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The dorm had been quiet since Geto killed his family.
Satoru Gojo was the only student to stay in the dorms after it happened.
The silence of midnight pressed the air around him, the tension preventing Gojo from sleeping well.
He’d rather lie in bed, staring at the ceiling, than risk falling asleep and seeing his best friend again.
Still, sometimes he swore he felt it—that familiar cursed energy moving through the air. Maybe it was just residue clinging to Suguru’s abandoned room. Maybe it was only wishful thinking. Either way, every night his chest would tighten, his pulse racing under the cruel hope that Suguru had come back.
But tonight was different.
The door slammed open, wood cracking against the wall. A shadow cut across his floor, purposeful, unhesitating.
Gojo sat up fast, his breath catching.
“...Suguru?” he whispered into the dark.
The figure strode closer, unmistakable now.
Gojo scrambled to his feet, throwing the sheets off of him, hope bursting through his chest, raw and reckless.
“Suguru! What are you—”
“You know why I’m here, Satoru.” His voice was low, sharp enough to cut. “I came to say goodbye.”
Gojo’s chest tightened, stepping closer like he could hold Suguru in place with sheer will.
“Please stay. Suguru, you can’t leave me here alone.”
“Even if I wanted to, Satoru, you know the school wouldn’t allow it. I’m a murderer now. Does that mean nothing to you?”
“Of course I care, but suguru, we can fix this. Let me come with you.”
“Damn it, Satoru.” Suguru’s hand cracked across his face, slapping him not hard enough to injure but enough to snap his head to the side.
Gojo didn’t flinch.
“Fight me,” Suguru hissed.
His eyes flared with energy, dangerous, demanding.
“Stop agreeing with everything I say and just fight me!”
Gojo only touched his cheek where the sting lingered.
“You never will, will you?” Suguru went on, voice breaking even as his body shook with rage.
“DAMN IT SATORU. Look up at me and tell me I’m wrong! Why won’t you ever hit me back?”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Gojo muttered, forcing a crooked smile.
"There are many other terrorists groups around but still you lay here, without using cursed energy, every night."
“Who else would be barging into my room at this hour?”
“What if one day it isn’t me?” Suguru shouted, ripping his hair free from its tie as his hands raked through his scalp. His chest heaved, breath ragged.
“Then what, Satoru? Then what?!”
He grabbed Gojo’s face in both hands, forcing his eyes up to his own. His own were wet, furious, burning through the tears that wouldn’t stop.
“Why do you let me touch you? Why don’t you ever use infinity when it’s me?” he demanded, voice cracking.
“Damn it, Satoru—why?”
Gojo reached for him, but Suguru shoved his face away, hard enough to make him stumble down onto the floor. Gojo landed on his hands, heart thundering, looking up at him from below, his vibrant blue eyes welling with tears of his own.
Suguru stood tall over the passive Gojo, accidental tears glinting against his cheek but his voice steady, cold as a blade.
“Fuck you, Satoru Gojo.”
He spat the words to the sorcerer on the floor.
Finally, he turned, stepping into the hall, but paused with only his neck twisted back, his jet black hair tossing with the movement.
“Good night.”
“Suguru—!”
Gojo scrambled forward on his hands and knees, legs shaking too much to get him upright.
“I’m sorry! I’ll fight you—come back! Please—”
“Stay down, Satoru,” Suguru called without looking back. His voice echoed against the dorm walls, careless of who might hear.
“You look better down there anyway.”
The window slid open without a sound, a tall figure slipping in, the night air rushing in before the shadow slipped through. Gojo sat up instantly, blindfold pushed to his forehead, every nerve sparking as cursed energy flared in the room.
He didn’t need Six Eyes to recognize it.
“…Suguru.”
The figure moved smoothly, predatory, hair loose and damp from the rain. The dark of his robes clung to his frame, beads of water running down the sharp lines of his collarbone. His eyes caught the light, too wild to be calm, too calm to be sane.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Gojo breathed, getting to his feet.
His chest tightened at the sight—older, sharper, but still Suguru. Always Suguru.
“That’s rich, coming from you,” Geto said, voice low, even, dangerous. He stepped closer without hesitation.
“I’m on every wanted list in the country. As of today, half the world’s praying for my head. And yet…” His lips curled, humorless. “Here I am. And you won’t do a thing.”
Gojo’s hands twitched at his sides. He wanted to reach for him, hold him still, rewind time. Instead, he forced a steady voice.
“If anyone finds you here—”
“They won’t.” Geto cut him off sharply, stepping in so close Gojo could smell the damp of his hair, the faint smoke clinging to his clothes. “They won’t because they won’t live long enough to stop me.”
A humorless laugh slipped from Gojo, brittle and strained.
“You sound pretty sure of yourself.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Geto’s smile twisted.
His knee pressed into Gojo’s thigh, forcing him backward until he hit the mattress.
“You never could say no to me, could you?”
Gojo’s breath stuttered as Geto pinned him down, knee braced on the bed, one hand splayed hard against his chest. His heart thundered under Geto’s palm, betrayal and longing wrapped too tight together.
“Suguru, what are you talking about?” Gojo rasped, growing seemingly aware of the position he had been put into.
His eyes grew wide in realization
“Don’t you get it? If this is my last night free then, Satoru, I don’t want to waste another second with you.”
Then, without warning, Geto yanked Gojo’s shirt wide open, popping the buttons, baring his pale chest in one violent motion. Gojo gasped, muscles tense under the sudden rush of cold air and heat.
Geto’s smirk grew wider as he observed the passive Gojo beneath him. His hands trembled only once before he forced them steady, dragging over the sharp line of Gojo’s abdomen, thumb digging against the defined V at his hip like he needed to prove the man was solid, here, real.
Without hesitation he tore at his own shirt, cloth ripping as it slid from his shoulders. His chest rose and fell hard, sweat beading at his collarbones, his hair plastered to his temples.
“You think this doesn’t fucking hurt, Satoru?” His voice cracked, raw and ragged. “You think I don’t care about any of the lives I’ve ruined?”
Gojo’s throat tightened, his voice fragile when he finally managed to speak.
“Suguru… what are you?”
Geto’s eyes flashed, wet at the corners, feral in the middle. He grabbed Gojo’s jaw, forcing his mouth shut.
“Shut up. No more talking.” His forehead pressed to Gojo’s, shaking, his breath a hiss between clenched teeth. “Make it stop, Satoru. Their voices, the whole city—make it disappear.”
His dominance faltered for just a moment, knees digging into the mattress as his body sagged forward. His mouth trembled against Gojo’s cheek, a whisper too close to a sob. But his grip stayed iron, his tone still commanding.
“Don’t you dare move away. Don’t you dare leave me. If you do, I swear I’ll tear this world apart.”
The contradiction hung heavy in the air, his body crushing Gojo into the mattress, every muscle screaming with control, while his voice begged, shaking apart at the seams.
“Anything,” Gojo breathed, voice soft and steady despite the tremor in his limbs.
He reached for Geto’s hands, searching his face.
“Just tell me what to do.”
For a beat Geto looked as if he might crumble—shock and shame and want flickering across features that had grown too severe for gentleness. Then something like a grin cut across his face. He moved with a dangerous calm, like a man who’d rehearsed violence into ritual.
“Fine,” he said. “Then do it. Make me forget everything. Make it count. Silence this city with your moans. Let them hear my name.”
He undid his belt in one swift motion, the leather sliding through his fingers with an angry efficiency. The sound of metal and cloth was obscene in the quiet room. Geto’s fingers brushed the first button of Gojo’s trousers and used it as permission and provocation both, slow and deliberate.
“Go ahead and break this bed,” he murmured, so close to Gojo’s ear the words were breath and promise.
“Love me for just one night, Satoru.”
“How’s this coming from you?” Gojo managed, a stunned laugh squeezed from his throat, the room narrowing to the press of Geto’s heat.
“I’m not holding back with you anymore, Gojo.”
Just hours ago, Suguru Geto killed the entire non-sorcer population of yet another city. He had no more care about what other's thought about him.
“You can take it, or you can kick me out. Good luck handling either option.” The last words were almost a dare.
Gojo didn’t answer with words. He fumbled the first button of his own pants, arched his hips, then shedded the rest of his clothing, throwing it to the floor. His boxers joined the pile at his feet; the air hit him naked and exposed.
He let himself fall back onto the mattress, palms pressed into the sheets as if bracing for the impact of whatever came next.
Geto’s eyes drank him in, the edge between control and collapse raw and visible. For a breath, he leaned down and kissed the hollow at Gojo’s throat—tender, terrible—and then he straightened and ordered, voice low and iron.
“Good. Very obedient. Now touch yourself. Show me how much you want it. Don’t stop unless I tell you.”
Gojo obeyed without hesitation, fingers trembling as they found himself. Geto watched with a hunger that looked almost like prayer, jaw tight, one knuckle white where it dug into the mattress beside Gojo’s hip. The room filled with the slick, soft noises of movement and breathing, of Gojo’s suppressed whimpers. Every time Gojo’s movements began to gather, to rush toward release, Geto moved—close enough to feel the heat of him, far enough to withhold. He’d hover, a hand on Gojo’s chest, thumb pressed to the hollow of his throat, then withdraw with surgical cruelty.
“Not yet,” Geto spoke, voice breaking on the edges. “Not yet. Beg for it.”
Gojo’s cheeks went wet, words spilling from him between gasps.
“Please. Please—Geto, why are you doing this—” His protest dissolved into pleading, raw and stripped of pride.
And Geto, fighting and failing and somehow still stern, smiled like a wound.
“No sleep tonight for you,” he whispered, blunt and fierce, “I’m not letting you go, I mean it.”
The dominance was bound up with need; every order was threaded with the quiet, terrified pleading of a man who wanted to be held as much as he wanted to hold.
In that second, he grabbed Gojo by his waist, turning him over and grabbing a handful of ass.
Geto’s hands dragged lower, nails grazing the sharp ridges of Gojo’s hips before sliding between his thighs. He didn’t waste time, didn’t ask permission—just pushed him open with a force that made Gojo gasp.
“Don’t—” Gojo shivered, his voice breaking as Geto’s fingers teased him. “Suguru, wait—”
“No waiting.” Geto’s lips pressed against his ear, warm and relentless. “Not tonight. You said anything. Then give me everything.”
Gojo’s back arched, heat flooding him as Geto slicked his fingers with spit, stroking himself once before pressing them against Gojo’s opening. He didn’t ease him in; he made him take it.
Gojo whined, knees kicking uselessly against the mattress, his face buried into his arm.
“God, you’re tight.” Geto’s voice cracked around the edges, half-mad, half-desperate.
Gojo scoffed, “Well, it’s been a while since I’ve seen you, hasn’t it?”
“I guess. Still, you’re so perfect. I’ll be sure to ruin you before morning.”
He worked him open mercilessly, jerking his own cock at Gojo's entrance, every thrust stretching Gojo wider. Gojo’s hands clawed at the sheets, body shuddering with every drag.
“Please—” Gojo gasped, his voice raw. “Please just—just fuck me already—”
Geto curled his fingers deep into Gojo's skin and swallowed his own groan.
“What a pretty beggar, Satoru. You’re not even close to ready.”
Gojo shook his head, tears beading in the corners of his eyes, chest heaving.
“I can’t—fuck, I can’t take it—”
Geto shoved his tip deeper, grinding his fist against him until Gojo screamed into the sheets. Then he leaned down, lips brushing his temple.
“You can. And you will. Because I said so.”
When he finally pulled his fingers free, Gojo was panting, trembling messily under him. Geto lined himself up, nudging against that stretched, desperate heat. Sliding his dick into Gojo’s hole, again and again until he cried.
“Suguru, I seriously can’t hold out longer.”
Geto stopped.
“Turn it on,” he said.
Gojo’s head snapped up, wet strands of hair falling into his face.
“What?”
“Infinity.” Geto’s eyes burned, pupils blown wide. “I want it on. Now.”
Gojo shook his head frantically, twisting under him.
“Please don’t make me—I can’t focus when you’re—you’re too—”
“Do it,” Geto snapped, pressing harder against him, the blunt push of his cock threatening to split him apart.
“Or I’ll force it out of you.”
Gojo whimpered, torn in two by fear and want. Finally, he gave in—the cursed technique hummed to life, a low vibration filling the air between their bodies. The second Infinity bloomed, his hole spasmed wider, stretched open as their skin no longer touched. It was too much—pressure without contact, feeling only the outline of Suguru's dick inside of him.
“Gah-!” Gojo cried out, his hands clawing at the bedframe, body seizing with the intensity. “It feels—Suguru, please—I can’t—”
Geto groaned, shoving deeper as he spanked Gojo’s toned, pale ass, his thrusts grinding against Infinity’s barrier, each movement making Gojo writhe and sob.
“That’s it. That’s what I wanted. Look at you—so wrecked you can’t even take everything that's inside of you.”
Gojo shook his head, tears slipping down his temples.
“Please—I’m gonna—”
Geto’s hand snapped to Gojo’s cock, stroking him slowly as Gojo’s back arched like. He bucked into the grip, moaning shamelessly, desperate for release.
And then Geto stopped.
“No,” he hissed, tightening his hand around the base, choking off Gojo’s orgasm.
“Not until I say. Be obedient, Satoru.”
Gojo wailed, hips thrashing helplessly against him.
“Please, I’m begging you—please just let me—”
The crack of palm against his ass silenced him, sharp and hot. Gojo choked on a sob, his body convulsing with need.
“You’ll do what I say,” Geto said, voice low, steady, dripping with hunger.
He drove into him again, slow and merciless, his free hand gripping Gojo’s throat, forcing his head back.
“You’ll take me, you’ll hold it, and you’ll thank me for denying you. You’ll stay right here, until morning.”
Gojo trembled, his whole body shaking from the edge he was pinned against. His voice was broken, wrecked, but there was no mistaking the truth in his words.
“Yes,” he whispered hoarsely. “Yes, Suguru.”
Geto smiled—a wolfish, ruined smile—as he thrust into him again, dragging the night into an endless loop of denial, punishment, and desperate pleas.
“You’re going to regret that.”
Picking Geto up by his thighs, he carried the thinner off the bed and slammed him against the wall, Gojo’s legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, ankles locking behind him. The plaster shuddered with the force. Geto braced one arm beneath Gojo’s thigh to hold him up, the other gripping his jaw hard, forcing his mouth open for a kiss that tasted like pleasant sweat.
Gojo clawed at his shoulders at first, infinity flickering at the feeling of Geto’s massive cock somehow growing even more inside him.
Gojo cried out, “God—you’re so good, Suguru, I want to do more for you. Tell me what to do.”
Geto’s words cut low against his ear—hoarse, demanding:
“Slap me. Pull my hair. Fight back.”
Gojo froze, lips parted against Geto’s.
That same voice that had once begged him to fight years ago was back.
A tremor ran through Gojo’s body as he finally obeyed, fisting into the half-bun at the crown of Geto’s head. He yanked, hard. The bun came loose, strands spilling down in sweat-slick waves.
Geto’s head snapped back with the force, exposing the long, corded line of his neck. Thick muscle flexed beneath skin shining with perspiration, veins taut, Adam’s apple bobbing with every ragged breath. He looked vulnerable like that—throat bared, pulse hammering—but his eyes stayed locked on Gojo, daring him.
Gojo didn’t hesitate. He bit into the sweat-salted skin just below Geto’s jaw, teeth pulling, tongue dragging. Geto groaned low, guttural, hips surging forward so hard Gojo nearly lost his breath. His hand still gripped the hair on Geto’s neck, dragging his head back farther, watching his throat strain under the pressure.
Another growl vibrated out of Geto’s chest, half-pain, half-pleasure, and his free hand slapped down over Gojo’s ass, squeezing tight.
“Harder,” he rasped, spit and sweat mixing at the corners of his mouth. “Don’t hold back, Satoru. Make me feel it.”
Gojo’s cock pulsed at that command, twitching helplessly between their bodies.
Geto felt it against his stomach, his smirk curving as he tilted his head just enough to whisper.
“You like that, princess?”
A ragged whimper tore from Gojo’s throat, muffled as he buried his face against Geto’s damp skin.
The wordless sound was all the answer Geto needed. He let his neck relax again as Gojo moved his teeth down it, sinking lower until he was biting and sucking bruises along Geto's collarbone.
“That’s right,” Geto praised against his skin, voice thick. “Touch me, baby. Don’t you dare stop.”
Gojo obeyed, uncrossing his arms from Geto’s back, moving his fingers gently up his spine, focusing on the areas where Geto tensed. His touch was hesitant, fingers sliding across sweat-slick skin.
His cock ached unbearably, flushed red and leaking, the buildup leaving his whole body shuddering.
“Please—please let me cum, Suguru,” Gojo gasped, his words breaking into a sobbing plea. “I can’t—ngh— take this any longer.”
“Fine,” Geto purred, suddenly pulling him off the wall. “Have it your way.”
With brutal efficiency, he swept him onto the desk, papers and pens scattering across the floor. Gojo sprawled out, legs spread wide, body displayed like an offering on a shrine dedicated to him.
Geto sank back into him with a groan, hips slamming forward, stretching him to the brink. He set a merciless pace, sliding in and out until the desk itself creaked under the rhythm. One hand pinched Gojo’s nipple between calloused fingers, tugging until it peaked swollen and raw, before his mouth descended to soothe it with a hot, dragging tongue.
Gojo arched, a cry ripping from him, his body arching helplessly into every touch.
Geto’s lips ghosted up to his ear, voice low, commanding, dripping with warning.
“Remember what I said earlier?”
“The whole city’s gonna know your name.”
"That's right. I'll fuck you until you come, Satoru but promise me you'll scream my name."
Gojo’s head thrashed back, tears catching at his lashes.
“Y-yes, Suguru,” he babbled, losing all composure.
Geto continued giving Gojo exactly what he needed, hitting the older's prostate with every thrust.
“Fuck, Suguru, faster—Suguru right there, harder—SUGURU-ngh-please!”
“Good, my love.” Geto’s voice drawled rough with lust as he fisted into Gojo’s white hair, yanking it back to bare his reddened, sweat-slick face.
The sight of Gojo undone beneath him nearly broke his control.
“Suguru—I’m gonna cum—”
“That’s alright,” Geto growled, slamming into his prostate with devastating precision.
His mouth curled into a vicious smile.
“Let me hear it.”
Gojo’s body arched violently, his thighs quivering around Geto’s hips. His chest heaved, sweat dripping down the ridges of his abs, every muscle tight as a bowstring. The pressure snapped all at once—white-hot and overwhelming.
“Gnh-GETO!” The name tore from him raw, shattering into a scream that echoed off the walls.
His cock jerked, spurting thick ropes of cum across his chest, his stomach, even splattering the underside of his chin. His whole body convulsed with the force of it, every pulse wringing another helpless cry from his throat. Cum kept spilling, sticky and hot, smeared between their skin as Geto slowed the tempo in his ass.
Gojo clawed at the desk, at Geto’s shoulders, at anything he could reach, tears streaking down his flushed cheeks. His cock twitched, oversensitive, leaking onto his own abs as his orgasm dragged on far too long. He was choking on his own moans, broken and ragged, until his voice gave out into hoarse whimpers.
Geto grabbed the end of his shaft, slowly pulling out, milking every last drop from Gojo’s spent cock.
“That’s it,” he snarled against his ear.
“Come for me, Satoru.”
Gojo collapsed back onto the desk, boneless, chest heaving, sweat-damp hair sticking to his forehead. His vision blurred with tears and bliss, body trembling violently around Geto’s cock still buried deep inside.
“Beautiful,” Geto murmured, possessive and broken all at once. His hand cupped Gojo’s face, thumb smearing a streak of his own cum across his cheek.
“You’ll never look this good for anyone else.”
Gojo sat up slowly, muscles trembling, arms splayed on the desk as if they could barely hold him. His breath came in short, ragged pulls; his voice was wet and hoarse and still edged with that crazy, bruised grin.
“If you’re not dead by tomorrow,” he rasped, every word a dare and a promise, “I’ll kill you myself.”
Geto only hummed, a sound like satisfaction and hunger folded into one.
He reached up and grabbed a fistful of Gojo’s hair, hard enough to tilt his head back, the hold possessive and unrepentant. Then Geto pushed forward until his cock filled Gojo’s mouth.
“Then you better curse me again, pretty boy.”