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Jujutsu Tech's courtyard is green with summer, lush weeds growing on the edges of the dirt combat arena. Heat radiates off the bricks in waves. In the corner of his eye, Gojo spies a few classmates heading out to eat, or possibly travelling home to luxuriously prepared meals. Aside from the relentless buzzing of cicadas, the courtyard is peaceful.
Shoko’s drawing a face in the sand, her hand holding the last bite of a rice ball. Gojo joins her, doodling a cartoon penis on the ground. She exhales, exasperated. “Come on, guys.”
Gojo’s eyes land at Suguru’s feet, where there’s another, albeit more detailed, depiction of the male anatomy. He breaks into a grin, holding out his hand for a high five. “Great minds think alike.” His goblin smile is met by Geto's identical shit-eating grin.
Geto languidly stretches his knees out, leaning forward and squinting into the sunlight to match his free hand to Gojo’s. They meet with a smack. It echoes satisfyingly through the empty courtyard.
Shoko sighs, dropping her stick to the floor. “I feel like you two dinguses don't understand that to be included in ‘great minds’ you need to have one.” She stands up, brushing the dust off her hands.
Geto makes an offended noise at the same time as Gojo starts defending himself. “I have great ideas like, every day.” He rips open his onigiri, balling up the plastic and shoving it into his pocket.
Shoko’s eyebrows rise so high they’re in her hairline. “I’m going to need that on recording for the next time you fling boundless blue and it hits another residential building.”
Gojo shrugs despite the creeping guilt. “They have insurance,” he says, through a mouthful of warm rice.
“The residents would probably get killed by the curses anyway,” Geto adds.
Shoko throws her hands up. “I don’t know why I even try with you two. It’s like arguing with two identically dense brick walls.” She eyes the building, as if she wanted to start making her way back.
Gojo adds some cat ears to the face she’s drawn. “Can we go out to get some sweets,” he ventures, hopefully. Inquisitively. Full of optimism.
Geto shakes his head. “We have an academic advising appointment.” He stands up too, tossing his stick to the side.
Gojo’s dreams smash on the ground. “Since when do you people prefer academics over a nice treat?”
“I want to get something from the vending machine by the office,” Geto’s already turned around, throwing his words casually from over his shoulder, hands in his pockets. “Shoko’s got the actual appointment.”
Vending machines might entail sweet treats. Shoko and Geto are ducking into the shaded hallways, moved on and ready for their appointment.
Gojo follows. After all, his last vending machine experience was pretty sweet.
//
“I want to kiss you,” Gojo said, bright and chipper. His voice was matter of fact. “Well, I want to kiss someone,” he corrected. I want it to be you. Because I trust you. “I’m bored,” he added. “It could be fun.” He shrugged, checking the bus schedule. Six minutes away. “We have time to kill.”
Gojo watched Geto’s eyebrow raise. He looked back at Gojo, who’s leaning on the vending machine, from where he’s sitting on the curb. “That could be fun.”
Geto stood up, still holding his cola in his hand, as if pondering something. His face seemed to clear after a moment, and he pressed his lips to Gojo’s.
Gojo was pleasantly surprised by the warmth he felt blooming in his chest. Also by the tenderness by which Geto cradled his face with his hands as he gently moved against Gojo’s mouth. He leaned into it, kissing him back.
His heart rate seemed to be syncing to an ever faster metronome, Geto’s hands running through his hair, his own hands scrambling to find themselves behind Geto’s back, pulling him closer, greedily, with determination Gojo didn’t know he’d possessed. This was, he reasoned, a sensation he didn’t know he’d been missing, until now, he had it, and he never wanted to let it go.
Geto’s mouth was still too ginger, and Gojo pressed into him with intention, needily. “You're so shy,” Gojo teased, but his breath was spent, and it came out more of a pant.
Geto’s face flushed a nice shade of red. He stepped back, setting his cola down on the bench. “Of course you want it rougher,” Geto smirked. “Freak.”
Then it was Gojo’s turn to feel colour rushing to his face. “You’re the freak for agreeing.”
There’s no reason for them to be doing this outside on the street, he thought fleetingly, but the thought was banished and Gojo felt lightheaded as Geto met his lips again, this time sure of himself, steady. He travelled from the corner of his mouth up his jawline, to the junction just behind Gojo’s ear, where he paused, grabbing a small spot of flesh with his teeth, sucking lackadaisically.
His knees were jelly. It felt refreshing to be so weak.
Geto’s mouth started to trail down his neck and he sighs, letting his head fall back. It hits the vending machine, and a loud ding demands 100 yen. Geto paused and Gojo nearly screamed.
“You’re buying a drink?”
Gojo groaned. “Okay.”
He fumbled opening his wallet, snapping open the coin pouch, pulling out the shiny silver coin. He slipped it into the blasted vending machine’s slot just as the bus rounded the corner. Gojo pulls the cola out of the drop box, but Geto was already on the bus, beckoning for him to follow.
//
Upon arrival at the vending machine adjacent to the academic advising office, Shoko bids them goodbye. It’s a large machine, with a bunch of different iced teas and various fruity drinks. Peach tea, grape juice, and a wide selection of teas, electrolyte drinks, and of course, Geto’s favourite, cola.
“Shoko’s meeting might take a few minutes,” Gojo starts, and the excited gleam in Geto’s eyes confirms everything he’d wanted to hear.
The two of them burst into the janitorial closet, giddy, intertwined and stumbling, two little maple seeds helicoptering around each other in their hurry to escape the prying hallways of Jujutsu Tech.
Geto’s silhouette had barely slowed as he closed the door behind them, and his backlit visage collided with Gojo not a second later.
Gojo’s back slams into the wall. Geto’s hands are in his hair, and his lips are crushing his with unexpectedly ferocious desperation, like if he doesn’t press himself into Gojo, he’d disappear. Gojo’s spine stings and he leans harder into him, relieving pressure from his back, chasing the warmth in front of him.
Geto’s lips are everything he’d been aching for, are all over his face, all over his neck, spreading their joyous electrical pulses firing through Gojo’s pleasure-fried neurons. Geto’s hands find their way up the back of his shirt, strong hands pulling into the small of his back, pulling him closer yet, and Gojo can’t stop the laugh from escaping his lips.
“Missed me?” Gojo reciprocates lightly, smoothly slipping his hands under Geto’s shirt.
He groans. His gravelly voice is a whisker away from Gojo’s ears. It resonates so delightfully in his head. It feels like he’s in there. Gojo barely has time to relish in Geto’s needy noise before his mouth is back to work again, at the soft joint between his ear and his jaw. His heart flutters, and he sighs happily. Geto always remembered.
“Or touch starved,” Gojo teases. The black hair in front of him pauses and now Gojo’s the annoyed one. He plunges his hands into the mess of long black hair, messing up his meticulously styled hair, leaving haphazard strands standing up in his wake. “As subservient to your urges as the monkeys you claim to outclass.”
The dim closet light is just enough for Gojo to catch a blatant eye roll. “You’re impossible,” sounds from the space around his neck, muffled as the sound gets pushed into the skin just above his clavicle again instead.
Gojo hums noncommittally. “I might buy a cola… Or a soda after this,” he muses, mostly to make sure Geto didn’t have the last word, breath hitching a little as his mouth finds the sweet spot again. His fingers curl harder into Geto’s scalp, and he swears he can hear the whisper of an amused exhale by his ear. “I’m not buying you one,” he hears himself promise, emptily.
Geto’s hands flop around, as if to say, yeah, yeah. The aimless movement vexes him. “We have like, five minutes.” Gojo hisses, closing his fist around Geto’s hair to help emphasise this point.
“Shut up about your soda, then.” The freak lifts his face from where it was buried in his neck, lips red, dazed. Gojo’s heart squeezes. His annoyance squeezes additionally.
“Last I checked, you’re the one who started talking,” Gojo pushes off the wall with his elbows, “Time-waster.” Suguru lets himself be pushed, and he shrugs, a few feet away. Gojo steps slowly after him, foot narrowly avoiding a bucket of musty mop water.
He reaches for Geto’s face, cupping his cheeks with his hands. The limited light narrowly allows him to see the slight reddening in hue, but he would recognise that flush anywhere. With a single half-lidded eye. Even by the scent of it. Gojo knows he could.
Geto’s face is scrunched in his palms. His eyebrow raises as Gojo watches him blink for a second too long. “Time-waster,” he mocks, but his voice is too salacious for Gojo to focus on the jab.
Gojo murmurs an obligatory shut up, but the words might have gotten lost to the inside of Geto’s mouth.
He feels himself lean too far, and Geto is stabilising himself by grabbing onto Gojo like a koala on a tree, and Gojo feels so wanted, needed even, and he briefly wonders if real love could ever top what he had with Suguru. An unfamiliar feeling flashes through his chest. He buries it under the sensational feeling of Geto’s warm body moving under his hands. He cracks open his eyes, just to see.
Geto’s brow is furrowed, his eyes are closed, his eyelashes fluttering uselessly as Gojo breaks away from his open mouth, planting lighthearted kisses around his lips, teasing.
The wrinkle in Geto’s brow grows deeper and the corners of Gojo’s mouth turn up involuntarily. Geto’s eyes fly open, revealing a venomous glare, and this fully grown six foot man huffs like a scorned baby. Gojo can't help but depart from Geto’s lips to have himself a merry chuckle.
Geto glowers, righting himself, and Gojo’s centre of gravity shifts. He repositions his foot. With a splash, his foot sinks into a pool of cold water. He stumbles out of it but the damage is done. Cold water seeps into his socks.
Some insufferable guffaw sounds from some insipid insect in front of him. Looking up at the offender, Geto’s eyes are full of mirth. Gojo shoves him, and he shoves him back. His other foot splashes in the puddle of dirty water.
Swearing, Gojo jumps. His soggy, wet shoe sprays droplets of brown water onto the floor. Geto’s doubled over in laughter, sides shaking. Provoked, Gojo kicks the bucket directly at his head.
It misses and the water rains down over both of them. Geto’s laugh intensifies, and Gojo surges forward indignantly. He grabs his head, trapping him under his elbow in a headlock. Geto grunts and his arms flail, slamming into the metal bucket. Gojo winces as it crashes into the wall with a bang.
Assertive footsteps sound outside. They both freeze.
“Can you guys shut the fuck up,” Shoko bursts into the room, livid. “The academic advising office is literally next door. We’re hearing fucking everything.”
“Our bad,” he starts, and he sees Shoko’s eyebrows raise as she surveys the room. Brown water splatters, the dirty overturned pail, and the two of them, clearly in the middle of macking on each other.
Some water drips off Geto’s shirt onto the floor.
She massages her temple. “Fuck both of you. Seriously.” She points accusingly at the empty pail. “It was okay until you started kicking that thing around. Be quiet. Or I will skin you two losers, so help me.” The door slams shut with a bang of finality. The sound of her footsteps gradually return, right behind the wall Gojo’d been pressed up against.
Gojo laughs, slowly turning to face Geto. “Cat’s out of the bag.” He runs a hand through his own hair. Muddy water fashions his bangs into dirty white spikes.
“Shoko’s going to kill us if this ruins her meeting.” he says apprehensively, shaking the water out of his hair like a dog.
Gojo resists the urge to reciprocate his involuntary shower in dirty mop water. Graciously, he opens the door. “Your majesty.”
“Let’s just... get some cola.”