Archive of Our Own

No, they came together like a lightning strike and left their scorch marks on each other and if one time Gojo pulled away from his pillow with his face wet, neither of them mentioned it.

Nanami leaves. And then he comes back.

Years of not-quite-fatherhood have not improved Gojo's bearing in the slightest, and it's such a stark contrast to Nanami's previous colleagues that it gives him vertigo. The most powerful sorcerer in the world still acts like a teenage boy and it makes him feel like he's aged twice as much in comparison. They're almost thirty. Nanami's lower back aches after every mission, for fuck's sake.

But Gojo flutters around him like a fruit fly, incredibly obnoxious and nearly impossible to swat away. There's a bone deep resignation that sinks into him about it, settling heavy over something that Nanami refuses to think of as comfort. It's familiar, that's all.

Also familiar is the way Gojo absolutely cannot keep his hands to himself or his remarks anywhere close to approximating professional. 'Decency' isn't in his vocabulary and never has been. Nanami watches him guardedly at first, eventually accepting that this is simply another item on the long list of ways the insufferable idiot hasn't changed in the past decade.

They're in the teacher's lounge- or one of them, at least, with the halls this empty every other room could serve as a teacher's lounge- and Nanami is trying to crack his neck while Gojo babbles about something or other, hands waving. He must not have had classes today because he's in a button down, sunglasses perched on his nose, and damn his neck really is killing him-

Gojo slings a leg over his thighs and Nanami freezes, doing fuck all for his neck. The sunglasses are gone- damn, he really wasn't paying attention- and he's looking at him with the kind of intent that usually means something is about to die.

"What are you doing." Flat, unamused, and definitely not a question.

Gojo answers anyways, because of course he does. "I was thinking." With Nanami's arms still locked up useless at his sides, he settles his weight more firmly in his lap. "That I could really use a good fuck."

His damn body reacts and of course, of course Gojo can feel it. "My guess is you could, too." He's smirking at him as he reaches down to remove Nanami's own glasses, setting them fastidiously on the side table, but then- he waits.

Nanami clenches his jaw, meets his eyes unflinchingly, and starts tugging at his tie.

Something like surprise flickers across Gojo's face and that alone says something about- him, them, he doesn't know- that Nanami really doesn't want to decipher. The other sorcerer covers his hands with his own and pulls the knot of his tie loose, then gathers the fabric up and reels him in.

Gojo still kisses like he's in love with someone else.

It turns Nanami's stomach upside down and he reacts without thinking, shoving the other man back with a half-grimace. Gojo blinks, focuses those ridiculous eyes on him, and there's a moment where Nanami thinks almost wildly, Please don't.

He doesn't. Thank whatever. Instead, a sly grin unfurls across his face and he laughs, light and airy. "Oh, is Nanamin shy about being kissed? I might have guessed." He rocks forward, mouth near his ear, and asks, "What about here?" He kisses down, to the column of his neck. "Here?" The junction of his shoulder. "Is this all right?"

Gojo is just as infuriating and immature as their high school days, just as quick to get a rise out of him, just as obnoxious and irresponsible. But his façade has improved. It's impeccable.

"Shut up," Nanami rasps, and for once Gojo does.

The Six Eyes means there's no chance in hell anyone will sneak up on them but Nanami still itches at how exposed they are as they tear at each other's shirts, late afternoon sun slanting over their skin. Gojo's hands grab at his chest immediately and he pulls away to stare down at him, mouth wide in a delighted smile. "I knew you grew, but these?" He squeezes and Nanami glares. "I'll have dreams about these tits."

Before he can protest, Gojo tugs at his nipples and a moan falls out of his mouth instead. The bastard grins wider. "I'd love to use them as a pillow sometime." He slides down Nanami's body, pulling one into his mouth while keeping his hand on the other, and Nanami's head hits the back of the couch with a thunk. Gojo's other hand traces down his abs, trailing along his waistband teasingly, then stops.

Nanami growls at the ceiling. "Get on with it."

"Bossy, bossy," Gojo chides, but he finishes his descent to the floor between Nanami's legs and makes quick work of his belt and slacks. He intones a 'thank you for the meal,' the asshole, before diving in and wrapping spit slick lips around his cock. Nanami's hips flex and Gojo reaches up, holds him down with an iron grip that burns.

Unsurprisingly, Gojo's good as ever with his mouth, knows just how to lick along his shaft and hold it steady as he shoves it to the back of his throat. The moment Nanami runs a hand through his hair he moans theatrically and Nanami obliges, gripping tight through silver hair. He's rewarded by nails clawing down his thighs as Gojo opens up beneath him and swallows him down.

When he pulls back his eyes are wild and a tiny bit red, and his voice is wrecked. It's more satisfying than it should be. "I've got-"

"Get up here." He can't listen to him sounding like that, already knows what he's going to offer. Gojo's returning smile is half impish, wholly brilliant as he fishes lube out of his back pocket- seriously?- and shimmies out of his pants. Nanami shucks his own down further then holds a hand out, expectant, but Gojo just shakes his head and reaches behind himself.

"Always be prepared," he gives as explanation, but his usual singsong is a little raw, a little needy. Nanami runs hot the second he processes the implications.

So he had stretched himself already today, had come to pester Nanami with the express purpose of getting fucked. Something about the knowledge twists his insides and sets his veins on fire. "Do you at least have a condom?"

Gojo raises an eyebrow at him, eyes too fucking blue. "Do we need one?"

They don't- even without Limitless, Nanami knows he's clean, hasn't needed to test in a long while. Gojo probably already guessed, the insufferable prick, so he doesn't answer, just manhandles him into position in his lap and tries to ignore the harsh edges of his laughter, the mocking lilt to his explanation that he did have one in his other pocket, just in case.

The slide in is slick and easy and it's gratifying to hear Gojo's breath hitch as he takes him. Long limbs bracket him as Gojo sinks down all the way and it's tight, hot and wet and perfect, heartbeat thudding in his throat as Gojo's head falls forward onto his shoulder. When he speaks he hardly recognizes his own voice. "Satoru."

Gojo shudders and says "Don't," all light and deceptive, and maybe Nanami was wrong about his façade because this isn't impeccable. This is fragile and bitter and suddenly anger roils through his gut that Gojo pretends to be anything else. How dare he, how dare he bring him back and make him care-

"I hate you," he grits out as he fucks up into him.

The responding laugh is half moan, half mockery. Gojo's still got his face buried in his shoulder so he can't see his expression and that pisses him off, has him gripping Gojo's hips to slam him back down on his cock. Minutes start to blur together as he thrusts into him, Gojo's hands in his hair and chanting a steady "fuck, fuck, yes" into his ear.

Reverse cursed technique has ensured that Gojo's torso is as flawless as ever, smooth under Nanami's grasping hands as he reaches up to tangle them in silver locks and yank. Gojo's head falls back on an obscene moan, sounding absolutely broken. Nanami sets his teeth to his jugular and rips more noise out of him, desperate and selfish.

Sweat drips between them as Gojo wrenches his chin up, thighs shaking as he keeps bouncing on his dick. "Touch me," he orders, a feral light in his eyes, and Nanami doesn't even have to think about it, has his hand on him already when Gojo breathes, "please."

Maybe in a different life they were actually good for each other. Then again, in a different life Gojo would have never been his in the first place.

Watching Gojo fall apart is like watching the sky unravel. Nanami follows soon after, his strangled cry pressed to damp skin, chest heaving. The comedown is deafening, heartbeats laid out bare in the fading light. Gojo rolls off of him with trembling legs and the silence stretches out just a moment too long.

Gojo takes a breath, and Nanami suddenly knows he can't bear to hear whatever's on the other end of it.

"This isn't happening again." Gojo swivels around to face him and it's still all wrong, his face too open, posture too stiff. Like he's waiting for a killing blow that, damn him, will never come. Not from him. Nanami wishes he'd put the damn sunglasses back on already. He glowers and clarifies, "Not in the teacher's room."

Gojo's smile is beatific and exactly like shattered glass. "What? And here I thought you liked the thrill!" He's recovered completely, all elegant fluid lines as he starts to clean himself up. "You can't tell me you're not a pervert, Nanamin."

Nanami just rolls his eyes, pulls up his pants, and lights a cigarette from his discarded jacket's pocket.

The initial bite of smoke steadies him, pulls their tiny broken moments to the bottom of his lungs. Gojo is putting his clothes back on, rearranging his hair from 'completely fucked' to its usual 'fucked,' running his mouth nonstop. Nanami closes his eyes and forgets how well they know each other and how much trauma runs through the cracks of their connection, doesn't think about all the little tells that no one else would be able to read. They're jujutsu sorcerers, like it or not, and it'll cling to them until the day they die.

They don't talk about it. They don't need to.