. He’s dressed properly; he’ll make an appearance and leave. He calls a car. He resists the urge to start shaking his leg every few seconds. Once the car arrives, he proceeds to sweat obscenely into the black leather, despite the constant A.C. blowing on his face.

He fumbles with his phone. It casts a cooling blue light on his face. He scrolls through it aimlessly, fingers clumsy and numb.

Today is what? The fifteenth? Yes, it is, his phone confirms. This time of year, they’re always busy. Uptick in curse activity. Gojou won’t be at the school. Naoya repeats it in his head. He won’t be there. And if he was—he won’t be, Naoya thinks curtly, silencing the thought.

But if he was—would they even speak to each other?

Of course not. Naoya laughs in his head. He straightens his spine, dismisses his climbing pulse. There’s nothing to say beyond the stiff salutations conveyed from one family head to another. And that’s if he’s there at all. Which he won’t be.

He turns off his phone and pulls a small book from his robes. The rest of the drive, Naoya doesn’t look up from the page. He imagines slipping away between the words, drowned in the white space. Slowly his heart recovers.

When the car stops, Naoya steps out immediately. The humid air rushes to embrace him. It’s marginally better on campus, outside the city proper with its heat-reflecting glass buildings and hordes of filthy, boiling bodies, but everywhere is worse than home. He might be at the little stream down the hill now, soaking his feet against the smooth pebbles.

Unbelievable, he thinks, trudging up the stone steps. All this time, they’ve never called a meeting on school grounds. And today had to be the first. Perhaps it’s something serious then; a matter of cursed object, possibly.

Each step further he takes, it feels like his skin is pulled a little tighter. A little closer to breaking open. He never attended, of course, but he hates this place on principle—the dirt path, the short bridge and the flowing river, the torii gate looming ahead, the long running buildings he can see higher on the hill. It’s a mockery. An estate, like his, compromised for school children to use as their playground.

Naoya sucks in a breath and releases it slowly. He prepares to climb the remaining steps when a breeze gathers behind him, and his eyes narrow. He starts to turn around, but a soft warning touch against his back stops him.

The presence leans in. Breath tickles the back of his neck. “Hello,” Gojou says quietly. Goosebumps spring up instantly.

“Hello,” Naoya answers stiffly, staring straight ahead. Greetings exchanged. Done. Now they separate. He takes a step, and Gojou takes one after.

“Your hair,” Gojou says, and his breath ghosts under Naoya’s ear. “You dyed it.”

“Yes.”

“Hmm,” is all Gojou says.

It takes Naoya several frozen seconds to realize that Gojou disappeared, as swiftly as he came. His blood rushes. He shakes his head, alone, pushing out the uncomfortable thoughts that arise.

The meeting, Naoya discovers, is nothing of import. The school is attempting more outreach with the main families, something about fundraising for construction, or else sowing good will for when they will inevitably need a council vote weighed in their favor. Naoya barely listens. Gojou is sat on the table’s opposite side, diagonal from him. His hair is different, too, Naoya notes. Pushed up with that blindfold, it makes him look older. And there is a strangeness to hiding his eyes. A light smile plays around his mouth as the old men talk.

Naoya can’t stop himself from glancing that way. He expects to find Gojou already watching him, those familiar eyes of a predator, and there’s a little jolt each time he rediscovers Gojou’s blindfold. Naoya can’t tell what he’s thinking at all. An old bitterness stirs in him.

The meeting ends precisely on the hour. Naoya bows and slips out the door, a scowl taking full shape.

On his way down the steps, Gojou’s footsteps flicker behind him.

“I don’t know why you’re fucking with me,” Naoya says softly, “but I have better places to be than useless meetings.”

“Don’t we all?” Gojou says conversationally. He steps easily into stride with Naoya. “Don’t fret. We won’t need to see you again for some time.”

“Oh. Well, good.”

Gojou hums in agreement. Then suddenly he’s inches from Naoya’s face, tugging on a strand of Naoya’s hair. “I like it,” Gojou murmurs.

Naoya shivers. He strides off without a word, car nearly in sight. Once he’s locked safely inside, he looks out the window. Gojou is gone. He sees nothing but sunset colors cast over the trees and buildings.

The next week passes extraordinarily slow. It’s as if the heat wave has liquified everyone’s motivation, not to mention their capability to functionally do their job. He sends his niece out to purchase the latest volume in a book series; he finishes it in a few hours and then looks up. “Well?” he says. “What’s there to do?”

“Nothing,” she says, eyes darting between him and the wall. “You might go down to the stream.”

He scoffs. He might go down to the stream. “Are you telling me what to do?” he snaps. “Ridiculous.”

But he stands, nevertheless, and sweeps out of the room, ignoring her slight flinch when he strides past her. There is only so much he can, or cares, to do; she won’t last long in this world cowering at everything like a fawn.

As he walks the estate, conversations falling silent as he passes, furtive glances cast from the shadows, his mind wanders, and inevitably, miserably, finds its way to Gojou.

Ever since he saw him again, his routine has been thrown into disarray. At night he lies rigid in bed and does not dare touch himself, knowing the wall keeping Gojou out will crumble to pieces and all these years will go to waste. That doesn’t save him from his dreams, though. He wakes on the cusp of orgasm nearly every morning, all his muscles tense and a thick knot in his chest.

Why now? Naoya thinks. He finds it difficult to believe Gojou wants anything to do with him. It had felt more like Gojou knows something he doesn’t. His breath against his neck—Naoya gets hard just thinking about it. Gojou probably knows. But he didn’t want to fuck; he takes what he wants, he doesn’t wait for it. Instead he’s suddenly decided to take his fun teasing Naoya?

What gives him the right? He’s only a schoolteacher; it’s pathetic. If he thinks he’s better than Naoya, Naoya ought to call him down to the estate, just to show him what it’s like, that two can play his game. Gojou might be the strongest, but Naoya has long lost his fear of that reality. Gojou could kill him—so what? He already spent months in his youth wishing Gojou would do just that. He can’t scare him anymore.

Naoya continues to ruminate, indignance growing, until he realizes the stream has come into view just ahead. He slips off his shoes and socks and pushes his feet into the water, rougher than necessary. Water splashes up his legs. He stares at the clear stream and feels the tension fight to leave his body, a refreshing chill rising to take its place. He squints and sharply removes himself from the water. The tension settles back in his stomach, painful and secure. And tangled within that mess is anger, he realizes. He is angry. Irate, even.

A plan drops into his head, fully-formed.

He turns on his heel and strides back up the hill, through the halls, to his office, and tells his niece, “I’m calling a meeting with the other families. Send the message now. I want them here tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” she squeaks. “But—”

“Send it,” he says.

Gojou will come. Naoya has never been more sure. And when he arrives, Naoya will—

What will he do, exactly?

He waves a hand to himself, earning a confused look from the girl. He ignores her. It does not matter; it will be clear in the moment. A curt greeting at the door, and Naoya will lean in before Gojou can react, whisper breathily against his ear the appropriate gratitude (and then some) for attending. And after that he will sweep away and there will be nothing more between them during the meeting or after.

It plays out rather differently—the next evening, Gojou does indeed arrive, not early or late, halfway between the other family heads, and Naoya smirks to himself as Gojou nods politely. Naoya nods back, then leans in, mouth half-open; he’s contemplating a hand on Gojou’s hip, as well, when Gojou moves to the side and avoids him entirely.

“Careful, there,” Gojou says. He places a steadying hand on Naoya’s shoulder. “Wouldn’t want the other clans to see you tripping over yourself.”

Naoya freezes. “I wasn’t—” he splutters, face turning red. Gojou just quirks an eyebrow and disappears past him.

Naoya stares at the empty space left behind. He clenches his fists and swallows. With great effort, he follows Gojou into the meeting room and sits to endure the torture he has devised for himself, resolving to never glance at Gojou’s obnoxious face.

When the meeting finishes, Naoya individually sees off the other men and offers a strained apology for the short notice. His senses are on sharp alert, but he never notices Gojou’s presence approaching. Feeling the incredulity rise to his face, he whirls around to survey the room. The last person has vanished. Gojou must have gotten around him somehow. Or taken the back entrance.

Fuck. Naoya berates himself. He feels very small, suddenly, a pitiful thing standing in the center of this room, lights shining on him like he has something worth noticing. This should have gone differently. He tries to gather up yesterday’s rage toward Gojou, but it doesn’t stick. Naoya leaves the room in a mild daze. When his niece tries to speak to him in the hall, he brushes her away.

This was a mistake. He won’t speak to Gojou again. Won’t seek him out. If they summon Naoya to the school, he won’t go. He’s the leader of the Zenin clan, and he will act like it. He wants to act like it—not this wretched, lovelorn creature.

He enters his room, and pauses—stares, unseeing, at the half-made futon, still laid out from an earlier, unsuccessful nap. For a moment, the urge to flee this room is overwhelming. He takes a deep breath and starts to remove his robes.

There’s a shift in the air as he pulls off his socks. Someone is at the door, he realizes, and then a quiet, familiar voice says his name.

Naoya moves automatically. He slides the fusuma open and meets Gojou’s eyes—the blindfold is off, and so his hair is down, a little ruffled in certain spots. He looks years younger. A nervous spasm runs up Naoya’s leg.

“Gojou-san,” he says stiffly. He tries not to let on his surprise. If he demands why Gojou is still here, that will only entertain him. “Is there a matter to discuss?”

Gojou regards him seriously. “Yes.”

Naoya bites his cheek. The taste of blood sobers him. “Well, perhaps you might have addressed it at the meeting. I don’t discuss business at this hour; not with men like you.”

“Men like me?”

Naoya winces inwardly. That had just slipped out. “I’m not interested in being your plaything. Whatever made you suddenly remember me, forget it.”

Gojou’s mouth curves in a faint smile. “I have a hypothesis,” he says. “Let’s test it. Okay?”

Against Naoya’s every will and desire, his head nods in response. He feels like he’s watching his body from somewhere else, screaming uselessly in protest.

Gojou spreads his arms. His chest is broad and open, the black of his uniform darker than the shadows. “Come here,” Gojou says softly.

Naoya does trip over his own feet this time in his hurry to collapse against Gojou’s chest before the offer is withdrawn or revealed as contemptuous trick. Their height difference is a small discrepancy, but in that moment Naoya is wildly grateful he is missing those extra inches so he can press his face into Gojou’s neck and feel like two pieces fitting seamlessly together.

“Satoru,” Naoya whispers. He pretends Gojou won’t hear, although he knows he will. But Naoya also knows this can’t be happening. He must be caught in a dream. That happened often, in the early days: Naoya dreamt Gojou returned, fell onto him with apologetic affection, and everything was fixed, until Naoya woke up, still giddy, and slowly remembered none of it was real.

Gojou wraps his arms behind Naoya’s back, holding him in place. One hand comes up to lightly stroke the back of his head. “There, there,” Gojou says, sweetly condescending. Like he’s consoling an unhappy child. “You make it so easy, Naoya.”

Naoya presses his face further into Gojou’s skin.

Gojou clicks his tongue. “Alright. That’s enough,” he says, and pushes Naoya away.

A horrible noise rips out of his chest. Naoya stumbles back, cold everywhere, looking up at Gojou with wide eyes that he knows must reflect the full expression of betrayal; he doesn’t have the strength to even consider an attempt at concealing his emotions.

Gojou pauses to slide the fusuma shut, then he advances. Naoya steps back instinctively, even though his body is simultaneously aching to go toward him again, no matter how many times he might be pushed away.

“I thought you might resist,” Gojou says conversationally. Naoya watches him take a package out of his robes. “It’s been three years after all. You might have moved on. But you haven’t, have you?”

He raises his eyebrows at Naoya. Naoya shakes his head. Gojou nods, clearly satisfied.

“Yeah. So, do you want me to tell you what we’re going to do? Or would you rather get straight to it?”

Naoya blinks. He feels a seed of unease. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’m going to fuck you,” Gojou says bluntly. “I’m going to do it how I want, and I’m going to hurt you, and you’re going to beg me to stop even though you love it, and then I’m going to leave and we won’t meet again unless it’s in a room of old fuckers we’d both like to kill. Here, I bought you a gift.”

Naoya started shaking his head, numb, as Gojou talked, and now he scrambles to catch the parcel tossed at him. He looks up, silently questioning.

Gojou smiles. “Open it.”

Naoya’s fingers hurry to obey. A flash of blue winks up at him. He lifts the lingerie, scowling faintly.

“What is this?” he demands.

“A gift, remember?” Gojou says. “Keep up. I haven’t even put my cock in you yet and you’re already this dumb?”

Tears prick at Naoya’s eyes with the force of small blades. He laughs wetly when Gojou closes the distance between them and swipes a thumb under his eyes. “Pretty,” Gojou murmurs.

“Why are you doing this?” Naoya says, voice lowered to match Gojou.

Gojou moves away again. “I’m not rid of you yet,” he admits. “It’s strange. Since I saw you again, I’ve been thinking about you when I fuck my favorite student.”

That knocks the air out of Naoya’s chest. For a moment, his next breath gets clogged in his throat and he feels a spike of panic. Then Gojou glances back to him, and he can move again. Naoya crushes the lingerie in his fist.

“So,” Gojou says lightly. “One last time. Okay, Naoya?”

And Naoya nods.

Gojou tells him to strip. When he’s left only in his underwear, Gojou eyes him up and down and makes a sound of dismay.

“Boxers?” Gojou says. He pinches Naoya’s ass through the fabric. “So boring. What happened to your sexy panties? No fun when you’re not getting any?”

“I get enough,” Naoya snaps.

Gojou backhands him. Naoya gasps faintly. He brings a shaky hand to his cheek, feeling the hot skin.

“Don’t lie,” Gojou says sweetly. “Not to me.”

Naoya looks down. He lets Gojou tug his boxers off his hips, then steps out of them. He picks up the lingerie. There’s not much fabric there; blue lace panties that taper to thin straps around the waist and become one narrow line down the back. They will be tight on him. And the top—blue, also, with strappy, mesh triangles to cover a pair of flat tits. It would hardly fit on a girl with anything of note up there. Naoya drags them on slowly, Gojou’s eyes burning his skin all the while.

When he’s attired properly, Gojou takes a long, examining look. He has Naoya turn around. Without warning, he shoves his back roughly; Naoya goes to the futon with a bitten off moan. Like that, it’s all too easy to press his face into the blanket, to arch his back. He pushes his hips back, feeling Gojou’s eyes and wanting more; there’s electricity crackling under his skin, a slow simmering fire that promises to become an inferno.

Gojou sucks in a breath. “Fuck, that’s hot. Look at you, asking for it like a slut. Aren’t you gonna whimper about me raping you? That’s what I’m gonna do, you know.”

“I don’t mind,” Naoya says, slightly muffled. He doesn’t turn his head.

“Oh, yeah?” Gojou sinks onto the futon behind him. His hands run down Naoya’s back, cup his ass, dig into his hips. “Now you don’t mind? Well—okay then. If you say so.”

He pulls the thin string between Naoya’s cheeks to the side and shoves his cock in. He slicked it up a little first, Naoya can feel it, but his own hole is dry and tight.

Naoya can’t help his moan. “Fuck, fuck—oh,” he chokes off in a gasp when Gojou starts trying to move in him. To push deeper.

“You’re tight for a whore. Loosen up.” Gojou slaps his ass in a warning. Naoya can feel his cock straining in the panties, leaking over the edge.

“I can’t—” Naoya mutters.

Gojou laughs meanly. “You can.” He spreads Naoya’s cheeks wide with two hands, exposing his hole. It burns everywhere. Gojou starts fucking him like that, not able to fit all the way in, but slamming as far as he can reach with each stroke.

Eventually Naoya starts pushing his hips back to meet him. It’s painful, but also unbelievably arousing—more so from the fact that Gojou keeps just missing his prostrate, and each time the anticipation sends a powerful rush through him.

Gojou stays above him, detached. Naoya wants to feel him against his back, pressing him down into the futon. He whines his desire, knowing Gojou will understand, but Gojou does nothing.

“It only took you a week,” Gojou says abruptly, his voice tighter than before. “A week and you were begging me to come fuck you. How desperate are you?”

“That’s not—” Naoya gasps. “There was a meeting.”

Gojou huffs in amusement. “Yeah. The meeting. I should have had you on the table. Laid you out and bred your poor, neglected pussy. You would have begged for it.”

“Yes, yes,” Naoya pants mindlessly. “Cum inside.”

Gojou snorts. “Since you asked so nicely…” he says, and slams into Naoya a dozen more times, then pulls out sharply and shoots hot jizz down Naoya’s spine.

Naoya ruts against the sheets. He moans softly when Gojou drops his hips and stands up.

“Don’t go,” he whispers, lifting his teary face from the futon. He turns onto his back and finds Gojou opening the drawers of his little nightstand.

Gojou glances back at him, and Naoya sees something surge in his eyes before he looks away. “What sort of deviancy do we have here,” Gojou muses, pulling out several items. Naoya rarely opens that drawer. He can’t be sure what Gojou has chosen until he comes back over and Naoya recognizes the soft, fleshy cylinder. He hasn’t used it in years.

Naoya splays his legs wide, hoping to move Gojou to sympathize with his neglected, leaking cock. Gojou’s eyes do follow the suggested line of his thighs, but he only moves to readjust the waistband against Naoya’s cock.

“While I recover,” Gojou says, “let’s play with these. Turn over.”

Naoya scowls. “I don’t want to.”

“Oh. Sorry, why don’t you tell me more about how you’d like me to rape you? I’ll definitely consider it.”

Naoya grabs one of Gojou’s hands. “Stop it,” he demands. “It’s not like that.”

Gojou barks a harsh laugh. “It’s actually completely like that.”

“No,” Naoya insists. “I want you.”

Gojou pauses. “Maybe this is the only way I can want you,” he says quietly.

The warmth building in Naoya starts to go cold at the edges. He turns back around silently. Gojou pries him open and suddenly there’s a weight at the rim of his hole, pushing down. That wasn’t what Naoya was expecting. He bites his lip as it slips in, and hisses when a second one joins it. The wires tickle his thighs. Gojou clicks the vibrators on.

“No,” Naoya moans as the vibrations echo inside him, sending full-body waves of pleasure radiating out. “It’s gonna make me cum…”

“Don’t you want to cum?”

Naoya shakes his head. “Not yet. I wanted with you—inside. It’s the best way—ah!”

Gojou turns them up a notch. “But these are filling your greedy hole the same. Shouldn’t make a difference, right? Let’s play with your cock, too; that’ll really be something.”

“What…?” Naoya mutters faintly. His hips are twitching slightly in the air, and they jerk abruptly when Gojou peels the panties down just enough to take his cock out and slide it into the slicked-up fake pussy.

Gojou only fucks Naoya with it a few times before he’s crying out and releasing into it. He shakes through the aftershocks. When the vibrators don’t stop, he begins whimpering. “Too much…Gojou, please.”

“More?” Gojou asks. “If you insist.” He clicks them up another notch. Naoya can’t believe they even have a higher setting.

He cries out, thrashing on the futon, but Gojou holds him down easily. “Let’s milk you again,” he says calmly, while Naoya shrieks in pain, and resumes working the onahole around his cock. It makes a filthy squelching noise, and it feels like some of his own spend is trickling out around the edges.

Somewhere in the midst of all this, Naoya starts sobbing, more violently than he can ever remember. It would be embarassing if he could feel that over the whole-body wave of panic endlessly sweeping over him. Gojou has to hold him up eventually, and that’s when Naoya’s mind goes fuzzy; he thinks he might pass out for a few minutes, and when he starts to regain awareness, Gojou is tossing the used onahole aside. That’s his only warning before Gojou yanks the vibrators out and plunges his own cock back in.

Gojou groans with satisfaction. “Fuck, that’s nice.” He starts fucking him for real, sharp, jackhammer thrusts, pounding him into the sheets. Naoya’s mouth hangs open against the pillow, drooling down his chin, and loud moans tear out from somewhere deep and primal within him in response to Gojou’s constant onslaught. At one point, Gojou’s hand sneaks around his neck and holds him there roughly, then starts to squeeze. The blood rushes in Naoya’s head. His vision goes black at the edges. He tries to croak out words, but they can’t get past his throat.

Gojou lets him go all at once as his cock erupts inside him. Naoya shudders and collapses. Every muscle in his body is limp, unresponsive. He tries to close his mouth and only partially succeeds. His hole, he can feel, is winking open, trying, and failing, to close.

“Look at you,” Gojou says, unreadable. “So much seed spilling out. If you could get knocked up, you’d be totally fucked.”

“Knock me up,” Naoya pants.

Gojou chuckles. “You don’t even know what you’re saying. Cute.” He spanks Naoya’s exposed cheeks a few times, seemingly for fun. Then the hits suddenly pivot to something much harsher. “What’s wrong with you?” he murmurs, not sounding like he expects an answer. “Why won’t you stop?”

But Gojou is the one that won’t stop. Naoya tries to say that and ends up with fingers pressing down on his tongue, shoving deeper until he gags, then hooking against his cheek, forcing his mouth wide.

Naoya’s cock spurts pathetically against the sheets when Gojou starts fingering his hole between blows. He goes like a ragdoll when Gojou finally moves away. For a brief second, he thinks Gojou is going to collapse on the sheets beside him, and then Naoya will roll his head over and breathe his skin, lap up his sweat, nuzzle at his neck until Gojou shoves him away, or maybe, possibly, gives in, pulls him close and claims his mouth.

That blurry fantasy is still playing out in his mind when Gojou drags him up and unceremoniously shoves a pillow under his stomach. “Lift your hips,” he instructs. Naoya does his best to obey. Gojou’s hard again already; he must have hit Naoya for longer than it felt like. For the countless time this night, Gojou slams his cock into Naoya, and this time, finally, he’s able to go all the way in right from the start. His balls slap against Naoya’s abused flesh, that tender place where ass meets thigh.

Gojou sets a punishing rhythm. When Gojou leans over him, stomach and chest just grazing Naoya’s back, he can’t tell at first whether it’s really happening or it’s in his imagination. But then Gojou nips at the back of his neck, and as Naoya whimpers, he starts talking.

“Naoya,” he murmurs, voice husky. “Do you remember your promise?”

Naoya can’t find his voice at first. “Promise?” he asks shakily.

“Yeah. I didn’t expect you to. You were so serious about it back then, though. It was kinda cute. Cute and fucked up—just like you.” Gojou slows his pace in favor of deep, precise thrusts. “Think hard now. What was it?”

Naoya tries to think. “I don’t—mmmph,” he chokes out. “I don’t know.”

Gojou’s mouth slides to his ear. “You promised I could fuck a Zenin girl. Remember?”

Naoya does. It crashes into him suddenly. He hasn’t thought about the time when they were young and experimenting in years. “I remember.”

Gojou pops Naoya’s earlobe into his mouth and sucks it like candy. “Are you my Zenin girl, Naoya?” he whispers. One hand slides up his chest to snap the bra against his skin. Fingers pinch and tug at his nipples. “Am I fucking your pussy right now? Are you going to beg me to put the next heir to the Six Eyes in your belly?”

Gojou’s other hand cups his lower stomach gently, in contrast to the unrelenting thrusts inside him. “Yes,” Naoya chants breathlessly, “yes, yes, Satoru, please—”

Gojou shushes him. “Don’t call me that. We’re not there yet.” He pets over Naoya’s stomach. “If you were my Zenin girl,” and he sounds almost wistful, “I wouldn’t leave you in this place. I’d take you with me—keep you in my room. I would never be far.”

Naoya isn’t sure where the thought comes from, or why he decides to speak it. It just slips out the instant it comes into his head. “What about your favorite student?” he bites out, heart racing. “Do I wait until you’re done with the fifteen-year-old?”

Gojou freezes behind him, and Naoya knows he made a mistake. “It’s not like that,” Gojou says grimly. His hands return to Naoya’s hips. They grip tightly enough to make him wince. “And you would lecture me on morality? That’s fucking rich.” Gojou starts pounding more aggressively. “Don’t talk anymore,” he grunts. “Your mouth is only there for me to fuck.”

Naoya doesn’t think he has the capacity to say anything more even if he wanted to. He lies there as Gojou finishes inside him, swallowing all but one or two moans. He gasps when Gojou flips him over abruptly. For a second, Naoya glimpses his face, the stony expression, piercing eyes. Then Gojou flattens Naoya’s face with the pillow. Naoya makes a confused yelp that turns into a series of distressed, muffled whimpers, as Gojou fits something inside him and starts fucking him again, cum sloshing against his rim, nasty, wet noises filling the air.

Naoya struggles at first but his strength soon slips away. His vision is black now, so he can’t tell if its dim at the edges, but each time his eyes shut, it’s more difficult to open them again. Gojou is mostly silent over him. Eventually he replaces the object in Naoya with his cock, and soon after that, Naoya loses consciousness.

Someone is touching him. Between his legs. Naoya shivers. No, no one should be touching him there. His father is dead and Gojou—

His eyes flash open. He sees only the blank wall in front of him. Distant fragments of a soft voice filter through the air behind him.

Naoya stirs. He tries to move toward the noise. As his legs shift, he feels something ooze out of him. The hand between his legs moves up, and something damp and warm swipes over the liquid, pats gently at his skin. He starts to roll over. The warmth disappears.

“Baby?”

Naoya feels like he woke up in the past. Gojou is leaning over him, half-naked, face pale and worried. As Naoya stares blankly at him, Gojou brings his hand to rest against Naoya’s forehead, then his cheek.

Naoya flinches, and Gojou’s face clouds over.

“Are you okay?” Gojou asks carefully.

Naoya stares at him. “What happened?”

“You weren’t breathing,” Gojou says. “I went too far. I wanted to hurt you, and I did. But I didn’t want to kill you.”

“You should,” Naoya says, unthinking. “It can be over.”

Gojou stares at him. “Baby,” he says softly.

The first time, Naoya thought he was still imagining things. But this time—he starts crying immediately, eyes already swollen and aching, throat scraped raw.

Gojou moves closer, and Naoya turns on his side completely to face him, groaning at the sharp flash of pain. He clings to Gojou, half-expecting to be pushed away, to look up and find Gojou watching him, cold and unapologetic. Instead, Gojou clings back. He wraps one hand around the back of Naoya’s neck and cradles him there, pressing an occasional kiss to his hair, to his clammy forehead.

“I missed you,” Gojou murmurs as Naoya takes deep, shuddering breaths. “I think I missed you more than you missed me.”

That shocks a laugh out of him. “Fucking liar,” he says. “You didn’t think of me until last week.”

Gojou hums. He begins stroking lightly down Naoya’s back. “I thought about you all the time, actually. Last week I got drunk, by accident, long story, and I said some things to Shoko—remember her? —and next thing I knew you were being called in for a meeting. She probably thought it’d be funny if we tried to kill each other.”

“Anyway,” Gojou continues, sounding almost embarrassed, and Naoya strains for a better look, “when I saw you, it was suddenly strange that we had avoided each other for so long. It felt like the most natural thing in the world to walk up to you, to whisper in your ear. I was coming up with a plan, you know. Which you ruined.”

“Because I’m a whore,” Naoya says dryly. “Who couldn’t wait a week.”

Gojou pats his back. “You’re a good whore,” he says absently, and Naoya begrudgingly accepts the little shiver that sends through him. “It was always going to be like this, probably. I can’t help but want to break you into pieces. I wanted to right up to the moment I realized you weren’t breathing. And then I felt so tender toward you, it was like my heart would stop from the sheer force of it.” Gojou plays with a strand of Naoya’s hair. “How do you do it? I hate you and you’re my favorite fucking person.”

Naoya has a retort on his tongue but remembers something else. He pulls back and catches the flash of concern in Gojou’s eyes before it flickers out. There’s a brief surge of triumph, quickly dampened. “What about your favorite student?” Naoya says harshly. “Or will you try to kill me again for asking?”

Gojou’s eyes are unreadable. “Careful about my students.”

Naoya only grows bolder. “Careful?” he exclaims. “I’m not the one fucking them!”

“You really believed that?”

Naoya’s freezes, mouth still open.

“I just said that to hurt you,” Gojou tells him. “I knew you’d hate it.”

Naoya shakes his head. “No, you’re lying.”

Gojou traces a finger against Naoya’s lips. “I’d be lying if I said I’d never thought about it. But I’m not that kind of teacher. The only thing I fuck at night is my hand.”

Naoya bites his finger. “You are that teacher. Something else stopped you.”

“Morals?” Gojou suggests, calmly retrieving his finger.

Naoya scoffs. “As if.”

“What if I said it was for you—that I didn’t have any interest in the fit young boys sleeping down the hall because my dick acts up every time I try to put it in someone that isn’t you?”

Naoya doesn’t meet his eyes. “That’s a nice lie. I could choose to believe it.”

Gojou hums. “I really think you should,” he murmurs, hands straying down Naoya’s body. “Let me see you.”

Naoya lies there and allows Gojou to push his thighs apart. Gojou peers between his legs. “Oh, baby. Your hole looks awful.”

Naoya squeezes his legs shut with a glare, wincing at the sudden movement. “You could try to sound less horny.”

“Mm,” Gojou says, not listening. “Can I take care of it?”

“Only if you swallow your cum,” Naoya tells him.

Gojou smiles. “Deal,” he says, and gets to work.

They fall asleep at some point. Gojou’s cheek is resting against Naoya’s thigh when he hazily wakes. He pulls Gojou up, and Gojou blinks at him, then he’s closing his eyes again and wrapping himself around Naoya.

Several long minutes must pass. “Satoru?” Naoya finally whispers.

One of Gojou’s eyes cracks open. “Hmm?”

He forces himself to ask. He won’t give himself the illusion of the morning only to wake and find Gojou gone. “Did you change your mind?”

“About?” Gojou asks sleepily.

“This. The last time. Never seeing each other after.”

“Hah, that?...That was over the second you put on my lingerie.”

“So—you forgive me?”

Gojou finds his mouth in the dark. “Naoya, I forgave you a while ago,” he whispers, and kisses him.

It’s a day in August when Naoya realizes. It was so obvious, he thinks, upon reflection.

He’s watching Gojou instruct in the courtyard below. Naoya likes this window seat in Gojou’s third-floor room. It catches a comfortable amount of sun, enough to keep Naoya warm and illuminate the pages of his book. And like this, it falls down perfectly on Gojou, casting a flattering spotlight on him as his students watch from the thin shadows. He watches Gojou step and lunge and twirl and neatly down the whole row of students in one breath. Gojou tilts his head up and pulls off the blindfold, staring straight at Naoya, and smiles.

When he comes to bed, Naoya asks.

“Did you kill my father that night?”

It’s barely a question.

Gojou looks at him, something indecipherable flickering in his eyes.

“Yes,” he admits.

Naoya nods. Yes. It was obvious.

“I’ve decided,” he says. Gojou pins him to the bed in an instant. He opens his mouth, but Naoya is quicker. He smiles.

“I’ll stay here,” Naoya tells him. “From now on.”

Gojou stares at him, then throws his mouth down in a wild frenzy, kissing Naoya senseless.

“My little Zenin wife,” Gojou murmurs against him. He rolls over and pats his lap. “I wanna watch you ride me. I’ll make you scream loud enough the students come knocking.”

“Fucking perverted sensei,” Naoya grumbles. He yanks Gojou’s pants down and holds his cock in place. “I can’t—ah—believe I love you.”

Gojou pauses. The air seems to shift. Then Naoya is flat on his back, air knocked out of him. “Change of plans,” Gojou pants. “I fuck you till you’re crying and still don’t stop—because I love you, too.”

Naoya wraps his legs around his waist. “You don’t have it in you,” he taunts. “You’re so soft these days.”

And that’s how Naoya ends up bent in half, legs thrown over Gojou’s shoulders as Gojou drives his hips down in a brutal, ceaseless rhythm, until, as promised, Naoya cries and begs him to stop and is so, so grateful when Gojou just fucks him harder instead.

I’ll stay here forever, he thinks deliriously. Or maybe he says it out loud, because Gojou makes an appreciative noise and says, “Fuck yeah,” and Naoya thinks that if he asks later, what Gojou heard him say, Gojou could tell him anything, and Naoya would believe him.

Even as Gojou kisses him to sleep and whispers gently, honestly, I’m still going to lie to you, Naoya knows he will forget. It’s already been decided—he will believe Gojou first and last and all the ways in between, over students, teachers, clan members, council members, and over himself, also.

He kisses Gojou back, harder, so he doesn’t have to hear any more of the truth. Gojou's arms tighten around him.

"Promise me something else," he whispers against Naoya's jaw. His tongue flicks teasingly along the bone. "But give it to me for free. No bet this time."

"What?"

"Never leave. You said you'd stay, so never leave. No matter what." Gojou kisses Naoya's shut eyelids. When Naoya blinks them open again, Gojou is hovering close above him, eyes glowing in the dark, looking completely serious.

Naoya eyes him. "I could wonder what you mean by that."

But—

Gojou smiles, teeth glinting like his eyes, his otherworldly hair. Nothing about him is made to live in the dark. "You could."

—he won't.

"I promise," Naoya says softly. He tugs Gojou's hair down so Gojou is forced to bury his face in Naoya's neck. The fact that he can make Gojou do something, even a small thing like that...it makes his blood sing. "You'll have to kill me to get rid of me," he says, and he, for one, is not lying.

"And I would never do that, baby," Gojou tells him. He nuzzles into Naoya's neck. "I would sooner die," he continues, lying.

No, not lying. Naoya feels it. Gojou Satoru, heir to the impossibly perfect genetic combination of jujutsu, has tied their lives together, truly. There is no him without him, no Satoru without Naoya, no Zenin without Gojou, no—

"Let's get married," he says abruptly.

Gojou licks down his collarbone, sucking soft bruises into Naoya's skin as he goes.

"Mmm, obviously. I kind of assumed that was included in your decision to stay."

Naoya flushes. "Right."

Gojou presses a last, firm kiss to Naoya's shoulder and disentangles himself. He coos apologetically as Naoya whines and tries to pull him back.

Naoya watches as he crosses the room and opens the top drawer of their long wooden dresser. He comes back with something small tucked in his hand. He kneels on the bed and grins at Naoya.

"Take it," he suggests, and Naoya, rolling his eyes, leans forward to peel Gojou's fingers back. A silver ring winks up at him.

Naoya laughs, a bit brokenly. "Have I ever surprised you?"

As soon as he says the words, though, his blood freezes. The after-sex, post-cuddling glow evaporates, stinging in its fierce departure. Because there is one time that instantly comes to mind. Since he has stepped back into Gojou's life, the two of them have never discussed it. Naoya would be happy to forget it, and he does, mostly, but that, too, comes with a lurking danger of fatal, irreversible missteps. Like now.

But Gojou seems unaware of this. He pulls Naoya's hand close, gently, and slides the ring onto his finger. "You'll just have to keep trying," Gojou murmurs, and crawls back under the sheets to kiss Naoya wild.