Archive of Our Own

He’s a fucking nuisance.

Kento knew he would be the second Yaga had decided that Kento’s perfect record meant absolutely nothing once he forced Gojo Satoru onto him.

The curse is a special grade. You will appreciate the help.

The second Gojo turned back to smile obnoxiously at him, Kento was already certain he was going to appreciate nothing.

“Wow, you think we’re gonna find a kid’s body in here?!” Gojo’s voice catches on the arches overhead, tangles itself within the webs from ages past. Kento very much doubts there’s any bodies to be found here other than Gojo’s when he’s done with today.

“You’re tasteless.” Kento carefully side-steps a fallen pew, while Gojo finds himself in the left, north?, transept. It has been many years since Kento attended a church service, a courtesy of his grandfather, as no one within this country appears to practise Christianity. Especially not sorcerers who know very well that all the demons the church spews about are not the imaginary kind that hide beneath your bed, but they are human-made, not a heavenly damnation.

Kento saw his first curse and stopped going.

Though that might have been because the church banned him for screaming mid-service. Kento’s grandfather never did look at him the same after that.

Poor little Kento, forced to carry God’s curse.

Being inside this church makes him uneasy.

He’s not entirely sure whether it is sentimentality or whether the presence of the curse that cuts through the atmosphere of this place. Kento isn’t bothered by the silence of this place, save for Gojo’s endless chattering somewhere to the left of him.

It’s the foul air. It's the scent of burning hair that wafts through the air. Subtle enough for Kento to know that the curse isn’t quite close enough, but is waiting for the right opportunity to strike. The air is oppressive, the cloying heat of the air before lightning strikes, and Kento feels rather choked by the strap around his shoulder, digging close to his neck.

“Nanamin, are you listening to me?!”

Gojo’s voice cuts through his thoughts.

“Were you saying anything worth listening to?”

Gojo pouts from his position on the altar, long legs swinging back and forth, knock knock knock against the old wood. “I’m your senpai, you know.”

“Never asked for you.”

Kento doesn’t trust it. It’s too calm. He swings the bag free from his back and pulls out the weapon, ignoring the sarcastic ohhh that comes from in front of him.

“You don’t need to ask for me.” Gojo’s smile is like a flint. The quick flash of a fire-promise before it dies out. Sarcastic, not meant. “Yaga thinks you’re too weak to handle this curse on your own. Rest assured, Gojo Satoru is here to save the day.”

“I can do this on my own.” Kento snaps at him and it echoes across the empty columns of the building.

Own, own, own…

A ghost chasing its own tail. Kento doesn’t like hearing it in here, in this atmosphere that deems them unimportant, can’t even be bothered to show itself baring teeth. Is that because of Gojo’s presence or his?

“Yaga doesn’t think so.”

“You never gave credit to anyone but your own self-absorbed opinion.”

“Harsh.”

But he doesn’t deny it. Of course he doesn’t, Gojo Satoru is the strongest of them all, especially after the Zenin incident. Losing the vessel marks Gojo’s only failure but if it truly made him the strongest, then was it truly a loss? Is it a tragedy when you come out on top, no matter what was lost along the way?

He doesn’t think Gojo wants to think of it that way. But Kento does, thinks about it all the time, knowing what it could have saved for him. What it cost for him personally.

Why Gojo is here and not Haibara.

No matter the amount of times he thinks about it, he blames everyone else. Gojo was already the strongest and Haibara—

Why was his presence even necessary?

“Wow, look at this!”

In the apse, there is a long bench set before the altar. Between the bench and the altar there is a trunk that looks so old it may as well be a relic and Kento half-expects the boogeyman of his childhood to jump out and tear Gojo’s throat out when he clicks it open.

“Gojo—” His throat feels tight. His fingers clutch his weapon until his knuckles drain of colour. “Stop fucking around.”

“Ohhhh, scary scary—” Gojo grins over his shoulder, before going back to shove his greedy hands into the trunk. “Oh.”

What he pulls out is a nun costume. Is costume even the right name for it? Maybe it’s a uniform. Kento used to know what it’s called but all of those decade-old memories leave him when Gojo starts giggling like a child. “You think it’s real?”

Kento groans. “I already told you to stop fucking around.”

The black has gone grey with dust and even Gojo pulls a face when he starts slapping the fabric, turning the grey charcoal. “Don’t you think I’d look cute in it?”

“Do you have any idea where that thing’s been?”

Gojo starts eyeing the confessional. Kento gets a bad feeling. “Relax, nuns took a vow of celibacy.”

“Gojo—”

“See ya in a bit!”

“Gojo.”

By then Gojo’s gone into the confessional and slams the creaky door shut, leaving Kento alone with a curse that is at least two levels above his capability level.

“You’re not scared to be by yourself are you, Nanami?” Gojo’s voice sounds hollow but Kento can see his silhouette through the grid in the door. Like a snake, always moving, and Kento tears his gaze away. “You said you could handle it yourself, right?”

Kento sneers at the floor, giving him privacy where he deserves none because this entire idea is so beyond stupid. “Yet here I am, giving credence to your lunacy by allowing you to change into a nun uniform.”

“First of all—” There’s rustling and Kento’s sure his uniform is gone by now. “You don’t allow me to do anything. Second of all, I’m pretty sure it’s called a habit.”

“How would you know that?”

“I’m smart.”

Kento snorts in spite of himself. “I’m sure.”

“Of course you are. That’s why Yaga sent me.”

“Enough of that already. Are you done?”

It’s insane how Gojo can so easily make him forget about the purpose of their visit. Here they are, teenagers, about to face a possible fight to the death while Gojo is getting changed into a decades-old habit just for fun. Even so, Kento has seen personally what can happen with a special grade and as much as he hates to admit it, he really doesn’t want to be alone with one.

If Gojo wants to fight one in a fucking nun costume, he can do as he pleases. Kento’s not helping him up when he trips over the fabric.

Gojo doesn’t answer him. Kento shifts uneasily and his steps echo across the floor when he moves towards the confessional. Gojo’s shadow is nowhere to be seen.

“Are you done yet?” Kento hates repeating himself. “Or was the curse hiding in the folds of your new dress?”

“Oh, ha-ha.”

“You had your fun, come out.”

“Hey, Nanami.” Gojo ignores his question and it is infuriating. “Wanna play a game?”

“Did you forget what we came here to do?”

“I’ve already located the curse within the first ten seconds of being here. It won’t bother us for a while yet.”

That startles Kento. Gojo already knew where the curse was? “Then why didn’t you get rid of it?”

“Because—” Gojo says grandly. “If I have to babysit you, I deserve to have some fun too. See it as my payment for my benevolence.”

“That’s not how benevolence works, you idiot.”

“Hurtful and cruel. Maybe I should let you deal with the curse after all.” Gojo sniffs. “Do you want a hint?”

Kento ignores the dread in his stomach. “No, Gojo.”

“It likes pretty things.”

He really doesn’t want to do this. He doesn’t want to look at a phantom image and imagine what isn’t there. This isn’t a horror film, this is real life. “I told you to stop.”

It’s so easy for Gojo to joke about it. A curse like that wouldn’t make so much as bruise him whereas it could tear Kento limb for limb. It’s the unfair equilibrium of their world. People like Haibara die and people like Gojo live because his family was selective about who they stuck their cock into. Haibara didn’t have a family tree to speak of and neither does Kento. Techniques like Gojo’s take generations to develop.

It’s why Kento would much rather leave it all to him.

Maybe it’s the mild distress in his tone, but Gojo does finally swing the door to the confessional open, bringing Kento a view of his long, skinny legs hidden beneath several folds of fabric. Even the rope tied around his small waist does nothing to hide how oversized the habit looks on him, a child playing in a costume. Kento snorts. “You look ridiculous.”

“Aw, I thought you were going to say I looked cute.” Gojo swings his legs back and forth, not moving from the small booth inside. “Are you going to stop being so boring or not?”

“I’d rather deal with the curse.”

“Wrong answer.” Gojo rolls his eyes. “C’mon Nanami, don’t you wanna confess your sins?”

Kento’s sigh is aggravated. “That’s a task for priests.”

“Killjoy.”

“Kill the curse.” Kento says, impulsive and regretting it. “If you kill the curse, I’ll consider it.”

Gojo’s whole face lights up. “Really?”

“Sure.”

When Gojo steps out of the booth, ridiculous robes and all, the temperature in the church drops a further two degrees. Kento’s fingers go freezing cold and his neck feels clammy.

“Gojo—”

“Don’t move.”

Kento tries to ignore the stiffness in his back. “Why?”

Gojo’s eyes flick upwards and Kento, against his better judgement, twists his body left until he catches what’s been lurking in his peripheral.

It’s grotesque.

It hovers over Kento like a puff of air in dead winter. So close that he’s shocked why he hasn’t seen it yet, felt it yet. So close its hands drift over Kento’s shoulder, until Kento can feel the oppressive weight of its body. Its eyes have sunk so far into its sockets that all Kento can see is black with a mouth that is toothless and too wide.

Uncanny.

It smiles in the wrong way, still and unnatural, and Kento is starting to wonder why Gojo isn’t helping him. Its robes tell Kento that it’s a nun, even though Kento was expecting a priest in its stead.

Its lips are torn off, jagged paper lines after ripping it into pieces, but there is a bloodless smile beneath. Its maw a bottomless pit when it starts speaking in tongues that lock Kento’s spine up tight. His hand slips on his weapon.

His feet are affixed to the floor.

Move.

Its head twists to the side. Its eyes never leave him.

Run.

“Enough.” Kento drags his weapon, while Gojo giggles behind him.

“I told you not to look.”

A sphere of red joins above its head and its face twists ugly, starts spitting prayers with its gapless mouth. It slithers even closer and Kento can barely make out the words.

Oh Lord save the children.

Does Gojo not hear it? Does he not hear the guttural moan that accompanies each breath as though it struggles to breathe?

Red hovers for a moment and Kento prefers to stare at that rather than the pale face that remains fixated on his until it starts screeching. Kento instinctively takes three steps back, seeks out self-preservation and hates himself for it.

“She’s a screamer, isn’t she?”

It tapers like a burning photograph, a huge spot of white that goes smaller and smaller until it disappears from Kento’s sight. It stinks of burning hair and Kento cups his mouth and nose. It’s repugnant.

It’s only then that he rounds on Gojo and knocks him around the head with a closed fist. “You think that’s funny?”

Gojo rubs against the sore spot with an ease that belies experience before he pouts up at Kento. “A little bit, yeah. I thought you couldn’t get any paler.”

Kento tries to hit him again but this time Gojo’s infinity is well-prepared for the onslaught. “Is this all a game to you?”

“It’s gone, isn’t it?”

More things are gone due to negligence. Things that Kento can’t get back with an ill-timed joke.

“Well Haibara is gone too.” He should be yelling but it comes out cold and quiet. It is three months of grief and resentment that he has allowed to build, thrown out as though he means to win a petty argument, when it’s a life that is gone forever. Haibara is gone because people like Gojo weren’t there. Gone because Kento hadn’t been able to prevent it.

Gojo doesn’t run his mouth for once. Minutes tick past while Kento’s breath crystallises in the air and the oppressive silence feels worse now than when the curse was here.

It’s Gojo, too, who ends up breaking it. His mouth pulled thin as he looks at him. “You’re not Haibara.”

“So what?” Kento snarls. Only Geto knows of his true feelings, Gojo has never borne his ugly thoughts until now. “Did Haibara deserve to die then?”

But maybe Gojo deserves them. Flippant as he is, he doesn’t understand the value of any human life but his own. Not even his own death could teach him empathy.

“I can’t be fucking everywhere, Nanami!” Gojo snaps back. “I’m here now. I got rid of it, what more do you want from me?”

Kento shoves at him and is furious when he still finds a thin strip of air separating them, knocking him back instead of Gojo. “I wish they wouldn’t have sent you.”

He’s already calling the auxiliary manager and finds that his fingers are trembling when he punches in the number.

He’s seen plenty of curses. He’s fought plenty of curses. But Kento too has suffered from arrogance and a lack of willpower. He bemoaned his missions, while Haibara was excited to make a difference, and now he’s dead and Kento’s here. Stuck with a boy who refuses to grow up. Who thinks it’s funny for Kento to look at humanity’s worst fears and wonder whether it’ll be him next.

“The Special Grade’s taken care of.” He snaps into the receiver. “Pick us up.”

“We weren’t expecting you to be done so soon.”

Is that because Gojo toys with his juniors or because they legitimately thought he was useless enough to be a liability? He clenches his fingers around the phone. “Well, we are. So when can you pick us up?”

“It’ll be well over an hour at least. You’re in the neck of the woods, we’ve only just driven back.”

They left them here alone, so clearly it’s Gojo they trust. Not him.

“Fine.”

He hangs up on them.

Kento forces himself to breathe out and answers the question Gojo didn’t ask. “They said it’d take at least an hour.”

“I heard.” Gojo says. He kicks a piece of rubble that fell down after his cursed technique. “Bet you can’t wait, huh.”

Kento says nothing, his answer obvious.

♰

Twenty minutes later, Kento is shivering. He’d tried calling the auxiliary manager again without any luck. Either they encountered a dead zone with no service or they think Kento’s an asshole. He hopes he hasn’t completely fucked up his chances of a quick recovery because the tick tick tick of Gojo’s foot tapping against the pew is starting to annoy him.

When he looks over, there he is. Draped over the front row, his robes billowing around him. Bored.

Kento hasn’t spoken to him since the call and Gojo has decided to follow his lead. Fine by him.

Tap tap tap.

It’s a nervous energy tick of his, Kento’s found. Pacing is one of Kento’s: this is the fourth time he’s marked the rounds through this church and he only comes to a halt when Gojo twists his head to the side to look at him.

“Can you stop pacing like an expectant father?”

He takes another step to be contrary. “It’s cold.”

“You have cursed energy. Use it to stay warm.”

Of course the one with nigh unlimited energy would say that. “That’s wasteful and stupid.”

“Is it?” Gojo turns his head back to the ceiling. “I’ll be the one exterminating the threat so you may as well use what little energy you have.”

He hates him. So when he passes him, he makes sure to kick against the wood and shake Gojo up from his seat. “Hey!”

Kento ignores him.

He’s about half-way through the church, counting fifty-seven steps, when Gojo speaks up again. “You promised you’d confess your sins.”

“I said I’d consider it.”

Fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty—

“Stop being lame.” When Gojo sits up, his hair sticks up messily in about three different directions. He looks at Kento with a curl of daring playing about his lips, one that Kento hates, one that Kento can’t deny. “You promised.”

No answer from the auxiliary manager yet.

He’s cold and he’s bored, neither of them are getting out anytime soon.

Fuck it.

♰

“Look!”

Kento doesn’t want to look. He prays for patience when Gojo starts rummaging through the chest again and holds up a bottle of wine in triumph. “You think we can drink it?”

“Uh, you can drink it.”

Peering at the scratchy label gives him no further info but it has to at least be older than either of them. Obviously none of that matters to Gojo because he huffs out, “You’re so boring, Nanami.”

His enthusiasm betrays his inexperience. It surprises him: he had expected Gojo, spoiled rotten, would have been the first of them to drink. But Kento had drank at family functions under the careful eye of his family whereas he has no idea what growing up in a clan is like.

It’s obvious drinking wasn’t part of it when Gojo struggles to undo the cork. “How do you do this? Oh here we go.” He pulls the cork off by using Red because he’s a show-off. One sip and he’s already pulling a face. “...Oh, that’s not great.”

Kento snorts. “That’s why children shouldn’t drink.”

“I’m older than you!”

“And lo and behold, I’m still more mature.”

“Oh go fuck yourself, Nanami.”

Kento instead grabs the bottle by the neck and takes a swing. Miraculously, the wine hasn’t soured over, but Kento still doesn’t like the cloying aftertaste, overpowering and too-sweet.

Gojo, however, has taken to staring at him rather than the bottle this time, even as he takes another sip. “How can you drink this so easily? This is disgusting.”

At least there is one thing he can be better at, even if that thing is twenty years old and will make their heads burst if they have too much of it.

“You don’t have to drink it.” But Kento sounds smug as he says it, wiping the remaining redness from his mouth.

Gojo pulls a face. “No, but I’m annoyed when you drink it without flinching once.”

“You wanted to do this, so go on.”

Gojo’s face tightens, resolved, before he grabs the bottle of wine and slips into the confessional. It is not Kento’s responsibility to babysit a lightweight, but the thought still makes him uneasy. If there is another curse—

“Don’t drink too fast, idiot.”

“Insulting me is not the way to get me to do anything, Nanamin.”

He’s such a child. And yet here Kento is, following him into the other side of the confessional, feeling as though he is trapped. As soon as the door closes, Kento feels the shiver like water trickling down his spine.

Being presided over by Gojo is not at all reassuring. Being presided over by a drunk Gojo less so.

“Welcome, welcome. What brings you to confess your naughty sins to me, child?”

“Watched too much porn, did you?” Kento snorts. It’s obvious Gojo’s never been inside of a church before and why would he? Kento’s sure the Gojo clan started their own religion for all the grandiosity that Gojo possesses. “I’m supposed to talk first.”

“Well that’s just rude. I’m the priest here!”

“You’re a nun.”

“Whatever.” He falls silent for a moment before he pieces it together all on his own. “You’ve been to church before, Nanamin?”

“My grandfather’s religious.”

“Huh. Guess they’re not wrong about religious types being sticks in the mud then.”

“Do you want to do this or not?”

Gojo scrambles quickly on his side of the box before his voice comes through, seriously. “What brings you to confess, my child?”

Huh, funny. Maybe not just porn then, but a fair amount of shitty American horror films too. He’s not wrong, per se, but Kento isn’t about to go by the script, anyway.

“I’m stuck here with an idiot and I’m resentful of my duty, Father.”

The curtain separating them is mottled and shows holes in places. Moths probably got to it before either of them ever showed up here and when Kento pushes it to the side, Gojo’s face peers out at him. His cheeks are tinged red, lips shiny and wet.

Maybe Kento drank too much too, to notice that.

“You don’t like being a sorcerer?”

“Not really.”

Kento leans back against the wall just so he can avoid looking at Gojo’s face. There is no latticed opening between their sides anymore and Gojo is close enough for Kento to feel his breath if he leans in close enough. It’s intimate in a way he doesn’t like. Vulnerable.

“Huh, I always thought you were the self-righteous type who’d enjoy it to save the masses.”

“Thanks.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

Kento rolls his eyes. “Hand me the bottle. Also, it’s your turn.”

“That’s not how confession works, Nanami!” Gojo sounds indignant but he still hands Kento the bottle through the opening. He has lashes like a girl, Kento notices, long and wispy. It shouldn’t look so good on him, but all the good things come to Gojo Satoru it seems. Even those traits that would look ridiculous on any other boy.

“I volunteered to come with you on this mission.”

Kento almost chokes on his wine. “You what?”

Gojo pointedly holds out a hand for the bottle. “Your turn.”

They pass the bottle back and forth a while. Limbs loose, tongues looser, and sooner or later Kento can’t quite recall what time it is. One bottle of wine shouldn’t be enough, but they’re both lightweights and deadweights on their feet, sagging in the booth while Gojo’s confessions devolved quickly into the quick and dirty.

“Who’s your worst fantasy?” He demands and his face is the picture of sunset over the sea, carmine high in his cheeks beneath the ocean blue. “C’mon.”

“Who?” Kento snarks. “Not what?”

He doesn’t want to answer.

“Mine’s Yaga.” Gojo is quick to tell him, forgetting the rule of back and forth altogether. “I had a wet dream about him once.”

“Please stop—”

“Dreamed he punished me. Gripped my hair all tight—” He reaches out through the booth and tugs Kento’s hair, too hard until he hisses, pulls back. Gojo giggles and plops back down in his seat. “He spanked me.”

“You’re sharing too much.”

Gojo isn’t listening to him, he blathers on like a preacher to a choir, and Kento is his attentive audience. But the more he speaks, the more another part of Kento becomes attentive and he becomes very aware of the constrictions his pants offer him.

And what they don’t.

“I dreamed he bent me over the desk, rubbed his fat cock against my ass before he pulled down my shorts and hit me. I had to count—” Gojo’s voice picks up a notch. Breathy, like a girl, like he’s run too hard and about to get caught. He looks at Kento as though he wants to be caught. “I had to count and start over if I missed. I missed so many times, Nanami.”

He’s a liar.

He’s a fucking liar.

“You’re not serious.”

“You think he’d do it if I asked?”

Kento’s throat is dry as he speaks. “I thought you said he was your worst fantasy.”

“Oh yeah.” Gojo says, sounding very far away. “The absolute worst.”

Kento forgets about his turn entirely. “Who’s the best one?”

It’s word vomit he can’t stop. It explodes out of him in a flurry, makes the swirling pit in his stomach worse, as though it means to unearth everything Kento means to keep inside. Gojo’s eyes go wide and innocent. Too innocent for someone who just talked about being spanked by a teacher twice their age.

“I don’t have one.”

“Liar.” Kento hisses and he kicks the door to the confessional open. Gojo doesn’t flinch, only keeps staring at him with those wide-open eyes of his, as though he finds the answer in Kento’s. “Why did you volunteer?”

“Come and find out.”

Gojo’s expression is a terrible one: he’s drunk too much and his eyes are wild, pupils too large, lips too wet. Kento’s hard and it’s unfair. This isn’t what he wanted.

But it is what he wants now.

The distance to Gojo’s side of the confessional is negligible and yet it feels like the entire length of this church as his heart ticks into fifty-eight, fifty-nine, sixty.

The booth is too small to fit two growing teenagers, but Kento forces himself into the narrow space anyway, the wood knocking bruises into his bony shoulders as he hangs over Gojo, so close he can taste the wine on his breath.

“I don't think this is part of the game.” Gojo tells him smugly and then he goes quiet when Kento crashes his mouth too forcefully against his own.

Gojo’s mouth opens up easily and it’s not surprise that Kento detects, it’s determination that finds itself into Gojo’s hands, pulling Kento down by the neck. Fuck. Kento’s only human, whines softly when Gojo licks into his mouth, horrible and pleasant, and loses his footing altogether.

They are so close. Too close for a space like this, when Kento sinks through his knees and presses chest to chest with Gojo while he just grins up at him.

“What’s wrong?” His voice sounds too smug and he pulls back one knee, digging into Kento’s crotch, his scratchy uniform that does him no favours. “Have you never kissed before?”

Kento finally pulls himself together enough to shove Gojo back, head knocking into the wall. He doesn’t give him enough time to bitch about it, because this time Kento’s the one pushing his tongue inside, tasting the cloying alcohol all over again. He’ll get drunk on Gojo’s breath.

The more Kento seizes control, slips his fingers into Gojo’s hair and pulls, resting on top of Gojo’s hips and not letting him move, the more easily Gojo is led. He moves into the corner when pushed, providing an anchor point for Kento’s hips to press down.

“Oh.” Kento says as he watches the colour climb in Satoru’s face. “I thought the alcohol wouldn’t get you hard.”

Satoru shoves him back, snarling. “I’m seventeen.”

Kento settles his hands on Satoru’s shoulders, pressing down and scooting back, until Satoru’s narrowed eyes look up at him.

For once, Kento’s got the upper hand. Satoru is letting him.

“What else do you fantasise about, huh?”

Out here, in the dark and the quiet, with nothing but the rain outside that ticks against the windows, Kento feels invincible. The bottle of wine lies forgotten at the booth, occasionally tapping against the too-narrow bench, when Satoru’s long limbs knock against it. There’s not enough space here, but Kento will make space.

When Satoru doesn’t reply immediately, a stubborn curl to his mouth that refuses to be kissed, Kento tilts his head to bury it inside his neck.

He seeks power and finds it when his teeth sink into Satoru’s skin, when he keens low in his throat, clutching onto Kento’s shoulders. “Only wanted Yaga to spank you?” Flat tongue against a flat surface and he swears he can feel Satoru’s blood pumping beneath. “You’re disgusting.”

It’s the alcohol, he tells himself.

It’s the wine when Satoru’s legs fall open, one long leg stretched out over the floor, when Kento climbs between them, when Satoru finally decides he’s a participant in this stupid little game and cups Kento’s crotch.

It’s the wine, Kento thinks, as Satoru’s lips part to smugness. “You’re hard.”

Suddenly, there is no breath at all. It all comes down to the needle point between Kento’s thighs where Satoru’s fingers keep squeezing him shamelessly.

Kento makes a helpless noise meant to be a huff. “You’re the one who keeps touching me.”

Satoru’s grin reminds him of the curse then, too wide to be natural. “Want me to stop touching you then?”

Kento has no idea when the auxiliary managers are meant to arrive. Right now, with his hair undone and his face flushed, sucking up the oxygen in this narrow space, right now there is a point where they can stop.

But Satoru looks no better than him.

He leans up like the succubus he is and his hand feels cold on Kento’s clammy neck, pulling him down again.

“No?” He whispers. His hips jot up and Kento can feel he’s just as hard. “Want me to stop?”

He doesn’t stop.

“Sit up.” Kento’s voice is rough.

Satoru’s expression changes, tightens along the side of his mouth. It’s there and gone again, before he does as Kento’s asked and his fingers slip away from his aching cock.

Kento has no idea how much time they have. But Satoru, for all of his disgusting fantasies that had Kento hard within the first five minutes, has got to have more experience out of them. Satoru, who seems to fuck his friends for fun, who drapes himself over Suguru’s shoulder or kisses Shoko beneath her ear.

But Kento isn’t a friend of his. He isn't within fuckable range.

Never wanted to be until now.

“Lift up your dress.”

“It’s a habit, Nanami.”

Kento grips him by the hair again, voice quiet. “I said to lift it.”

Satoru does as asked, cheeks carmine and eyes wide, until Kento finally understands why.

“You took everything off?”

He’s shameless. He is absolutely fucking shameless.

Satoru’s cock curves long and hard against his belly, making a mess of him, staining a black habit that has never seen a cock. Unless, of course, they were as much of a heathen as the one sitting in front of Kento now.

Kento squeezes the tip between his fingers and Satoru lets out a pained whine. “Kento—”

“Kento?” Kento releases his grip long enough for Satoru to collapse beneath his own relief. “I’m not Kento to you, Gojo.”

Satoru shivers. “I wanna call you Kento, though.” Then he whines again, a dog beneath Kento’s heel. He’s holding the base too tight this time. “Okay, alright, stop.”

Kento hums and wonders if all of Satoru’s experience comes down to being crushed under someone else’s weight, following along just so he can be told what to do. The world’s strongest and yet here he is, pathetically begging for another scrap.

He’ll give it to him.

He finally allows his hand to wrap all the way around and works him hard and dry. When Satoru begins to whine again, Kento spits a glob onto the head of his cock.

“There.”

Satoru looks at him as though he’s seen the very first fire, man-made and destructive. He’s not yet made up his mind whether it’s offensive or not.

Kento uses the spit to slick up his cock and the resounding moan puts him into the category of fine.

But Kento wants to be better than fine. He wants to hear his senior scream, he wants to be a notch on his belt, needs him to shut up and needs him to be loud—

He’ll regret this tomorrow.

Tomorrow is still so far away for a sorcerer. It’s today that counts.

Satoru’s whining is getting desperate, his hand grabbing Kento by the neck again to force him close, so he can press his mouth forcefully against Kento’s. So Kento can hear him pant desperately through his nose while his lips tremble. Whining his given name again.

“Kento, Kento—”

His teeth catch on Nanami’s bottom lip. His hips jerk when he cums and he moans exactly like the bitch in heat he is, as Kento thumbs him over the sensitive head. “Too much—” He gasps, but he cums anyway. A shuddering, shaky mess that crawls into the corner of the confessional. Except a kicked dog wouldn’t grin up at him like this, wide and white-toothed, satisfactory. He wouldn’t reach out with his arms around Kento’s neck and kiss him again, more teeth, less tongue, knocking his knee into Kento’s erection without bothering to put his own dick away.

“Your turn.” Satoru insists and his breath is still so warm. He’s trying to get Kento to flip and Kento refuses, puts all of his force into it, wrestles Satoru to the limited floor space instead.

He is trying to look stern for one whose cock is still trapped within his stupid uniform, face flushed and mouth spit-slick. He grows harder still at the sight of Satoru on his knees, eager-faced and waiting for instructions Kento knows he doesn’t need.

“Well?” Kento’s voice sounds ragged. “Do what you do best.”

Satoru pouts at him. “Are you calling me a whore?”

Yes.

“No shame in being a whore.”

His hands wind up in Satoru’s hair again, gentler this time, just so he can force him against his cock as Satoru grows lax in kindness.

“Hmph!” Satoru’s muffled reply comes too late, but then he presses his tongue against Kento’s clothes, spit soaking the fabric, and Kento doesn’t have the will to feel guilty.

“I’ll, ah, I’ll show you.”

Satoru undoes the uniform zipper and Kento slides the top off easily. Satoru whistles at the expanse of skin and presses a palm against the plane of Kento’s stomach. His fingers are long and slender and Kento’s muscles tense. “Who knew there were actually muscles beneath?” and Kento wants to hit him.

“I’m a close-range sorcerer.” He hisses as Satoru laughs. “What did you expect?”

Kento wants so badly to feign apathy, but he fails spectacularly. Not when Satoru nuzzles his cock again, mumbles a cutesy sorry, and then catches the button with his teeth. He manages to undo it too.

“Fuck, Gojo—”

It doesn’t take long before his pants are down and his cock is out. It should be embarrassing, getting a guy to suck your cock in an abandoned church, but it feels weirdly apt for their profession. Where else is Kento meant to get his dick sucked? Tomorrow could be his last day.

He doesn’t start to feel embarrassed until Satoru rocks back on his heels and stares.

“What?” Kento doesn’t want to snap at him, but the silence doesn’t help.

Satoru lets out a low whistle. “Massive.” He starts grinning again and Kento doesn’t know if he’s relieved or if he’s embarrassed. “Really, that’s the biggest I’ve seen.”

“So how many have you seen?”

Whore is implied.

Satoru laughs again. “Just a few.”

But he doesn’t specify how many and Kento resents the unknown worse. Resents all the men who’ve had Satoru before, whose dick is now being compared to his, whose experience Satoru is built up of, just to apply it to him.

Then Satoru nuzzles his cock and much of those thoughts dissipate when they are replaced by one:

How unfair it is, that he looks cute while being so filthy.

Satoru noses against Kento’s pubic bone before his tongue dips out, like a cat, grinning like one, and Kento shudders when he finally puts it to his cock. His hands slide into Satoru’s hair unbidden.

Satoru is unhurried, continues to trail his tongue over Kento’s aching cock, and laughing when Kento pulls at his hair. “Hurry up.” He says and the next part’s a lie. “The auxiliary managers could be here any moment.”

Satoru looks up at him, impish smile playing about his mouth. “You take what I give you, Nanamin. Nothing more.”

Kento wants to strangle him but soon Satoru’s mouth is mouthing at the tip, blows hot air against the sensitive head, and then pushes Kento’s cock inside. It’s the best thing he’s ever felt. Kento’s hips snap up about three seconds in and it’s just as satisfying to hear Satoru choke. If he were kinder, he’d take it easy, if he were more experienced, he’d known how to.

But Kento isn’t experienced. Kento is sixteen years old and he’s lost his best friend and thinks about running away sometimes, too often, all the time, really. None of that has changed. No one can change it.

The only thing Kento has realised is that being a sorcerer has slowly chipped away at his self-restraint, his ability to care, so much that he doesn’t care if Satoru sucks him off right now.

Perhaps he should just take it.

So instead he shoves his hands into Satoru’s hair and demands more by merely fucking upwards, enjoying the way Satoru’s hands push against Kento’s waist, or how his throat bobs under the onslaught. The fifth thrust, Satoru starts huffing desperately through his nose, wants to pull back but Kento forces him back.

He’d almost feel guilty for it, until Satoru’s eyes meet his and Kento finds watery looks very good on baby blue, mouth stretched wide around his cock. It’s defiance in those eyes, stubborn determination, no actual disgust so Kento figures:

“You feel so good, Gojo.”

And it’s easy for those eyes to flick down, for Satoru’s mouth to become more generous, the way he stops fighting him.

“Best I’ve ever had.” He coos, because while it spurred jealousy in Kento, it encourages hunger in Satoru. This time, though, he’s nicer, lets his own shattered breath come together in his diaphragm, lets his body calm down.

Satoru’s eager to make up the difference, the way he’s noisily sucking Kento’s cock, presses his tongue right beneath the head like he knows what makes Kento moan so loud it faintly echoes across the church tiles.

“Fuck—” He gasps as Satoru sucks noisily. “Keep going.”

His gut jumps when Satoru pushes deeper and god, he looks so good on his knees, in his little dress, sucking cock like he was made to do it. When Satoru starts moaning too, it reverberates in Kento’s skull and settles somewhere in his rib cage like the death rattle his breathing is starting to sound like. Satoru pulls off long enough to murmur, “Move.”

That’s all the warning Kento gets before Satoru presses his mouth over the head and sucks and the sound that draws from Kento is less human and more animal. One hand is still clutching Satoru’s hair, while the other grips the bench tightly to ground himself. His hips stutter and his voice sounds shattered as he keeps chanting Satoru’s name like a prayer.

“Fuck, Satoru, ah-”

Then the door rips open and Kento stares into the mortified face of their forgotten auxiliary manager.

“What the—” is all she gets out before Satoru, so shocked by their sudden audience, clamps his mouth right onto Kento’s cock and Kento howls in pain. He shoves Satoru to the floor and there they are, panting teenagers, with their dicks out for the world to see and Akko stumbles back.

“Get decent!” She yelps before she slams the door shut again.

Kento doesn’t even have the time to feel mortified before she’s gone again.

“That hurt.” Satoru rubs his head and pouts up at him. Kento’s fairly sure his lips are redder than usual and he immediately checks over his cock. It hurts, but doesn’t appear to be bleeding, but the mood is definitely ruined now.

“You think that hurt?” Kento starts shoving his pants back on. “You’re the one who fucking bit me.”

“I was startled!”

“So was I!”

Satoru’s still in his stupid dress and Kento is in no mood to help him change. At this point the embarrassment is sinking in, hot and heavy, and his stomach sinks. An auxiliary manager saw them. Saw everything. Yet when Kento looks at Satoru, all he can see is him pouting, making no effort to move other than putting his dick away.

“We need to go.”

“Couldn’t they have at least given us a second?” Satoru groans. “Seriously, it wouldn’t have taken long.”

Kento flushes red. He doesn’t have a response for that but Satoru sighs his long-suffering sigh, looking forlorn at Kento’s dick, and then pats it farewell. “See ya later.”

Kento hits him this time.

♰

“I can’t believe the both of you!”

Kento has started zoning out almost ten minutes ago. There was a time where he’d have felt ashamed to sit in Yaga’s office, on his knees on a mat, being scolded, but right now the situation is simply too mortifying for his brain to catch up with. It’s as if evolution has decided for him that, no, actually, there is no point to listening to this actually.

Because Kento thinks if he does, he might just die.

“I honestly expected better from you, Nanami-kun.”

There it is.

Forced to look up like a dog being called, Kento’s face is red as he mumbles. “I’m sorry, sensei.”

“I didn’t send Gojo there to—” Now it’s Yaga’s face turning red and it would be fascinating if it wasn’t so horrifying. “To do what teenagers do.”

“You didn’t send me anywhere.” Satoru huffs who apparently lacks the evolutionary emotion of shame. Maybe it got bred out of him by his family. It seems you don’t need embarrassment when you’re the strongest. “I volunteered to go.”

“And you went by my leave.” Yaga seems happy enough to be able to yell at Satoru again because there is no way Kento is ever looking him in the eye again. “This is inappropriate.”

“We got rid of the curse, didn’t we?” Satoru drawls. “I wasn’t aware that there were other rules involved.”

“You were meant to wait on the auxiliary manager.”

“We did.” Satoru says. He shrugs. “Then we got bored. Sorry.”

Kento gives Satoru a pointed jab with his elbow. Satoru only gives him an offended look. “Honestly, what does it matter? It was private.”

“You were on a mission.”

Satoru rolls his eyes. “I’m getting really tired of arguing semantics. I could’ve sucked his dick back at the dorms too, would you have thrown a fit then?”

Yaga’s eyes bulge even beneath the sheer of his glasses. “But you didn’t!”

“I’m asking why it matters.”

Kento raises a hand and they both snap their heads to look at him. “Can I be excused?”

Please.

“We’re not quite done here.”

“You’re just gonna leave me with him?”

Kento swallows his own arguments until only the embers of his own embarrassment remain. “I’ll wait.”

It seems they are both disappointed in him then.

♰

“Nanamin, wait up!”

Absolutely not. Kento is not about to go through another lecture on safe sex while being actively blueballed, after being caught by a woman twice their age. She hadn’t said a single word as she wordlessly drove them back to the Tech and handed them off to Yaga.

How Yaga even knew was beyond Kento.

They were not suspended. Frankly, Kento would welcome it at this point, but given their dwindling numbers he doubts they would be even if they’d fucked in his office and wiped their cum with his stuffies.

Satoru grips his arm and Kento’s forced to come to a halt. “I said wait.”

Kento breathes forcefully through his nose. “I’m going back to the dorms.”

“Well, I’m coming with.” As if it’s obvious. Kento is too baffled, too exhausted, to fight him on it. So Satoru tags along while Kento drags himself up two flights of stairs and prays that Ijichi is still far away in Kyushu.

Ijichi. Haibara’s replacement so Kento wouldn’t find himself wandering these hallways alone.

“Why?” Kento finally asks when they’re in front of his door and Satoru still hasn’t let go of his arm.

“I take my jobs seriously, Nanamin.”

“Really?” Kento sneers. “Is that why you sucked me off during one of them?”

“Of course.” He is so ineffable that it’s hard to argue with him. Not because Satoru’s words hold any weight of the truth, but because he simply believes he is right. There is no arguing with one so arrogant. “And I want to finish the job.”

“Forget it.”

“Come on.” Satoru pulls at his jacket like an insistent child. “I know you liked it. You made me cum, so I wanna return the favour.”

“I’m not even hard anymore now.” he hisses, embarrassed even though he shouldn’t be.

Just then, Satoru presses his body flush against his and Kento understands the two inches of height difference between them when Satoru grinds into him. Kento’s breath punches out of him. “Are you out of your mind?” His eyes dart quickly. Finding no one. Yet. “You don’t think one time was enough?!”

Satoru grabs Kento by the chin. “Liar.” He whispers. “You loved it.”

Their lips are touching again.

This time, without the alcohol, Kento finds the admission of them worse. This time, Satoru’s lips demand and don’t follow, he coaxes Kento’s mouth open with his tongue, leaves Kento’s lips kiss-bitten and swelling. He presses Kento against the door, forces a knee between his own. He doesn’t nudge, he presses right up against him, until Kento gasps into his mouth.

This is the Gojo Satoru who does what he wants.

One who gets Kento hard within less than a minute, whose grin Kento can feel without seeing it, feeling it split against his own.

“Liar.” He says again, before he pulls away. “Open the door.”

Kento tries to seize back control, but is quick to relinquish it when he unlocks the door. Better to have him inside, he tells himself, knowing damn well he’s lost that argument five minutes ago.

He should send him away, but instead he shoves Satoru down to his knees again, doesn’t even let him make for the bed.

“You want to finish the job?” Kento says, coolly. “On your knees then.”

He knows he’s lost the high ground, no matter how tall he stands, how low Satoru is. Not when the smile that looks up at him is a gasoline fire, dangerous, unable to be quelled.

He’s got what he wants.

“I already know just how much you love me on my knees, Nanamin.”

Kento doesn’t dignify it with a response. His uniform is down in seconds, his cock in Satoru’s hands.

“Nice.” Satoru says. “Not often a cock’s still the same size when you’re sober.”

Kento shoves it all the way into his mouth until he chokes on it.

If Satoru is to get what he wants, then perhaps it is easier for Kento to get his own. He fists his hands into his hair, pulls until the only sound he hears is Satoru’s pathetic whimpering. His hands press flat against Kento’s hipbones, an anchor or a plea. Kento can’t tell.

Satoru isn’t shoving him off.

“Look at how pretty you look when you’ve gone quiet.” Kento says and it’s the only compliment he’ll give him. He pulls back far enough to let him use his abused throat again.

Satoru warbles a moan around the head of Kento’s cock and slobbers over it like a dog. A spike of arousal hits Kento straight in the gut.

“Good.” He finds himself saying, easing himself back in, rewarding him. “That’s good.”

But he wants better. He wants the tight hollow of Satoru’s mouth when his cheeks sink in, the way the back of his throat feels forbidden.

If Kento has to suffer the humiliation at Yaga’s hands, then perhaps this is what he is owed.

And perhaps there is a part of him that loves it, one he can admit to only in the privacy of his own bedroom, as if he can keep Satoru’s confidence in here.

Satoru’s face goes red when Kento pushes in again and he’s never looked better. Kento’s rhythm erratic and inexperienced, but Satoru makes up for it each time. Perhaps he lacks a gag reflex, or maybe he was lying when he said Kento was big.

Satoru moans softly, a begging sound, and Kento stills his pace. He’s close, he can feel it, but he’ll pause.

“Kento.” The fallen one warbles, jaw working around a mouthful of cock. “Please.”

He looks so good that Kento isn’t even going to scold him for using his given name this time around.

“You want me to cum inside?”

Satoru nods with his mouth still full. If it wasn’t so full, Kento would think he was smiling.

“Good boy.”

It only takes a few. It only takes Satoru’s pretty blues blinking up at him, his cheeks hollowing, a moan reverbating over Kento’s cock. Wondering if he can swallow it all.

He cums unceremoniously. He pulls so hard on Satoru’s hair, a few strands come undone, and shoves so deep inside that Satoru’s eyes grow even wider, a sharp inhale through his nose. But he swallows. His throat bobs and Kento’s ragged breath goes quieter.

His dick pops out of Satoru’s mouth and the bastard lolls out his tongue.

“All clean.”

It’s barely been three seconds but Kento feels his cock stir again. It annoys him. Why him, why does Satoru invoke this response in him?

“You should go.” Kento says, again, knowing it’s futile.

Satoru’s got cum smeared around his mouth and his eyes look like an electrical storm.

“Nah.”

♰

Gojo Satoru is different without his clothes off.

It’s all his armour stripped away without the veneer of infinity to shimmer over his skin, leaving it lithe and vulnerable. He’s pale. His waist’s a tight orbit, hair trailing up his stomach so light it almost blends seamlessly with his skin.

But he never feels vulnerable.

The bed dips beneath the weight of Kento’s body as Satoru sits above him, pressing right against the sweet spot where Kento’s self-control is fighting with teenage desire.

“Who’s your worst fantasy, Kento?”

Kento’s denied it for a while. But back when Haibara was still alive, maybe that’s the last time he admitted to it.

Gojo’s kind of pretty isn’t he?

He’d never said yes. But Haibara had known, had laughed, the first and the last to know.

He’s annoying.

It hadn’t been a no.

But Haibara died and that was Gojo’s fault wasn’t it? The world’s strongest couldn’t prevent Kento’s first heartbreak. His second close at hand.

Right now he’s looking at him straight and thinking cross-eyed.

“You.” He says, easily.

He slides a hand up Satoru’s hip, revels in the warmth of his skin and how all of his strength means nothing when he opens himself open.

Neither carry condoms and lube is spit and vaseline. Kento’s hands that hold Satoru’s hips as he pushes him down, mouth nipping at Satoru’s pulse line as it spikes rapidly. It’s easier than staring. Kento feels vulnerable then, with Satoru’s eyes on him, as though he can pick out every filthy thought beneath the static of his cursed energy.

“Stop being careful.” Satoru grunts as he sinks lower, does all the work, as though Kento isn’t mesmerised, as though he isn’t annoyed.

“I thought you’d—” He shakes his head. Huffs. “Impatient ass.”

He moans like a strung-out whore when Kento’s fully inside and it takes all his self-restraint not to cum again. So he pushes those narrow shoulders down, dips his weight by oppressing it with Kento’s own. Soon all of the bedding will reek of him. The desperate stink of his own cursed energy and Satoru’s faint cologne.

He can almost feel his own cock throb inside of him when he bends him in half. That’s how he always should be, exposed with his cock curved towards his belly, hard again.

“Fuck, Kento.”

“You’ll take everything I give you.” Kento says, just to be annoying, but Satoru nods too quickly, mouth curling around, “Yes boss.”

Kento doesn’t think he’s prepped him enough, little ease in the way his cock drags back and forth, unhelped by how small Satoru’s hole really is. It sucks him in fully, barely leaving him any space, but when Satoru’s impish grin turns worse, feral, when his nails dig into Nanami’s shoulders, Kento forgoes any attempt to be gentle about it.

Satoru’s tight.

Every thrust is hard-earned, Satoru’s walls scraping against him, before the next. He builds a rhythm on pure adrenaline, spurred on by a whine so pitch-deep that Kento suspects he’s been begging for this for a while, offering himself for a mission he held no interest in.

His nails rake down Kento’s back and Kento sinks his teeth in the junction of his shoulder. “You— animal—”

Pot calling kettle.

He bruises his shoulder and litters his neck, bite after bite, and tests the limits of Satoru’s flexibility by pounding into him like he’s been cursed. Perhaps he has been, so long ago, that first day at school with a party that was forced upon him. Kento can’t deny his basic instincts, not when it’s Satoru’s filthy moans carrying him through his next thrust again and again and again.

With every thrust, Satoru clenches down. Desperate to keep Kento inside until Kento releases one of his legs, warns; “Keep it up, Satoru,” and presses his hand against Satoru’s sweaty stomach.

“Where do you feel me?” He coos. “Is it here?” He slides his hand from groin to navel, while Satoru’s eyes go wide, his breath stuttery. “Or here?”

“Fuck, Kento—”

“Tell me.” He stills his movements and Satoru’s body goes taut like a wire, but it’s his voice that snaps under the pressure, “Fuck me.”

He’s bitten his lip, Kento realises, when he kisses him to be mean and tastes the iron on them. How they feel fat beneath his own. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

Satoru’s free leg kicks out at him until Kento’s quickly slaps a hand against the side of his thigh. “Don’t be a brat.”

Satoru glowers, uselessly tries to fuck himself on Kento’s cock but Kento pulls his hips back, not allowing himself to be used. Kento only waits, smug, content to just sit in the hot mess of Satoru’s insides while his face starts to heat up. Finally, Satoru offers him a long-suffering sigh. “Fuck me and I’ll tell you.”

“Beg me.”

Satoru’s eyes grow wider and that stubborn pout grows worse. He’s trying to turn the situation over in his head but then Kento cants his hips forward, fucking his prostate dead-on, and Satoru babbles, “Please fuck me, please—”

“Slut.” Kento coos at him. “So desperate to be filled. Can you feel me now?”

“There.” Satoru presses right beneath his own weeping cock, but that pout’s been wiped clean off his face. “I can feel you there.”

It has to be coaxed out of him, but Satoru can be good when he has to be. Good when both legs wrap around Kento’s waist and his arms go back around his neck, pulling him closer.

“More, more, now, ah.”

He’s a demanding thing, too.

Kento finds a rhythm so punishing that all that comes out of Satoru’s mouth is warbled pleas, until his cock drools more of a mess against his stomach, looking at Kento with eyes drowned out by black. It’s good to find the world’s strongest vulnerable, hanging by the last thread of his sanity, babbling for Kento’s cock.

It’s all he wants.

“I’m g-gonna cum.” He hiccups on air as his eyes are dry, the last of his tears having gone to the sweat in his hair, the salt on the plane of his stomach. “Please, Kento, gonna cum—”

It’s a competition then.

Not one for who holds out the longest, but that Kento needs to fill him up before Satoru can do so, so he shoves himself back inside while Gojo yelps, over-sensitive and needy—

“Kento—”

“Wait—” He grunts, and one of his hands slaps against the headboard. “You’re gonna wait.”

“I don’t want to.”

A race to the bottom is what this is. “I wanna fill you up.” Kento pants and Satoru’s hole clenches him so tight that he knows the pervert enjoys it. “I wanna, hah, I wanna see you full.”

He’s buried so deep inside of him that he can feel his own mess trickling back down when he cums, wet and hot and disgusting. It squelches when he pulls back out, when Satoru’s breath punches out of him all at once, a moan made soft by exertion.

“Please, Kento—” He says with his hole gaping and twitching, clinging to what isn’t there anymore. “Please, I wanna cum.”

Kento shoves two fingers inside of him, coos; “I’ll keep you full.”

Just like that, Satoru cums and Kento regrets not feeling the roll of his guts with his cock inside of him after all. He moans soft and needy, pulls Kento’s head close for another kiss, and then his whole body goes lax. It’s kind of cute, if it wasn’t so depraved.

Kento pulls his fingers out and wipes them on his dirty sheets, finally calming down enough to lie down beside him and letting his breath even out. Satoru takes that moment to roll himself in the space beneath Kento’s armpit.

“It sure didn’t seem like your worst fantasy.”

If he didn’t sound so utterly fucked out, Kento might have pushed him from his bed.

Instead, he drags the sheets over them and closes his eyes. “Go to sleep.”

Satoru hums and Kento feels his cursed energy whip up until it’s not much at all. Eye of the storm and Kento finds himself within it.

It won’t be long before he comes to regret that decision. For now though, he’s content to wrap an arm around Satoru’s skinny waist and consider his worst fantasy a dream come true.