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Nanami hadn’t seen Geto in years. The last time had been in high school, a blurred memory surrounding the death of his only friend and a morgue that seemed to grow darker by the second as it sank in that Haibara was gone. Dead. No chance to grow older or even see reward for how selflessly he’d fought in their thankless job.
Occasionally, when Nanami thought about it now, he could remember the faint lines under Geto’s eyes that said he hadn’t slept in days, or maybe weeks. But that wasn’t the image that Nanami conjured when he remembered Geto, not most of the time. He remembered long strands of ebony hair, so dark it was like peering into a void, offset by the gentle curve of his lips into a mischievous smile and the crease of his eyes into soft crescents. He remembered turning away from that smile on more than one occasion and hoping the heat he felt in his cheeks hadn’t flared into a pink flush.
He was older now, and it was those familiar black strands that caught his attention again, longer now, pulled into half a ponytail, the rest framing that familiar pale skin. Nanami released a long, heavy sigh, dropping his blade. Geto was a special grade, and in the years since he’d last seen him, there wasn’t any chance he’d grown weaker. Nanami glanced around the alley, lit up by the remnants of the sunset, casting a dull orange glow on the street below their feet. There weren’t any civilians nearby in any case, so if they fought, the damage would be manageable.
Geto shot him a grin so startlingly similar to the ones he’d wielded in their school days, his teeth gleaming against the pink of his lips.
“I’m happy you came back,” he said, and Nanami paused, his brow arching, his eyes narrowing behind his goggles. Geto’s voice was saccharine, betrayed no hint of emotion or his real intentions in cornering Nanami with a false lead about a supposed grade 1 curse.
The higher ups had sent him on a reconnaissance mission, and Nanami had obeyed given he had no other choice. It was his job, after all, and the clock showed his work day wasn’t anywhere close to ending when he received the assignment. A few grades ones had been popping up, and while none of them had attacked so far, they arose around the same area, and the risk they’d grow into special grades wasn’t nonexistent. It was easier for Nanami to find them and exorcise them ahead of time. When he’d made it to the entrance of the alley, however, there had only been residuals left, with no curse in sight. Geto snuck up on him, and Nanami still didn’t know how, the hair on the back of his neck standing up straight.
He'd never felt threatened by his elder before, not really, but he knew things were different now. They were on opposing sides; Geto hadn’t done anything yet, but he was well aware of the village he’d slaughtered, and he wasn’t naïve enough to presume Geto’d had a sudden change of heart. Geto waved away his thoughts with a singular hand, his other hand buried in the sleeve of a luxurious robe.
“Really,” Geto said, taking a step closer, and Nanami stiffened, his grip tightening around his sword. Geto’s dark brown eyes darted to the motion, but he didn’t point it out. “We always need more people like us on our side.”
“Our side?” Nanami asked, and he wasn’t prone to making conversation with his enemies, but Geto didn’t seem intent to kill him. Perhaps if he was civil enough, he’d walk away without a scratch.
Geto offered a serene nod.
“Our side,” he said. “The side of jujutsu. We’re always lacking on sorcerers, you know, and it’s no surprise you couldn’t stomach living with…” He trailed off, offering a simpering grin. “I’m glad you’re back.”
Nanami resisted the urge to release another sigh. In high school, Geto had always seemed like the sensible one between him and Gojo, not as sensible as Shoko, of course, but certainly less arrogant about his own strength. He had every right to be, but he’d seemed to temper Gojo’s sharp edge. Now, the edges of his grin curled up with a wicked gleam, and Nanami realized they’d both been equally insufferable all along; Geto just hid it better. He didn’t say that, though Geto looked like he could read his thoughts, instead gesturing to the cursed ball in his hands, undoubtedly meant to be eaten. Geto tilted his head, his hair dusting over his shoulders.
“It’s the grade one you were meant to exorcise,” he said, holding it up. “I thought it could be put to better use.”
Nanami hummed. “Does that use include slaughtering another village?” he asked, his voice dry, and Geto’s smile froze, a muscle in his jaw clenching.
“Nanami-kun, I thought you’d be more open minded.” He slipped the curse into a pocket of his robes, his smile slipping off his face, his eyes opening fully. “You of all people know how cruel those monkeys can be. I did what was right.”
“I’m certain,” Nanami said before he finally released his sigh, slipping into a defensive stance. Talking was beginning to seem like a waste of time. “Maybe I can understand why you left,” he said, an admission he’d given freely more than once. After all, he’d left himself. If anyone knew the need to escape the despair of jujutsu society it was him. But Geto had been labeled a threat, and it was beginning to become clear that his intentions weren’t innocent. Nanami didn’t care to hear what plan he may have come up with. “But anything beyond that, perhaps not.”
Geto made a face, his lips thinning into a line.
“I heard you recently were promoted to first grade,” he said, evidently unphased by Nanami’s discerning gaze or the clear activation of his technique. “How accurate do you think the grading system is?” he continued, and Nanami shifted, keeping his expression neutral as a large curse appeared behind him, more than a few eyes rotating and blinking until they came into focus and leveled him with a sharp stare.
Before Nanami could get out a response, the curse attacked, launching itself at him in the blink of an eye, leaving him barely enough time to block a tentacled strike with his blade. He took the brunt of the hit with a groan, and somewhere Geto laughed.
“Give it a try, Nanami. I’d love to see how much you’ve grown.”
Nanami ignored the taunt, refocusing his gaze onto the curse as it lunged again, opening its mouth to reveal a broad set of sharp teeth. He lunged to the side before ducking under another tentacle, striking it with his blade before throwing himself to its other side. Two pairs of tentacles fell to the ground, and Nanami ducked under a third, letting his blade sink into the curse’s underbelly in one swift motion.
A sharp cry emanated from the curse, and Nanami turned around intent to land a killing blow. The curse cried out again, and Nanami had a split second to brace himself before he was struck in the side and found himself slamming into the alley’s heavy brick wall.
“Shit!” The swear spilled out of him as a dull thrum racketed its way up his spine, and he quickly pushed himself to his feet as another attack landed, sinking him further into the wall.
He’d been practicing, and after being promoted to grade one, he’d made sure to train enough to sustain himself, at the very least. He was more than competent, but even he’d admit he wasn’t in his best shape with only a few months of training under his belt again. It’d been less than a year since he’d come back to jujutsu, less than a month since he’d been promoted officially, and he had few defenses against a curse that could withstand his technique.
A sharp groan escaped his lips as he caught the edge of the curse’s tentacle before it could strike him, and the curse tugged forward before slamming into him with a different one. He didn’t know when he dropped his blade, only felt the way his brain rattled in his head as the curse slammed him into the concrete and a bone somewhere deep in his body shattered.
He brought up a hand to shield his head as the curse shrilled in glee, slamming tentacle after tentacle against him until all he could focus on was counting down the seconds until his cursed energy stopped being an effective barrier. He wasn’t afraid of death, had accepted it as a reality the moment he came back to jujutsu, but facing it head on was much more droll than he’d expected.
His head pounded, and he could feel the warmth of blood seeping into his clothing, didn’t have enough wherewithal to think straight under the curse’s blows. Death, in any case, was starting to look like a reprieve.
-
Nanami woke up.
He didn’t know how much later, didn’t have any recollection in the first place beyond the vague feeling of relief when the curse backed off, seemingly with little reason. It was too late, in any case. He was on the verge of death, but the curse had stopped with an abrupt pause, leaving Nanami ground down into the concrete sidewalk as dusk fell, and the alleyway’s lamps began to glow. He blinked a few times under bright fluorescent lighting before his surroundings registered and he recognized the familiar white walls of the infirmary and the constant tap of a keyboard nearby.
A low, dry hum.
“Glad to see you’re awake,” Shoko said, glancing over at him from his place on the bed. She finished typing something before she turned her full attention to him, those dark brown eyes leveling him with a gaze that almost seemed concerned. “For a second, we thought we lost you.”
Nanami hummed.
“My fortune usually isn’t quite so good,” he said with a quirk of a brow, and Shoko let her lips tilt into a gentle smile even as she shook her head to herself. Nanami watched her as she stood and made her way closer, her brown hair having grown past her shoulders now, her eyes lined with bags. He was still getting used to seeing the way jujutsu had taken its toll on her, and he remembered the first time he saw her again, the startling realization that whether they were in jujutsu or not, none of them had escaped the trauma it brought. The exhaustion.
He sighed, but he knew better than to try and sit up when he could still feel a dull ache in his ribs, stabbing him with every breath he took.
“I healed you a bit,” Shoko said as she took a seat next to him. “But you were seizing, so I only healed the worst injuries. Your ribs are still broken, but I’ll heal them next now that you’re awake.” Nanami’s brow arched of its own volition.
“The ribs weren’t the worst of my injuries?” He already knew the answer to the question, and Shoko offered him a wry smile instead of responding.
“If you rest here for a few days, you’ll be fine.” She landed a heavy pat on Nanami’s arm, and Nanami presumed that was one of the few places he hadn’t been injured. “Now, would you like to—”
“Nanamin!” Nanami’s face immediately cracked into a grimace, and Shoko shot him an amused stare before backing away and making room as the door slammed open and Gojo Satoru sauntered in. Gojo paused when he caught sight of Nanami, and Nanami could feel the weight of his gaze despite the bandages he wore. “You got roughed up,” he said, and Nanami resisted the urge to roll his eyes.
“Very observant,” he said, and Gojo’s lips cracked into a grin, a chuckle escaping them a second later as he shut the door behind them and grabbed a spare chair, slinging his legs over the sides before facing Nanami.
“Special grade?”
“Grade one,” Nanami said, “Apparently.” Gojo’s brows shot high on his forehead, and Nanami would’ve shrugged if he felt like he could move his arm. Truthfully, he wasn’t proud to have to deliver the news to Gojo, not when everyone was well-aware of how close Gojo and Geto were. But as he considered it, he knew there weren’t many other options, especially when Gojo would find out regardless, so he sighed and tried to break the news as painlessly as possible. “According to its user.”
Gojo’s head tilted.
“Did you take care of the user, at least?” he asked, and Nanami shot him a dry stare.
“No.” That much should’ve been clear by his state, by the bandages wrapped around his torso or the way he was confined to an infirmary bed. “The user was a special grade.”
Gojo paused, and if Nanami was less observant, he would’ve assumed Gojo hadn’t heard him, or planned to ignore him, as if he’d change his mind and say something else. They all knew there was only one other special grade. Gojo’s hands, resting on the back of the chair, clenched, his fingers stiffening until his nails dug into the cheap leather. His full lips thinned into a sharp line, and it took a few seconds before he opened his mouth again.
“Ieri,” he said, and Shoko nodded, glancing at Nanami once before she headed out of the room.
“Don’t destroy the room,” she said, and neither of them responded.
When the door shut with a click, Nanami let his gaze settle on Gojo again, gauging. Gojo tilted his head, just a little, as if he could look harder and read through Nanami, filter out every micro expression that crossed his face, discern his thoughts. Between the two of them, Nanami always thought Gojo was harder to read. He, at least, was straightforward, meanwhile Gojo hid every flicker of emotion behind some level of confidence, as if he could hollow purple any problem in his way. Nanami hadn’t seen any semblance of vulnerability in him since the day Geto left.
“Did you know before you were dispatched?” Gojo asked after a long minute of silence, and Nanami frowned.
“I was told a few grade one curses had been roaming around without acting. Kusakabe had been tracking a couple, and they sent me to finish the job and exorcise them before they became special grade.” Part of him wanted to sit up, to look Gojo in the face as he said it, but he knew better than to push himself too quickly.
“He was luring you,” Gojo said, and there was an uncharacteristic edge to his voice that he did a poor job suppressing. It made Nanami’s shoulders stiffen.
“That’s possible,” he said, and Gojo leaned back in his seat, placing a finger under his chin as he went silent again. It was rare he was so quiet, for extended amounts of time at least, and a part of it unnerved Nanami. “He tried to test me. With the curse he released. I assume he’s engaging in some recruiting efforts.”
Gojo released a dry snort.
“They’re wasted on you,” he said, and Nanami arched a brow. Gojo hummed, shook his head and pasted on something resembling a smile. “As if you’d leave me.” The “again” was left unspoken. Nanami scoffed, and Gojo rolled his chair closer until he was at Nanami’s bedside, hovered over him with a grin that slowly turned shit-eating. “Or you’d never leave my di-“
“Gojo-san,” he snapped, and Gojo chuckled as he stood, stuffing his hands into his pockets and making his way to the door. Nanami didn’t have to ask to know where Gojo was going, and Gojo didn’t offer an explanation, only opened the door before shooting Shoko a pointed smile as if to taunt that nothing in her room had been destroyed.
-
Nanami released a quiet groan in the darkness of one of the dorms. The sun’s rays were futile against the black curtains that covered the small window, and it was early enough that the sun wasn’t high in the sky anyway. He shifted and found himself promptly interrupted with a sharp whine, the arm tightening around his torso though not enough to aggravate his ribs even more. He sighed. In any other circumstance, he would’ve pushed Gojo’s arm off of him, pulled away from his touch, but it was hard to think straight when Gojo’s lips were pressed to the column of his throat, sharp canines grazing his skin.
Gojo’s other hand was in his pants, and he didn’t know when that had happened, but it felt good, Gojo’s large palm wrapped around him, skin on skin, offering lazy strokes to suit the early morning air. They’d already done this once last night, Gojo tilting Nanami’s hips up until he could slip inside him without making him ache, and Nanami still felt the remnants of come dried on his stomach as Gojo mouthed at his throat, muddying his thoughts with careful, even strokes.
Gojo hummed against him.
“Nanamin,” he cooed, his voice soft and raspy, laced with every dirty thought he undoubtedly had in that pretty head of his.
Nanami sometimes hated himself for falling into this habit, of fucking his coworker, but sometime between Gojo’s incessant teasing and his inability to adhere to personal space, Nanami had stopped being annoyed and started craving Gojo’s hands on him. He attributed it to how long it’d been since he’d slept with anyone before Gojo, to how beautiful Gojo really was when he looked at him for too long and found himself giving in to those stark blue eyes.
“What?” Nanami asked, the word fading into a soft moan as Gojo let his thumb flick over his head, smoothing precome down it before stroking back up with a quick flick of his wrist.
“Tell me what you want,” he said, low enough that Nanami almost didn’t register his words. His chest warmed, his skin heating with a flush as more than a few options flashed through his mind. Gojo’s mouth on him, his head between his legs. Gojo’s fingers inside him, curling up until he was shaking from their probing at the same damn spot. Gojo sliding inside of him and fucking him until he was incoherent. Gojo, as if he knew what he was thinking, pulled away to look him in the eye with a tilt of his lips. “I can’t be too rough,” he said, accentuating his words with a harsh stroke of Nanami’s dick, and Nanami bit back a sharp groan. “You’re still healing.”
Nanami’s head fell back against the pillows as he tried to summon up a response that wasn’t a moan, his fingers tangling into white strands of hair as he tried to meet Gojo’s eyes. Gojo grinned.
“Tell me what you want, Kento-kun.” He pressed a soft peck against his lips before rotating his wrist beneath Nanami’s head, and Nanami’s hips bucked forward, his grip tightening in Gojo’s hair.
“Fuck me,” Nanami said after a second, his legs spreading of their own volition, and Gojo’s grin widened.
“I’ll be gentle,” he said, and he let go of Nanami in one swift motion, leaving him twitching at the bare feeling. “Even though I think you secretly like the pain.”
“It’s not much of a secret, is it?” Nanami said, dry, and Gojo released a short, sharp laugh as he pushed himself up to hover over Nanami.
He closed the miniscule space between them in lieu of a remark, pressing their lips together, slipping inside the minute Nanami’s parted to let him in. Nanami couldn’t help the way he relaxed into the kiss, into the feeling of Gojo sucking his lower lip into his mouth, his tongue curious and roving the way it always did when they kissed. He groaned, his hips arching against Gojo’s thigh as Gojo gripped his chin, tilting his head and swallowing each little noise he made as he ground down against him.
Gojo hummed, slipping his hand down between his legs, and Nanami let him because he’d developed a bad habit of saying yes to Gojo. He moaned as Gojo stroked him once before dropping lower and pressing a finger where he needed it, circling his rim for a few short seconds before he was pushing in and Nanami was groaning against his lips. Nanami moaned, clenching down for a split second before forcing himself to relax as Gojo let him adjust.
“Shit,” he breathed, his head tilting as Gojo pulled away and buried his face against his throat, pressing a hot, wet kiss against his adam’s apple. He bit his lip in a futile effort to stay quiet as Gojo slipped in another finger, working him open with a sharp grin.
Fucking Gojo had been a foolish decision he’d fallen into due to his weak will, but it was hard to regret it when Gojo was sucking against his throat hard, slipping inside of him with skilled fingers that knew him too well by now. Gojo knew how he liked to be fucked, knew how to curl his fingers to make him swear, knew how to drag it out until Nanami was resisting the urge to fucking beg him to make him come.
“Since you’re injured,” Gojo said, rubbing at Nanami’s prostate with the pads of his fingers, “I won’t make you come on my fingers. You can come on my dick the way you like it.”
“Satoru,” Nanami snapped, and Gojo chuckled.
“I like it when you call me that.” He pulled his fingers out and finally sat up, lifting Nanami’s hips to place a pillow under them before he pressed himself against Nanami’s rim. “Do it again, okay? When I fuck you, I want you to call me Satoru.”
He didn’t give Nanami the chance to respond before he was sliding in, stretching Nanami to the brim, filling him up until he had to dig his nails into Gojo’s arm to keep from choking on how fucking good he felt. Nanami never claimed to be a strong man, not when one long, slow thrust from Gojo was enough to render him silent, his throat bobbing around his gasp as he tried to adjust around the feeling he still hadn’t gotten used to. Gojo fit inside of him like he was made to plug him up, filled up every crevice until he felt dizzy with how full he felt, and Nanami was starting to feel empty without him.
Gojo released a throaty groan, his soft white hair plastered against his forehead as he sank all the way inside, until Nanami could feel the press of his hips against his him. His chest heaved with every moan he swallowed, and Gojo released a soft curse before grinding against him and forcing out of him a sharp grunt.
“Fuck,” Nanami spit, his eyes squeezing shut a second later. “Shit, move, Satoru.” He swore his cock twitched between them, moaned a sharp, keening thing as Gojo reached between them to grab him again before setting a steady pace that kept him on the verge of coming all too soon. He felt his toes curl as Gojo moaned against him, his throat bobbing around every desperate noise that escaped his lips.
“That’s my boy,” Gojo said, cracked against him, and he was gentler than usual, but he still made sure to sink all the way inside of Nanami with every grinding thrust until Nanami went dizzy with the feeling. “God, you’re so pretty like this. Fuck, you take me so well.”
“You talk too much,” Nanami managed to snap, and Gojo laughed with a shake of his head.
“You like it,” he said, emphasizing his words with another quick stroke that had Nanami’s lashes fluttering. His stomach tightened with the warmth that coiled tight inside of it, every ounce of blood rushing straight to his cock, tight in Gojo’s grip. Gojo finally began to stroke him now, in time with every thrust inside of him, enough to make Nanami shout as Gojo sank deep inside him. “And my cock, too. I think you can’t get enough of it.”
Nanami didn’t have it in him to protest as his voice dissolved into a steady stream of moans, his head cloudy with his impending orgasm. Gojo’s voice made his stomach stir, his words filthy enough to make Nanami forget how annoying it was that Gojo seemed incapable of knowing when to shut up. Nanami found himself biting back another shout as Gojo let his thumb dig into his tip before gripping him tight and stroking him harder, burrowing against his throat and digging his teeth into his skin hard enough to leave a mark. Nanami hated to admit how much he craved it; his cock made it clear every time Gojo sucked in a harsh mark against him, fucked into him with thrusts far from gentle, squeezed him until he was aching with the need to come.
Gojo chuckled, hoarse as he pulled away to graze his teeth against Nanami’s ear, sending a sharp shiver down his spine.
“So cute how Nanami Kento loves to take my cock up his ass,” he murmured, and Nanami’s cheeks warmed. “Right, Kento-kun? You like being filled up when you come, hm?”
“Satoru—” He intended to sound stern, but he sounded desperate instead, his voice betraying how close he was, how good it felt when Gojo kept him filled to the brink, how easy it was to let himself be fucked into incoherency. “Satoru.” A plea, this time, a moan, a need to come just like this, with Gojo’s hand wrapped around him, fucking into him with deep, steady thrusts.
“I know,” Gojo said, letting his hand speed up between them as he sank all the way inside of Nanami, his thrusts dissolving into harsh grinds, forcing a series of swears from his lips. “I know, you’re gonna come for me, right?”
His orgasm slammed into him all at once, a long, low moan leaving his lips as he went thoughtless with the feeling, his brain blanking out until the only thing he could register was the feeling of electricity crawling its way inside his throat. Gojo groaned against him, stilling inside him and leaving him nearly twitching with oversensitivity as his back arched, every muscle in his body clenching tight before releasing with an abrupt swear. He moaned, his fingers tangling in white strands of hair as Gojo went still against him, harsh pants dusting across his shoulders. Nanami groaned.
He was on a path to hell.
-
Nanami woke up with a stir, and it was much later in the day. He sighed against his sheets, let his eyes shut for a few seconds longer. At some point that morning, he’d gotten up and showered, and for once, he let Gojo teleport him home. He had a strong stomach, but even he didn’t feel like dealing with Ijichi’s awkward fidgeting whenever he left Gojo. He didn’t know when Gojo left, though he’d been half-aware of Gojo rummaging through his fridge before he did, and he made a mental note to buy more of the daifuku Gojo liked to eat. They were store bought, but Gojo never complained that they weren’t as good as his favorite bakery’s, so Nanami continued to buy them every so often, and they were usually gone by the time Nanami woke up after a tryst with Gojo.
After a long moment, he opened his eyes again, glancing at the curtains that shimmered with the sun’s rays. He estimated it was around noon now—he had a rare day off due to his injury—and considered his options for lunch. He raised his arm, testing if the ache in his ribs was still there. His side twinged, but it was bearable, and when he glanced down, the skin was pink but unbruised, a sharp contrast to its state when he’d first taken off the bandages Shoko supplied him with. A sharp knock sounded against his door before he could decide if he was healed enough to make his way to one of the cafes down the street, and Nanami paused, his brows furrowing.
He pushed himself up with a low grunt, grabbing a t-shirt from his bedside table as he made his way to the door. He pulled it on before calling out.
“Who is it?” he asked. Gojo had the habit of warping inside his home, and Shoko usually called before coming over. Nanami’s phone had died sometime last night, and he knew Gojo had forgotten to plug it up before he left because he always did, but Nanami had a feeling Shoko wasn’t the one on the other side of the door. Ijichi, maybe? Though he couldn’t recall a reason why. The knock sounded again, and Nanami sighed, tugging the hem of the shirt down over his sweats—he at least remembered putting those back on before passing out in his bed again.
After a second, a warm, familiar voice filtered through his door, and Nanami froze.
“Nanami-kun, it’s impolite to keep your guests waiting,” Geto said, and Nanami felt a muscle in his eyebrow twitch with irritation.
He considered not opening the door, or calling Gojo, but his rational side provided two easy reasons for why that wasn’t an option. Geto was persistent, as persistent as Gojo, and Nanami doubted that had changed since their time apart. And calling Gojo, while wise, would’ve been useless because as much as Nanami trusted Gojo, he was also well-aware of how Gojo had let Geto live all those years ago. At best, the two would end up bickering and giving Nanami a headache. No, it was best to open the door and hope Geto wasn’t here to finish the job.
Still, hand on the doorknob, he asked, “Is there a curse waiting out there to kill me?”
Geto released a soft, tinkling laugh that almost sounded like he had when they were younger, still in school, before they were all beaten down by the reality of jujutsu. Nanami sighed, and without waiting for an answer, he opened the door, standing to the side to let Geto in. Perhaps it was foolish, but Nanami wasn’t without his flaws, and Geto still had a way of persuading him with his gentle voice and pretty words. Geto greeted him with a wide, bright smile, and Nanami found himself grimacing as he stepped in.
“You look tired,” Geto said, and Nanami almost laughed at the sheer absurdity of such a statement.
He shut the door with a quiet click before turning around and leaning against it. Geto’s cursed energy was subdued, betrayed no intentions to harm him at the moment, but even he knew leaving Geto between himself and the exit was like asking a hungry tiger to pounce.
He ignored the stretch in his side and crossed his arms over his chest. Geto was probably right. Nanami didn’t doubt he had bags under his eyes from the fitful bouts of sleep he’d gotten while injured. Geto, meanwhile, looked pristine. He wasn’t donning the thick robes Nanami had seen him in last time, instead clad in a plain t-shirt and a pair of dark jeans. His lips were quirked into a small smile, his eyes disappearing into those warm crescents that used to make Nanami flush in his youth, and his hair was pulled up and out of his face, save for a few stray strands. Nanami found his gaze trailing across Geto like he was looking at a stranger in a bar and not the man who’d threatened his life just days before. His jaw clenched as he forced his stare back up, meeting Geto’s eyes.
“It’s hard to sleep when your ribs are broken,” he said, and Geto’s expression didn’t change.
“I overestimated your abilities,” Geto said, his eyes opening again to run over Nanami, appraising. “You handled yourself well, but I forgot you’ve only been back for a few months. You’re rusty.”
Nanami shook his head to himself, and, pinching his nose, squeezed his eyes shut for a few seconds as if he could shield himself from an impending migraine. He let out a long, low huff of air, and Geto released that tinkling laugh again, took a few careful steps closer. Nanami didn’t move, but his shoulders stiffened, his hand reflexively seeking out his natta. Geto’s eyes followed the action, and Nanami sighed.
“Why are you here?” Nanami asked, his voice bone-tired and weary. Truthfully, he needed more sleep. He was still running on a few hours, and he could feel the exhaustion in every movement he made. He didn’t bother asking Geto how he found his address. He honestly wasn’t sure he wanted to know.
Geto made a face, one that looked close to an approximation of sympathy, his eyes flickering over Nanami once more.
“I came to check on you,” he said, and Nanami released a dry, incredulous snort before he could think better of it. He didn’t point out again that Geto had been the one to injure him in the first place, and Geto continued, pulling a hand out of his pockets like he was going to touch Nanami before seeming to think better of it. Instead, he tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. “I meant it when I said I overestimated you. I wasn’t meaning to kill you.”
From anyone else, it would’ve been an insult, and maybe it was, but Nanami was still far too accustomed to the Geto who would only tease him lightly in high school. The Geto who doted on Haibara like a lover, spoiling him with snacks and showing off for him when he asked, who always turned to Nanami with a glint in his eyes and asked why he wasn’t as eager as his best friend. Nanami had always ignored him, or attempted to, focused on shoving aside the warmth that stirred in his stomach every time Geto shot him a polite smile. One so polite it almost bordered on mischievous, though Nanami knew he’d sound crazy if he pointed that out to anyone.
Geto, as if seeming to realize Nanami didn’t intend to reply, continued. “When I stopped by the dorms last night looking for you, someone else was already there,” he said, and Nanami froze.
He kept his face still, stoic, as Geto’s brows raised on his forehead, the corners of his lips tilting into a smirk. Geto was much more blatant about his teasing now, like he wanted his prey to know when they were being toyed with, and Nanami bit down on the inside of his lip to keep from reacting. His relationship with Gojo wasn’t a secret, not really, and it wasn’t even a relationship in the first place. They did each other favors, being two sorcerers who happened to work together and experienced attraction to men. There wasn’t anything to hide about it because it wasn’t deeper than that. Somehow, under Geto’s scrutinizing gaze, Nanami felt as if he’d committed some transgression he wasn’t aware of, like he owed it to Geto to explain. He rolled his lips together to resist the urge.
“And Tengen didn’t notice you on campus?”
Geto offered a cryptic smile and ignored Nanami’s attempts to change the subject. “You know, Kento, you’re not as quiet as I expected.” Nanami’s nails dug into his arms, and Geto waved a hand like he wasn’t trying to discuss Nanami’s sex life with his best friend. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, you’re not as loud as Satoru, but—”
“Where is this conversation going?” Nanami tried to sound annoyed, but he was certain he sounded more embarrassed than anything, could feel the flush at the base of his throat, and he was sure Geto could see it too now that he was wearing normal clothes. Geto’s eyes flickered to Nanami’s neck like a confirmation, and Nanami became too aware of the marks Gojo undoubtedly left there, typically hidden behind the collar of his blouse. Without that shield, Geto had a full view of everything he’d done with Gojo, and he flashed his teeth.
“I was relieved to see you still active,” Geto said, tilting his head, and this time, the drag of his gaze over Nanami’s body brought with it a heat that made Nanami take in a deep breath. His eyes, a deep purple that had always flustered Nanami in his teens, trailed over his throat and down to the collar of his shirt, dipping lower like he could see through the fabric if he tried hard enough. He met Nanami’s eyes, and that familiar glint was back, his pupils swallowing the purple of his irises. "If you can have sex, I must not have hurt you too bad. Why Satoru, anyhow?”
Nanami’s teeth clenched.
“I don’t think that concerns you,” he said, and Geto chuckled, closing the gap between them before Nanami could even blink.
His hand landed on the door beside Nanami’s shoulder, shutting down any option for Nanami to leave, and Nanami had forgotten how tall he was until he was hovering over him, looking down at him like he didn’t see Nanami as even a partial threat. His smile was softer now, and this close, Nanami could feel the heat radiating off his body, as well as the faint tendrils of cursed energy that reached out like they wanted to touch Nanami. Nanami’s eyes widened at the corners, and he clamped down on the reaction quickly enough, but Geto was perceptive, his eyes narrowing. He leaned in until they were close enough for his hair to brush across Nanami’s cheeks, his free hand reaching around Nanami’s side, and Nanami tensed out of instinct.
Instead of landing on his waist, Geto’s hand passed him and landed on the doorknob, clicking the lock.
“That’s fair,” Geto said, soothing, like he was coaxing a moody teenager, and Nanami tried to conjure up some sort of irritation at the condescension. “It isn’t my business. I’m asking because I’m curious; I mean, you never struck me as someone to sleep with Satoru, of all people.” His gaze flickered down and back, and Nanami ran a tongue over his lower lip, his mouth gone dry.
He ran through a few scenarios in his head in a futile attempt to decipher what was happening. He was alone. He was talking to a known curse user, one who had murdered people, far from innocent though they may have been. Someone who had left Gojo standing in the street and disappeared for five years and only just now showed up like he planned on capturing Nanami in a mousetrap. Nanami was struggling to process the chain of events that led to Gojo standing in his genkan, pressing him against his door, probably close enough to hear the rapid beat of his heart against his chest.
“Do you just sleep with anyone?” It should’ve been an insulting insinuation, but his voice was light, smooth, his expression betraying no hint of judgement if Nanami did, in fact, just sleep with anyone.
In any case, the answer to Geto’s question was too complicated for Nanami to explain; he wasn’t sure himself why he’d chosen to sleep with Gojo of all people, aside from the physical attraction he couldn’t seem to turn off whenever Gojo was near. Geto must’ve seen some sort of conflict play out on his face because in the next second, he was smiling and pulling away just a bit, enough to look Nanami in the eye again.
“Ah, that’s an unfair question,” he said. “How about I let you think about it? And you can tell me next time.”
“You shouldn't assume there will be a next time,” Nanami said, finally recalling his voice back to him, and Geto laughed, the sound quiet between them. Nanami could’ve and should’ve called Yaga or, better yet, Gojo as soon as Geto had shown up in his life again. Nanami was beginning to realize that he was developing a history of making bad decisions, the least of which included not pulling away when Geto leaned in again.
This time, Geto didn’t stop in front of his face, a hair’s breath away. He eliminated the space between them, and his lips were warm against Nanami’s own, though Nanami didn’t know why he would’ve expected otherwise. Being a curse user didn’t make one less human as far as Nanami was aware. Geto hummed, and the kiss was gentle, a mere press of their lips together, but Nanami shivered like he’d been electrocuted. Geto didn’t try to kiss him deeper, let his tongue swipe across Nanami’s lip, nipping on his lower lip before he pulled away, leaving Nanami standing there in an attempt to figure out how to conjure a scowl again.
His chest was heaving with pants, and Geto looked down between them with a pointed stare, his gaze dipping beneath the edge of Nanami’s shirt for a split second. Geto grinned then, and he pulled away, unlocking the door and slipping past Nanami outside, leaving Nanami stock-still in his own home.
-
Gojo didn’t have to turn around at the familiar flood of cursed energy, would’ve been able to tell who it belonged to in his sleep. He knew Geto too well for anything else, knew Geto’s energy almost as well as he knew his own. It had changed in the past few years, matured, tinged with something slimy that hadn’t always followed Geto around, but he knew it was his nevertheless.
It didn’t take him long to return to the alley Nanami had been lured to after he left Nanami’s apartment. Nanami had fallen asleep as soon as his head had touched the bed, and Gojo left as quietly as he could, not that Nanami seemed to stir either way. Then, he called Ijichi and asked to be dropped off where Nanami had been picked up. According to Nanami, he’d passed out from whatever curse Geto had used on him, but when Gojo glimpsed Nanami’s phone, a text had been sent to Ijichi to pick him up. Gojo was positive, based on that alone, that Geto never intended to kill Nanami then, even if he was still uncertain why he’d attacked in the first place.
He showed up to the alley half-past six in the evening, and the residuals were blurry, but not untraceable. It had been a few days now, but Gojo thought he would’ve been able to tell they belonged to Geto even if he hadn’t had Nanami’s insight, and now, as he stared down the hole in the wall where Nanami had evidently shattered his ribs, the rush he felt behind him was familiar. He didn’t say a word, didn’t even move, and for a while, neither did Geto, though Gojo could feel the way his eyes tracked him, as if watching a caged animal to see how it’d react.
When Gojo looked back, Geto met his bandaged gaze head on, his brow quirking upwards, his lips tilting into a smile like they were old friends. Maybe they would’ve been at some point.
“I already apologized to Nanami, Satoru, so you can stop your pouting,” Geto said, his voice low and smooth in the same way it had been when he’d told Gojo he was leaving, that he didn’t see a purpose in what they were doing any more, that Gojo wasn’t enough to make him stay. It had been emotionless back then, but now it was full of a showy sort of confidence, as if he was positive he was above being hurt by Gojo.
Gojo frowned behind his bandages, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his uniform as he turned around to face the man he’d once called his best friend.
“What makes you think I’m pouting?” he asked, keeping his words light even as he watched Geto with a wary gaze. When or how Geto had apologized to Nanami, he didn’t know.
Geto laughed, the sound bright and almost carefree, and it made Gojo bristle, his hands clenching in his pockets. Geto waved a hand like he could physically brush off the tension from Gojo’s shoulders, and when his eyes opened, they looked brighter than they had in the months leading to his defection, back when Gojo had been far too worn down on his own to notice the way Geto was slowly falling apart. Not like Geto would’ve accepted his help anyway, or even seemed to want it.
“I’ve always known when you’re pouting,” Geto said, his expression settling into a grin. “You do it every time someone upsets you, but I expressed to Nanami-kun that it was an accident, hurting him so much.”
Gojo would’ve doubted that coming from anyone else, but even before he’d gone off the deep end, Geto had a penchant for telling the truth rather than lying, even if he typically softened the bluntness Gojo preferred. He’d always been the type to believe that the truth held more power than lies, and Gojo had always given him shit for it. It was a philosophical argument they’d been over more times than Gojo could count, and it was evident that Geto still had his ways about him, as stubborn as Gojo when he wanted to be.
Gojo hummed, and Geto tilted his head with his smile as Gojo stepped closer with two long strides. He didn’t close the entirety of the space between them, close enough that they could speak in normal voices, that they wouldn’t have to worry about anyone who passed the alley overhearing, not that Gojo particularly cared. It’d be a hassle, however, if someone grew curious about the voices and interfered while they were fighting.
“How do you accidentally send someone near death?” Gojo asked, throwing in a teasing lilt to his voice to disguise the edge his words had taken.
Geto made an expression akin to a grimace, though, at best, it was for show.
“Everyone misjudges, Satoru,” he said, and Gojo felt distinctly as if he was being mocked. His lips thinned into a line, and Geto strolled up to him like they were still friends, landing a pat on his shoulder, seemingly unbothered by the way his hand stopped inches away. “Anyway, he was fine, was he not? Fine enough for you to go back to your usual routine.”
Gojo paused, a pale white brow arching over his bandages.
“So, what?” he said, tilting his head as his eyes narrowed. “You’re mad that we’re fucking? You could’ve asked him about it instead of sending him to Ieri.”
He had to kill Geto. He knew that much. He’d gone and attacked one of their sorcerers, and he should’ve killed him years ago, let alone now. But this was easier, taunting, watching, pushing until Geto cracked and spilled whatever the hell he was planning. Gojo told himself it was better this way too, that if he killed Geto and then discovered someone out there willing to do his bidding, they’d find themselves in the same situation, but perhaps with someone who had less of a soft spot for their irritable junior.
Geto shot him a simpering smile like he was well-aware of Gojo’s ploy.
“You’re cute, Satoru,” he said, chuckling. “If I said I was jealous, would you gloat? Do you really have that much faith that he won’t take off again?” Gojo’s jaw clenched, and Geto nodded as if he’d proven his point. “Besides, I wouldn’t consider yourself special. Our Kento-kun—”
“Suguru.” His voice was low, a clear threat, and Geto blew past it as if they were talking about the weather.
“I won’t blame you for having sex with him,” he said, “And I don’t blame him. When you have someone convenient, is there a reason to turn them down?”
Geto knew it wasn’t out of convenience, and Gojo knew he knew, but it made his hackles raise anyway. Geto had a habit of getting under his skin, even when they were teens and he’d had to stop himself from pulling his best friend closer and kissing him until his lips bruised. Geto had known how he’d felt; they all knew, and yet neither of them had acknowledged it aloud. Gojo knew it was because he was a coward, but Geto didn’t have the right to behave as if he still knew Gojo so well, as if he knew how his relationships functioned.
“Your cursed energy is all over Nanami-kun’s apartment, by the way,” Geto pointed out, and Gojo took a step forward, stopped only by the way Geto held up a hand. “You should tell him to fortify it more. It’s easy for cursed spirits to make their way inside, you know?”
“You said you didn’t want to kill him,” Gojo snapped, and Geto smiled.
“I don’t want to kill him,” Geto said, and he didn’t have to say anything else as he brushed passed Gojo, and for the second time in five years, Gojo let him walk away.
-
Nanami tensed at the unmistakable rush of Gojo’s cursed energy. He was on his couch, one leg crossed over the other, a book resting in his palms, though he hadn’t really been reading it. It’d been about a week since Geto’s visit, and Nanami knew Gojo was going to find out at some point, but a part of him had been hoping he could avoid the subject long enough for Gojo to forget. Gojo evidently had other plans, warping directly into Nanami’s entrance and striding forward with a pointed click of his heels.
Nanami bit back a grimace, only looking up from the pages that may as well have been blank when Gojo’s large palms landed on either side of his shoulders, long, thin fingers digging into the back of his sofa. He refused to tilt his head back to meet Gojo’s gaze the way he knew Gojo wanted him to, instead looking directly in front of him at the blurry reflection of Gojo in his television’s black screen.
“It feels like him in here,” Gojo said, his words a low, long drawl that may have fooled Nanami into thinking he wasn’t angry were it not for the way his nails dug dents into the fabric of his chair.
Nanami sighed as he considered an appropriate answer. A part of him, deep and buried by his more rational side, wanted to say it wasn’t Gojo’s business who he had in his house. It wasn’t, really, or it wouldn’t have been if said person wasn’t Geto Suguru, wanted curse user. He reached a hand up to remove his glasses and rub at the bridge of his nose.
“What response are you expecting?” he settled on, and Gojo released a harsh puff of air above him, approximating a laugh. Nanami frowned. “I didn’t invite him here. He showed up.”
“And you didn’t think it was important enough to tell me,” Gojo said, like it was a fact, and when Nanami finally gave in and let his gaze flicker up, he was met with the steel blue of Gojo’s eyes, his bandages resting around his throat. Gojo’s soft pink lips were curled into a smirk, but Nanami could see from the hardness of his gaze, the way his eyes didn’t curl up with his lips, that Gojo was nearly vibrating with anger.
“I presumed you would figure it out yourself,” he said, and perhaps honesty wasn’t the best policy in this situation, but he didn’t have any other explanation. He’d had ample time to tell Gojo, was almost positive it was why he hadn’t seen him for a week, a test to see if he’d give in and admit to Geto’s presence.
Gojo hummed as Nanami grew uncomfortable enough with their positioning to push himself up and off the couch, standing and turning to face him head on. He arched a pale brow, his gaze flickering to Nanami’s lips, and Nanami almost wondered if he could see the remnants of Geto’s lips pressed against them. He pulled them between his teeth, and Gojo’s stare flickered back up.
“You could at least pretend to feel remorse,” Gojo said, straightening to his full height, and Nanami bit back a wince.
He’d never enjoyed seeing Gojo upset; it was easier to tolerate his overwhelming power when he was smiling, bright white teeth gleaming against his skin, his posture relaxed, his dimple sinking into his cheek. It was easier to forget how much Gojo outclassed them all when he thought of Gojo as an annoying, pouty man rather than the strongest. Now, as Gojo stared him down without any trace of his usual levity, Nanami found himself caving and wanting to apologize.
Instead, he stood taller, crossing his arms over his chest and meeting Gojo’s stare head on.
“I’m not sure there’s anything to apologize for,” he said, and Gojo’s brows shot high on his forehead, his lips splitting wide with a sharp, grating laugh.
“No?”
“No,” Nanami said, and Gojo scoffed, leaning forward like he’d forgotten there was a couch separating the two of them. His eyes darted down to the couch and back before he rolled them and took a careful step over it, his long legs stretching until he was landing in front of Nanami again, close enough to look down at him like he was an ant.
“No?” he repeated before his lips curled up into a mean snarl. “Do you want to be killed?” He opened his mouth again before Nanami could respond, his eyes widening with every word. “If you wanted that, you could’ve asked me of all people.”
It wasn’t a threat, Nanami knew it wasn’t a threat. But it still made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, his jaw clenching. He was beginning to grow tired of both of them, Geto and Gojo, especially when they both seemed content to throw jabs at him like he was so far beneath them they couldn’t comprehend giving him respect.
“The two of you bear striking similarity these days,” he said, his voice cool and level even as he could feel the tension in his jaw, spreading down to his neck, across his shoulders, his veins pulsing against his wrist.
Gojo’s eyes flashed at that, and Nanami made his displeasure known as he frowned, his hands clenched into fists against his arms. They stood there like that for a few seconds in his living room, the tense silence stretching between them like a rubber band threatening to snap, and this close, Nanami could see the whirl of emotions that flickered through Gojo’s eyes, the swirl of blues that betrayed everything from irritation to anxiety. Nanami knew he shouldn’t have said that, shouldn’t have compared the two when Geto’s defection was a sore spot for all of them. And Gojo looked away first, releasing a quiet scoff.
“You could’ve told me his recruitment efforts were paying off,” he said, near inaudible, and Nanami couldn’t help the wave of annoyance that rushed through him, could feel the beginnings of a headache.
“You know I have no plans to change jobs right now,” he said, direct, honest. “I’d only be trading out one annoying special grade for another.”
For anyone else, perhaps the response would’ve been too harsh, but Gojo released a huff from his nostrils, his lips twitching seemingly against his will. Nanami found himself softening at that, swiping a tongue over his lips before he shrugged.
“And I doubt the pay would be any better.” Gojo let out an outright laugh this time, looking back up to meet Nanami’s eyes with a sharp glint.
“You only stick around for the pay, is it?” he asked, shifting closer, his arm circling around Nanami’s waist before he could take a step back.
Nanami’s lips thinned into a line, and he bit back a sigh, but Gojo ignored it in favor of ducking his head so they were eye-level, his gaze roaming across Nanami’s face like he was searching for the truth even behind his jest. And maybe Nanami had become too accustomed to giving Gojo his way because he didn’t pull back, stood there and let Gojo’s eyes crawl over every inch of his face like he could memorize their contours if he looked hard enough. His hand was warm against Nanami’s lower back, the telltale buzz of his infinity gone, and Nanami had become too accustomed to relaxing into Gojo’s touch, his shoulders slouching just a little as he let Gojo tug him so close there wasn’t an inch of space left between them.
Every part of Gojo pressed against him, chest to chest, his leg slipping between Nanami’s thighs, his hair dusting across Nanami’s cheeks as he leaned in, nudging against Nanami’s throat. Nanami’s head tilted on instinct, a soft sigh escaping as Gojo dragged his nose across his pulse, his grip tightening around Nanami’s waist.
“’m I allowed to give you another reason?” he murmured, and Nanami’s throat bobbed, a shiver rushing down his spine. Gojo released a quiet chuckle at the reaction, and Nanami liked to consider himself disciplined in most areas of his life, but when it came to Gojo, it was much easier to cater to his whims. To indulge the same way he indulged in brandy, letting the feeling of alcohol working its way across his tongue relax him until he was sunk against his couch, boneless.
He released a long, heavy sigh, even as he uncrossed his arms between them and tugged at the collar of his button-down. He could see out of his periphery the way Gojo’s white lashes fluttered as he watched Nanami unbutton his blouse, one by one, his gaze dipping beneath the dark blue fabric and sliding across every inch of his chest he revealed. Gojo let out a harsh pant when Nanami paused just below is sternum, dropping to tug at the next button, and then the following one, his finger a bare brush against Nanami's exposed skin.
“I’m gonna fuck you,” he said, a near whisper that still traveled straight to the straining bulge in Nanami’s pants, and in the next second, at the abrupt ring of his doorbell, Gojo’s eyes went narrow with irritation, his lips curling into a snarl.
They both felt it at the same time, the low hum of cursed energy, sticky with something black, and Gojo was pulling away before Nanami had a chance to react. The door cracked open in the next second, and Nanami had been certain he’d locked it, his eyes widening at the corners as Geto strolled in like he lived there, kicking the door shut behind him. Gojo went stiff, and Nanami could see the way every muscle in his body clenched, his expression twisted into a frown now his eyes were uncovered. Like this, his body stiff, his hair down and framing his face, he looked like he had when they were young again, only a little sharper now, a little sturdier, and much stronger.
Geto shot the pair a grin, his brows arching like he hadn’t sensed Gojo’s energy in Nanami’s house a mile away, and Nanami found himself grasping Gojo’s wrist and tugging him back. He wasn’t sure what he was trying to prevent, the destruction of his apartment, perhaps, as he kept his grip tight around Gojo’s wrist. Gojo could’ve broken away at any point, and everyone in the room knew it, but rather than point that out, Geto merely let his gaze drop towards the action, his lips curling into a smile.
“Satoru,” he said in a singsong voice, and it felt just a little wrong, the malice in his words that Nanami didn’t remember him having back then. He’d pasted on a smile, one that looked innocent enough, but Nanami was realizing that Geto wasn’t the same person he’d been before, that the trustworthy face he was used to only served as a way to disarm them, like a cat wearing a set of mouse ears.
“Geto-san, please take this outside,” Nanami said, and Geto paused whatever he intended to say, glancing back over to Nanami.
“You used to call me senpai,” he said, smiling, and Nanami felt his neck warm at the memories.
“I don’t see how that’s relevant.” Beside him, Gojo was as still as a statue, though Nanami could feel the way he reigned in his tension with every breath, and Nanami wasn’t sure if he wanted to bank on Gojo holding it in for longer than a few minutes. Both of them tensed as Geto glided forward with no hesitation, as if he was either invulnerable or crazy, maybe somewhere in the middle, and a second later, Nanami felt Gojo’s hand slipping out his grasp.
Nanami wasn’t sure what he expected, but the absence of Gojo’s infinity flickering back on as Geto came to a halt in front of him wasn’t it. Nanami watched with a wary gaze as Geto and Gojo stood, nose to nose, and Gojo, like he couldn’t help himself, looked down, flickering to Geto’s lips and back. Geto released a soft laugh, and Nanami had known he was a weakness for Gojo, but somehow, seeing it in real time was different. It felt as if the three of them and everything around them had come to a standstill, the tension cloying. Geto wasn’t supposed to be there. Nanami didn’t know why he was there, why he seemed intent on toying with both of them.
“I have no intentions of fighting you,” Geto said, and Nanami wasn’t sure who he was talking to as his gaze remained pinned to Gojo’s. “I value my fellow sorcerers,” he continued, and Gojo’s jaw clenched, a vein in his throat pulsing. “Especially ones with as much power as you.”
The last sentence had been directed at Gojo; that much Nanami knew, and Gojo seemed to bristle with it.
“Why are you here, Suguru?” Gojo asked after a second, and for once, his voice seemed almost tired, as if the weight of his role threatened to bear down on him.
Nanami hadn’t given in much thought before, the fact that they all knew someone had to kill Geto eventually, and the only person capable seemed to freeze in his presence. He didn’t blame Gojo, not when he couldn’t say he’d be any better were it his duty to get rid of him, not when he could see the barest hint of hope that flickered through Gojo’s gaze, that aching desire for Geto to pause and smile and say everything had been a joke. He’d wielded it once himself, knew for a fact that it was why he struggled to turn Geto away even when it put himself in danger. Staring someone he’d admired in the face and watching the way their kind smiles now twisted with cruelty had been a nightmare none of them expected. Least of all from Geto.
Geto smiled, leaning somehow closer to Gojo as he laughed in his face.
“I came to take Nanami to lunch,” he said, and these days, Nanami struggled to decipher when he was telling the truth and when he was lying.
He glanced over at Nanami, and his smile seemed a touch more genuine, less taunting, in any case, and Nanami sighed.
“I wasn’t aware we had plans,” he said, and Geto let out another laugh, his eyes crinkling with the bright sound.
“Well, I was intending to ask you.” Back to Gojo. “But you’re busy, I guess.” An arch of his brows as he stuffed his hands into the black sweats he wore. “You know, in school I always felt quite special. Gojo Satoru liked me. Sometimes I wondered if you preferred Shoko, but looking at you now, I don’t know how I ever doubted it.”
Gojo’s expression cracked like glass at that, crumbling into a glare, and Geto pressed forward and kissed him. Nanami couldn’t decipher what he was feeling as Gojo’s shoulders hitched for a second before he was kissing back, like they’d done it a thousand times. He’d known, more or less, of Gojo’s feelings for Geto; he wasn’t sure there was a single person who didn't except, apparently, Geto himself. He remembered the way Haibara would tease him when his stare lingered for too long on jet black strands of hair, pointing out that he had stiff competition, and he’d brush it off with a glare. Gojo’s lips opened, and Geto pulled away instead of giving him what he wanted, and part of Nanami wondered if Geto really was toying with them, turning them against each other, stoking their jealousy. But Geto stepped away and smiled at Nanami.
“I bet I can make an equally compelling argument for why you ought to come with me,” he said, and then he waved a hand. “To lunch, I mean. You’ve already said you don’t intend to help me out.” He said those last words like he didn’t really believe Nanami but he was accepting it for now, and Nanami glanced past Geto and back at Gojo, brown clashing with a stormy blue, like a hurricane raging inside of him. His lips were redder, but they were still twisted into something ugly, and he pulled his gaze away from Nanami and back to Geto, tracking him like a bull in a pen.
Geto was graceful as he slid towards Nanami, like he was skating on ice, and Nanami was far too aware of how much he felt like prey with Geto in the room, a distinct feeling of the power imbalance between them. Geto circled him, slow and careful, his hand landing on the same spot Gojo’s had been before he was pressing his chest against Nanami’s back and looking at Gojo over his shoulder.
“You can learn to share, can’t you?” He smiled. “We’re sorcerers, Satoru. I’m sure we remember how to be civil.”
Nanami almost laughed at the absurdity of it, of Geto chastising Gojo like they were still back in school, like he wasn’t the one antagonizing him. Geto smirked, and Nanami had the feeling he enjoyed the chase, the threat of Gojo’s power, the fact that with Nanami standing between them, Gojo couldn’t hurt him even if he wanted to. Gojo swallowed hard, and Nanami, reluctantly, felt his stomach stir as Geto’s hand crawled lower, grazing the top of his ass before circling around and landing on his abdomen, dusting the waistband of his trousers.
“Unless you’d prefer we fight over you,” Geto said, glancing down at Nanami, and Nanami frowned before he thought the better of it.
“I’d rather you didn’t destroy my apartment,” he said, and it was at least somewhat true; he was able to reason that much through the distant fog he’d been thrown into by Geto’s touch, stoking the earlier anticipation he’d felt before they were interrupted.
Geto laughed softly, his warm breath caressing Nanami’s ear, and Nanami found himself of two minds. He knew it was irresponsible to let Geto touch him like this, to not even attempt to pull away. He also knew that look in Gojo’s eyes, pain, jealousy, anger giving way to widened pupils, black swallowing blue. Gojo’s chest rose, like he was holding his breath, as his gaze crawled over Nanami, leaving him feeling like he’d been stripped bare between the two of them. Geto wasn’t shy with his touch, though it was much more careful, more patient than Gojo’s, as he let his hand rise back up over Nanami’s abdomen, caressing the warm skin of Nanami’s stomach, brushing over the blond hair that decorated Nanami’s chest, and then he was squeezing hard, gripping Nanami’s chest, his thumb swiping over a dusty brown nipple.
Nanami hissed at the feeling, lurching forward, and Geto tugged him back with a single hand like he didn’t have to exert any strength to keep Nanami pinned to him. In all likelihood, he didn’t. Nanami was strong himself, and it was rare he felt vulnerable, like he was at the mercy of someone else. But Geto radiated a strength he’d always wielded, even when they’d occasionally spar on the field and Nanami would find himself pinned with a knee to his chest. Awkwardly, he’d had to shuffle out of the hold and towards the bathroom when Geto finally released him, and as Gojo’s gaze flickered down, he knew his reactions to Geto hadn’t changed even in the years since he’d been in love with his senior.
“Satoru,” Geto called, and his voice lowered, Gojo’s name leaving his lips like a purr.
Gojo took a halting step forward, and another one, and Geto smiled, gripping Nanami’s chin with his free hand and forcing him to look up, to meet Gojo’s cloudy gaze. A soft, quiet gasp escaped as Geto ducked his head and pressed a pillowy kiss to against his neck, and Nanami realized abruptly that he could no longer claim to be a rational man, not at the hands of the two craziest people he knew. The hand that was on his chest groped him again, and this time Geto grasped his nipple between his thumb and forefinger and tugged, rolling it between his fingers and sending a bolt of electricity down Nanami’s spine. Nanami released a quiet groan, and Gojo looked pained as he stood over him, a soft hand reaching up to caress the sharp edge of Nanami’s cheekbone. Geto smiled against him, and Nanami bit back a sharp swear as he dug his teeth into his shoulder in the next second, his back arching at the feeling.
Something in Gojo’s expression cracked, and when he closed the gap between them and pressed their lips together, Nanami swore his legs went weak. Geto held him up with a laugh, keeping him pinned to his chest, and Gojo swallowed the little moan that escaped when Geto pinched at his nipple again, soothing the sting on his shoulder with his tongue. Geto gripped his jaw tight, squeezing and forcing his lips to part, and Gojo swept through them without a second’s hesitation, pressing closer until Nanami was trapped between two sturdy, overwhelming energies. Nanami’s jaw went slack as Geto let go to grip his hips, grinding against him and revealing the half-hard bulge he was sporting in his pants, and Gojo quickly took over, gripping the back of his neck and tangling his fingers in the short strands of hair there.
Nanami briefly thought that he was in need of another shave for his undercut, and the thought petered out as swiftly as it arrived as Gojo’s warm tongue pressed against his. Nanami groaned as Gojo pulled away and ducked his head, sucking hard against Nanami’s throat, and there was just a little too much going on, too many hands on him, too many mouths as Gojo and Geto both seemed intent to mark their territory, sucking matching bruises into his skin.
“This is—"
“What is it?” Geto asked, a mutter against his throat, as he finally let go of Nanami’s chest and dropped straight to his trousers, palming the thick bulge that sat heavy between his legs.
Nanami choked on a groan, his fingers digging into the fabric of Gojo’s uniform as Gojo replaced Geto’s hand on his chest. Gojo was much gentler with his nipples than Geto was, rubbing a thumb over it in slow, soothing circles even as he nipped at Nanami’s throat, his jaw, just below his ear, and Nanami wasn’t sure what he wanted any more, but he knew it had something to do with relieving the damn pressure in his gut. He was aware enough to grasp the edge of Gojo’s jacket and lift it up, slipping his hands beneath the dark fabric and under his t-shirt until he could splay his palms against Gojo’s stomach, running them over the ridges of his abdomen, grounding himself with the feeling of Gojo’s skin under his palm.
Gojo pulled away just long enough to slip off his jacket, pulling his t-shirt over his head, and then he was ducking down and wrapping his lips around Nanami’s nipple, his tongue flickering over the bud until Nanami was biting back a heavy groan.
“Don’t hold it in,” Geto said, chuckling, resting his chin on Nanami’s shoulder as he watched Gojo mouth at his chest. He was casual, slow and languid as he fiddled with the button to Nanami’s pants, unzipping it slowly and tugging at the waistband. Gojo’s fingers intertwined with Geto’s as they both seemed to decide on a common goal, gripping Nanami’s pants and tugging them down, his underwear sliding with them until he was shivering at the sudden cold, his pants pooled on the floor. He stepped out of them before he could trip, and Geto paused, humming as he glanced between them. “Satoru, your head is in the way,” he said, his voice lilting and lighthearted, and Gojo’s eyes fluttered open into a glare.
Nanami didn’t know if he was relieved or disappointed when Gojo finally let go of his chest and straightened, and Gojo dropped a hand down between, grasping Nanami’s dick in his hand with a possessive stroke. Nanami’s hips arched forward of their own volition, and Geto only looked amused at Gojo’s display, his hand coming up to rest around Nanami’s throat before he looked down again, his lips curling into a smile.
Nanami was hard, had been a while ago, and Gojo stroked him at a slow, teasing pace, far too familiar with what Nanami enjoyed. His chest heaved with pants as he tried, poorly, to suppress a moan, and Geto inhaled deeply against his throat, his hands not stilling for a second as they roamed over Nanami’s chest, across his stomach, over his thighs, pointedly avoiding the place where Gojo’s large hand was wrapped around him. The glide, dry at first, grew slick with precum as Gojo twisted his wrist over his head and stroked back down to his base, and Nanami’s knees buckled, the muscles in his thighs tensing.
“I always assumed you were well-endowed,” Geto said, a near whisper against Nanami’s ear, and Nanami flushed, his cheeks heating red. Geto hummed, squeezing the meat of his thigh. “Even back then,” he said, and now Nanami was certain he was teasing, because Nanami had been careful not to shower in front of anyone back then, far too private a person for that. “When you’d show up to training, and you’d wear those stupid sweats, and they would cling to you like a damn lover.” His throat bobbed, his cock twitching in Gojo’s hand, and Gojo rolled his eyes even as he shifted to the side, exposing more of Nanami to Geto’s view.
“You can just say it,” Gojo said with a harsh stroke that made Nanami’s hips stutter. “He has a pretty, thick cock.” He cocked an eyebrow as he said it, meeting Nanami’s gaze, and Geto chuckled.
“Not all of us are as vulgar as you, Satoru,” he said, and Nanami swore he was getting a headache, his eyes fluttering shut as he tried to frown.
“Both of you are vulgar,” he pushed out, intended to shame them, and Gojo snorted, letting go of Nanami and silencing his complaints with another kiss.
Nanami was starting to get annoyed, and he wasn’t sure if it was because of how insufferable they were being or because of the ache he was beginning to feel, his stomach clenching as he arched forward, nudging Gojo’s hip in a futile attempt to get him to touch him again. Geto’s fingers were wrapped around his wrists before he could even consider touching himself, clasping them together until he gripped them tight with one hand, and Nanami had always forgotten that Geto was just as large as Gojo until he was underneath him in a fight. Now, Geto kept his wrists pinned effortlessly, his black hair tickling Nanami’s neck as he bent over him, wrapping his free hand around him.
Nanami sighed into Gojo’s mouth, and Geto laughed, his hand stilling. Nanami groaned, mixed with frustration, as Gojo cupped his chest again, squeezing and kneading like he was made for it.
Gojo broke apart just long enough to say, “Pretty tits, too,” and Nanami would’ve snapped in retaliation if Gojo weren’t intent on swallowing his words whole.
He arched his hips, but the feeling was shallow in Geto’s grip, his palm warm and rough against him and still unmoving.
“You’re still big in my hand,” Geto said, and Nanami cracked open his eyes to shoot him a glare, eliciting a grin. “Well, you can’t expect me to do all the work,” he said like he was reading Nanami’s mind, and Nanami tried to clench his jaw only for Gojo to bite down on his lip, a warning nip that told him to focus, though Nanami didn’t know how he could be expected to focus like this.
This time, when Gojo pulled away, Geto was swift to take his place, pressing a soft, gentle kiss against his lips, coaxing them apart. He tightened his grip, and Nanami took it for what it was, an order disguised as encouragement, arching his hips in a shallow imitation of thrusting. It wasn’t enough, not nearly, but it was better than nothing, and he could feel Gojo’s stare on him, the heat of his gaze as he watched Nanami make a whore of himself.
“Fuck,” Gojo murmured, his voice cracking with the sound, and Nanami could feel Geto’s grin against him as he wedged a foot between Nanami’s legs and slid them apart further, resting him on his thigh and giving Gojo an unobstructed view of Nanami thrusting into his hand. “Fuck, Kento-kun, why don’t you ever—” Do this with me? Nanami groaned, straining against Geto’s hand, and Geto laughed before letting his wrists go, leaving Nanami free to grip the edge of his sweatshirt as he pushed himself closer to his release.
And in one fluid motion, every ounce of stimulation stopped. Geto let go of Nanami’s cock, pulled back and went as far to take a step back, and Nanami released a sharp swear as he stumbled forward and Gojo grasped him, holding him to his chest.
“Geto-san,” Nanami cracked, clamping down on a stray moan at the tingling he was left with, on the brink.
Gojo looked down at him and then back at Geto, his hand sliding across Nanami’s back though careful not to touch him where he needed it.
“That was cruel,” he said, though it sounded far too much like he enjoyed it, and if Nanami wasn’t stirring with the desperate need to come, he would’ve chewed both of them out. As it was, he was aching for something inside of him, or to be inside of something, his grip tight around Gojo’s arms as he steadied himself.
Geto sounded unaffected as he laughed, but Nanami could hear the swish of fabric with his movement, and when he chanced a glance over, Geto’s sweatshirt was set on the back of his couch, leaving his chest bare. Nanami, against his better instincts, didn’t look away, and Geto stretched his neck, casual, like he hadn’t just pushed Nanami to the brink of orgasm and then left. The muscles of his chest rippled with the movement, his broad shoulders tapering into a thick waist, and Nanami clamped down on the urge to feel Geto's bare chest against his back this time, to be pressed against the solid wall.
“Careful, Nanami-kun,” Geto said, glancing up at Gojo. “You might make Satoru jealous.”
Gojo stiffened beneath him, but when Nanami looked at him, he looked just as intrigued, the highs of his cheeks sporting the telltale flush he got whenever he had Nanami spread out beneath him, their clothes shed. Geto’s hair fell over his shoulders as he tilted his head, those violet eyes glimmering under the shitty lighting of Nanami’s living room, his hands fiddling with the edge of his sweatpants.
“I didn’t think you’d like being fucked in your seating room,” Geto said, and from the teasing lilt in his voice, Nanami could tell he didn’t give a damn. “But since you seem okay with it.” He trailed off and undid the tie to his sweatpants before letting them slide down over his thighs. His legs were long, lean with muscle, and Geto was a worse tease than Gojo, leaving his underwear on, a short, black pair of briefs that hugged his hips and sat high on his thighs. He stepped forward again and pressed against Nanami’s back, pushing him closer against Gojo with a small grin. “Satoru, you’ve already had him. I think it’s only fair he try something different.”
Nanami frowned.
“I haven’t left the room,” he said, and Geto chuckled.
It was almost funny. Nanami had remembered Gojo being the talkative one of the two, yet Geto seemed to have developed a penchant for voicing his thoughts these days, for pushing Gojo’s buttons. Gojo straightened, but he didn’t respond to the taunt, dropping to his knees instead.
“Only because I don’t think Nanamin should be left disappointed,” he said, a piss poor explanation because Nanami had seen the way he’d eyed Geto’s dick through his underwear.
“Nanamin?” Geto asked, breathy as he tugged Nanami’s hips back, pressing against his ass. “That’s cute.”
“It’s annoying,” Nanami said, out of habit mostly, and Geto snorted. Nanami found his fingers tangling into Gojo’s hair even as he frowned down at him, and Gojo’s lips quirked upward into a sort of smirk because he was too used to getting his way from Nanami. From this position, it was easy to see why, those gorgeous blues shining with too many shades to count, his pupils so large Nanami thought he could see his reflection in them, his lower lip pulled between his teeth as he ran a hand over Nanami’s thighs.
Instead of taking him in the way Nanami wanted, Gojo pressed his nose against Nanami’s thigh, inhaling before trailing a soft string of kisses across the sensitive insides, and Nanami could feel himself stirring again, that familiar swirl that crawled out of his gut and straight to his cock. Geto nosed at his throat, pressing a kiss to the same place he’d undoubtedly left a mark, and then he was pressing a wet finger against his rim, circling the muscle a few times as Nanami clenched tight. Gojo massaged his thighs with heavy hands, and Nanami found himself relaxing as Geto mouthed against his throat. Geto took the chance to slip his finger inside of him, and Gojo, as if sensing the action, finally took Nanami inside his mouth, eliciting a cracked moan from his lips.
“Shit,” he breathed, his grip tightening in Gojo’s hair as Gojo wrapped his lips around his head, flickering against his tip, still fucking teasing. Geto was methodical as he fingered Nanami, circling the inside of his walls with a slow drag that made Nanami’s throat bob around his moans, his back arching. The motion only pushed him deeper into Gojo’s mouth, and Nanami had no delusions that he would last long like this, a sharp cry pushed out of him as Geto found his prostate and pressed down with the pad of his finger.
“Careful, Satoru,” Geto said when Nanami’s hips twitched forward into his mouth, and Gojo hummed around him before pulling off and flattening his tongue against the underside of Nanami’s cock, and it irked Nanami that even in this, they still worked well together.
Geto slipped another finger inside of him, and Nanami shuddered as Geto immediately pressed against his prostate again, rubbing at it in a short, quick motion that had Nanami threatening to come just like this in Gojo’s mouth. Below him, Gojo watched with a discerning gaze, his eyes pinned to every expression that flickered across Nanami’s face, his lips slick with spit and precome as he trailed kisses across Nanami’s cock, and Nanami groaned, swiftly looking away before he could dirty Gojo’s face.
Geto cooed at that and captured his lips into a kiss, slipping deeper inside with every gasp he elicited at the rub of his fingers. Nanami moaned, and Geto inhaled the sound before pulling his fingers out. Nanami didn’t know when Geto had finally taken off his underwear, only felt the press Geto’s dick against his back, and Geto smiled against him, swallowing his short, sharp grunt as Gojo took him back inside the heat of his mouth. Nanami swore his legs shook, and Geto held him tight with one hand, the under snaking between them and spreading his cheeks so he could rub his head against Nanami’s rim, twitching under the stimulation.
Nanami felt the anticipation build up with every shallow thrust against his hole, his mind flickering between the feeling of Gojo’s hot tongue roving the underside of his cock and the fingers digging into his thighs, Geto’s lips pressing against his, his head so fucking close to where Nanami needed it. And when Geto finally pushed in, a slow, unyielding thrust, Nanami swore he felt it all the way in his toes, drawing out a long, loud moan as he filled him up. Nanami hadn’t gotten a chance to glimpse Geto’s dick, and nothing could’ve prepared him for how it felt inside him, sturdy and warm, and so fucking thick. He pressed against his walls on all sides, and it felt like forever, his cock pressing deeper until he finally sat against Nanami, his hips settled against his ass and leaving Nanami struggling to acclimate to the feeling.
“Fuck.” The swear was muffled between them, and Nanami was more than used to Gojo filling him up just a bit more than he thought he could take, but Geto was thicker, heavier, like he was made to stretch Nanami until he couldn’t think, and he was doing sufficient work of it. Nanami didn’t have it in him to feel any shame when Geto’s hand dropped to his thigh and his leg was lifted towards his chest, allowing Geto to angle his hips and sink in deeper, and Nanami wasn’t sure if he was even trying to hit his prostate anymore because the fullness did more than enough to make him tremble.
Gojo hummed around him, and Nanami’s mouth went slack, leaving Geto to roam inside with free reign as Nanami’s eyes squeezed shut and he tried to recall some sense of dignity. He pulled away with a sharp jerk as Gojo dropped down to his balls and offered a feather light touch that stoked a strangled moan from his throat, and Geto, unphased, moved down to his throat, mouthing over his pulse. Gojo pulled off for a short second and shot a grin at Nanami as he kept him on edge, running a nail over the vein of his cock with twinkling eyes.
Nanami decided then and there that he didn’t want to see either man in his house ever again.
“You gonna come?” Gojo asked, and Nanami watched with the closest thing to a glare he could muster as Gojo’s free hand snaked in between his legs and those blue eyes fluttered shut.
“Not as quick as you, I imagine,” Geto said, his voice velvet smooth even as his breath hitched, his hips stuttering.
Gojo scoffed, and Nanami knew Geto had said it just to spite him, to tease him, because he could feel the way he was bearing down around Geto hard, on the verge of coming and in no place to banter. Granted, he never was, and the only person who called it banter was Gojo because he took everything as such. Nanami groaned, resting his head back against Geto’s shoulders as he let his lids fall closed. When it came to the two of them, even in high school he’d learned it was easier to just give in and scold them later, and with the muscles in his thighs clenching as he was pushed closer to the edge, he didn’t think he had it in him to do anything but.
“Are you, though?” Geto asked, turning to Nanami and letting his lips trail across the shell of Nanami’s ear. His grip tightened around Nanami’s thigh, the pads of his fingers digging red into the pale skin. “Should I keep going when you do? You won’t leave me hanging, right?”
Nanami scoffed as best he could.
“Come quickly then,” he said, biting, and Geto laughed as Nanami’s throat bobbed with the feeling of Gojo’s mouth back on him.
“If you insist.” He paused for a split second, shifting his foot forward and hiking Nanami up just a little higher before—
“AH—” He pulled out before sinking back inside and striking as deep as he could, until Nanami’s leg trembled tight in his hold, his stomach caving in with the feeling of Geto grinding against him.
“Pretty noises, Kento-kun,” he said, his voice finally cracking, and Gojo’s eyes flashed though he didn’t pull off, moaning around Nanami as Nanami struggled to grasp reality, anything beyond the feeling of Geto setting a steady, biting pace, grinding past his prostate and sinking inside him with every thrust.
“Fuck, I- shit,” Nanami groaned, and he was pretty sure he’d scratched blood into Gojo’s hair at this point, even though the white strands remained pristine in his grip. “Shit, shit, just- fuck.” Geto, for once, didn’t laugh, his breath dissolving into short, hot pants against his ear, and Gojo pulled off again, replacing his mouth with short, quick strokes until Nanami was damn near lucid with the feeling.
“There you go,” Gojo murmured, pressing a soft kiss against Nanami’s thigh, his voice strained but clear. Nanami was almost certain Gojo did it just to show off, muttered sweet praises against his skin, flicked his thumb across Nanami’s tip just to show that he’d done this before, that there wasn’t a single part of Nanami he could claim was unexplored. “Come on, Kento-kun,” he purred, and Nanami realized they were both evil, deserving of each other really. “Come for us, okay? You’re such a good boy, come for us, come for me.”
Nanami’s body had given up on not obeying Gojo a while ago, and he couldn’t help the way he groaned out at that, his whole body strung tight as he came in Gojo’s grip, splattering his face with his release, dripping over his hand. Geto let out a sharp, strained laugh before stilling deep inside Nanami with a swear, and Nanami moaned, teeth gritted as he ducked his head like he could disappear inside himself. White, hot shame rose over him as soon as Gojo let go of his wilted cock, and he was certain his entire chest was stained red.
“Ah, that’s—so, that’s how you get Kento to come?” Geto puffed out, and Nanami released a quiet groan, his brain turned to mush. He was aware of a few stray thoughts, irritation somewhere deep in one of them, more at himself for letting it happen, for getting off on the filth the pair spewed when both of them were the most bothersome people who knew. He sighed. Being weak to pretty men was his biggest sin.
He didn’t know when he regained clarity, when his brain finally starting buzzing again and he was aware of the stark emptiness inside him, the ache in his lower back. He was getting too old for bullshit like this. Geto had put his leg down at some point, pulled out, but he still had Nanami caged against his chest, his hands running a soothing rub all down his torso, over his hips, across his thighs and back up. Gojo hummed, reaching behind him and grabbing someone’s shirt before he wiped his face off, and Nanami grimaced.
“If that was mine, you’re buying me a new one,” he said, his voice thick and his mouth dry like he’d swallowed glue.
Gojo chuckled, arching a pale brow, and he still seemed on edge, his gaze flickering to Geto every so often, but he didn’t admit it, instead shooting Nanami a Cheshire smile.
“You’d let me buy clothes for you, Nanamin?” he asked, throwing on a fake sort of cheerfulness, and Nanami bit back the urge to sigh again, too tired for it.
“Never mind,” he said, and Gojo laughed, standing up straight and gripping Nanami’s jaw with his now clean hand.
“No, no, no,” he said, glancing at Geto, his pupils dilating with something sharp. “You can’t back out, right Suguru-chan? You heard him; he wants me to buy him clothes.”
Geto snorted, nosing against Nanami’s throat as Gojo leaned forward, pressing their foreheads together.
“Sounded like it to me,” Geto said, and Nanami shut his eyes, determined not to open them again after today.
Geto, for whatever reason, didn’t call Gojo out for the clear staking in his claim, and Nanami figured it had something to do with the way he’d felt Geto’s fingers tangle with his in Gojo’s hair when Gojo finally came with a stutter. The two got on like oil and water, and yet it seemed they couldn’t help coming back to each other. Nanami let out a low, rumbling sound from his throat to convey his irritation. They could’ve left him out of it, in any case, though he knew he’d never be that lucky. Not as Geto’s hand settled across his abdomen, tugging him close, and Gojo pressed a soft kiss to his lips.
He briefly considered quitting sorcery again.