marlowemuses | Nothing's gonna take you from my side

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Nothing's gonna take you from my side

[ Gojo hasn't been paying attention to Choso. He doesn't really think about Choso at all. The initial adjustment took some time, and he'd taken some convincing about this whole 'Yuji's brother' situation, but he's gotten used to him now. Accepts him as an ally.

Having him around makes Yuji happy, after all, and Choso has been a valuable asset. He's a capable fighter, and one of the very few special grades who Gojo can see as a peer rather than a student. Even though Choso's still so inexperienced in so many ways, he has a maturity that makes him easy to accept as an adult.

Gojo doesn't worry anymore about leaving students in Choso's care. He's a good mentor figure, with undeniable older brother energy. It's nice to have another special grade around the school, and nice to have another special grade running missions. Gojo still hardly ever sleeps, but Choso's presence helps ease some of the burden.

And that's it. He hasn't really been paying that much attention to Choso's missions. Hasn't been tracking where he goes. Wouldn't ever see a reason to worry about him.

But then Gojo gets back early from one of his own missions and Choso's not back yet from his own.

Gojo doesn't really think anything of it. Doesn't think much of anything at all.

He just teleports.

He's assessed the situation in an instant and is inside the building moments later. It was supposed to be one curse, probably grade 1.

This is a fucking nest of curse users, and Choso's status isn't looking great. Gojo doesn't assess his damage yet, since Choso at least is still conscious. He just steps in front of Choso, then grabs all five of the curse users with five different instances of Blue and slams all of them brutally up against the ceiling, pinning them in place and keeping a weather eye on any of them who don't look completely incapacitated by this. ]

Any of them I shouldn't kill for laying a hand on you? [ Gojo asks, tone deathly cold instead of his usual mocking playfulness. ]

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( despite everything that's happened, despite everything he's learned, despite every mistake that he's made: there are some things that even time and perspective can't change, some things that he has to force himself to live with. even being yuji's brother is something that comes with strange caveats, hard to explain to anyone who doesn't have the time to listen; and when do sorcerers ever have the time for anything? odd looks spared in his direction, and a wariness that comes from the fact that he let himself be guided under kenjaku's hand simply by bad choice alone--that a world for curses would be far easier for his brothers to live in than a world for humans.

in some ways, the sorcerers left still prove that, a little. not yuji, and not his friends, and not gojou satoru or any of the remaining sorcerers in tokyo, really--but the back-up, the underlings, the sorcerers from kyoto and the others that come to help, they don't give him the benefit of the doubt. they don't look at him like he's one of them, because he isn't, because he can't be, because even if he wants to tuck himself behind yuki's shoulder or place a hand on yuji's back to stay close, it doesn't change who he is, what he's done, or what he feels like.

this world is much more difficult. this world is much more fraught. even for him, one who looks relatively human: he's not sure he would wish his brothers to contend with the same feeling, but then, he'd be the one there to defend them.

he's different. he's capable of working himself to the bone, quite literally, without the same mortal worry that they might have for anyone else--except, of course, gojou satoru.

in that way, in that unfortunate way, they're decidedly similar. too powerful to leave alone, too strong to let anyone else handle the things they're meant to handle. when gojou satoru is off on missions, he's off for hours and hours at a time, returning only briefly for a couple hours of sleep and then back out again. it's not his place to say anything, but: isn't gojou satoru just a flesh and blood body, like the rest of them? why does he have to carry these burdens?

on his hands and knees, drenched in his own blood, he wonders this. a mission like this is hell, even for a special grade like himself, a curse who can recycle his own blood using cursed energy alone; he won't bleed out, but that doesn't mean there isn't a certain sense of irritated desperation, struggling to claw up the last reserves of his energy to soak all that blood back in for another attack. they'd said one curse. it hadn't been one curse. and while he doesn't think he's so desperate as to fail the mission--

--the sudden crash of cursed energy, cold and focused, is enough to have him squinting through his bangs, pushing himself up onto his feet. of all the people to come here, he hadn't expected the honored one throughout heaven and earth himself.

stubbornly, he pushes some of his messy hair from his face, wiping off blood from his lip. )

Jealous? ( in his usual low tone, flat, but satoru's voice isn't the usual twisting, playful thing he uses anywhere else--so he swallows, shaking his head. )

Get rid of them. They know how to work together.

( not that it'll save them from any of gojou satoru's techniques--but he feels the need to explain himself, a little, as though not wanting to look like the pathetic creature he's sure he's appearing to be, right now. )

[ Gojo doesn't hesitate once Choso justifies the killing. He trusts his tactical assessment and doesn't feel any need to question it.

There’s a horrible snapping sound as he uses his Blue to crush, breaking most of the bones in his opponents’ bodies. Followed by five almost simultaneous thumps as the shattered bodies hit the floor.

It's not enough to kill. The act of brutality could be seen as horrifyingly cruel or sadistic, and Gojo feels no remorse for it. He wants them to hurt.

And yet he doesn't have the temperament to be able to leave them in suffering. If he knew specifics about this crew and their crimes, maybe he would delay and chat for a minute while they whimpered and groaned. In this case, all he needs to know is that they're curse users (and therefore certainly with execution orders already on their heads, exculpating any action Gojo might take against them) and they've harmed Choso. He pauses only an instant before following his attack with a precisely targeted little array of Reds, causing aneurysms within each brain in order to bring about a swift death.

That done, he turns and drops onto one knee by Choso, tugging down his blindfold to reveal his eyes. He wants to touch, but doesn't quite dare while Choso's covered in that much blood. He doesn't think at all into his desire to touch, when he's usually so vigilant to keep up Infinity between himself and others unless it's to tease or annoy someone, in very carefully controlled doses. Right now, he can barely keep back his desire to clap a hand on Choso's shoulder and extend Infinity around them both. He knows not to touch Choso's blood, even though he could almost certainly make himself immune to any ill effects. ] Status?

( it isn't lost on him, really, what could have happened in shibuya--what could have happened to any of them, really. the effort of gojou satoru's technique is crushing, hallowing, a disgusting mash of bones and flesh rendered into one mass and then back again, the distinct thump of bloodied flesh spat back onto the floor. he doesn't watch it happen, past satoru's shoulder, doesn't have to. in one quick moment, satoru has nullified any sort of threat; he would be jealous himself, if he could think that far ahead.

this could have been them, really. when they'd launched that attack, when they'd followed kenjaku's plans--it had been bad enough, hearing what had happened to hanami, but: it could have easily been his own body, squelched to the ground, and he knows he needs to respect that kind of power.

especially like this. satoru seems cold, distanced, even angry: and he can't seem to comprehend why. is it just the mission? the fact that he had to come and help him? or something else?

there's the thrum of that boundless cursed energy again, and he knows that they're alone, now. the rest are dead. methodical, quick, dangerous. there's no reason to struggle, but he struggles, pushing himself up onto his palms and his knees, and then finally, up to sit on his legs. the first thing that he sees, sweeping his hair from his face, is gojou satoru's bright blue eyes--startling, really, enough that he stalls for a moment. )

Uh. ( eloquent, really. he tries to shake it off. ) Fine. I'm fine.

( it's just the arduous task of gathering up all the blood around them, or at least as much as he can manage. regenerating it would be fine, too, but a part of him doesn't want satoru to have to have infinity up for so long to avoid it. peeling it off the cement, off his face, curdling it back into his hands--he keeps them in his lap, neatly, but the bruising on his face, and surely elsewhere, doesn't seem to respond so quickly to his healing.

it's embarrassing, really, sitting in front of the gojou satoru like this, but there's nothing else he can do. he's just-- ) ...Tired.

( it's said with a faint droop of his chin, like it's a weakness to admit it. ) You finished it for me. ... Thank you.

[ Satoru watches him, curious in a dispassionate, analytical way, as the blood is retracted. Once he's clean again, though, something in Satoru softens. He cups Choso's face with a hand, eyes flicking over his expression again, and smiles. He's satisfied that there's no serious damage.

His thumb taps against the tip of Choso's nose, a playful--gentle--boop.

Then his hand retracts and he straightens up, holding out a hand to Choso. ] Come on. Up you go.

[ In a way, it's both a test and a trap. He's still assessing how badly Choso is beaten up. He wants to see how much Choso wobbles as he stands up. But unless there's no wobble at all, he's already planning to sweep Choso up into his arms, one arm behind his back and one under his knees, lifting him off the ground before he teleports.

What they both need, in the aftermath of their respective missions, is food and rest and at least a few minutes worth of quiet before they have to deal with paperwork and anyone back at the school.

He takes Choso to his high-rise apartment, the place where he technically lives. He has a room on campus, but that's a place for paperwork and naps, where he expects no real privacy. This is more of a sanctuary, which he only actually tends to use when there's someone else with him. Somewhere to have conversations with Shoko and Nanami, when they're off duty, or somewhere to bring his occasional hookups. By himself, the lavish apartment feels too empty.

Plopping his guest down on the couch without ceremony, Gojo heads into the kitchen, calling over his shoulder. ] Want hot chocolate?

( his eyes immediately narrow, but it's more the response of a cat that's been touched than anything truly irritated; his nose twitches a little, but his chin dips in a nod, accepting, and though he has to work himself up onto one knee, first, he doesn't think he's doing all that badly.

--until he realizes, quite quickly, that he's not on his feet at all.

it's a bizarre situation, really, to be put up into gojou satoru's arms. his ego says that he should refuse, but his body says that he's exhausted; his mind says he should refuse, but his heart, if he has one, is all tangled up in strange feelings, enough that the teleportation feels more like the touch of a breeze than a disorienting sweep of wind. the place they end up isn't the school; the smell is different.

the couch is soft, beneath him, where he tries immediately to push himself to sit up, as though it's improper to sprawl himself across the cushions like some kind of animal; he forces his palms beneath him, sliding his legs down until he's seated just on the edge of the cushion, shoulders lined up primly despite exhaustion. )

...If it isn't a bother. ( slowly, as though processing: this place is dripping in satoru's energy signature, so it must be the place he stays when he's not at the school. why would he bring him here? this isn't the kind of place that he belongs.

ideally, anyway, he would have asked for tea, but he knows that satoru would drown it in seven sugar cubes, and it's easier to just agree when he's trying to decide how he's meant to act, here. )

Are you keeping me here? ( mildly: his voice is tired, but there's a small, lingering hint of that playfulness, buried beneath it all. ) Are you worried?

No? Why would I be worried? [ Satoru fetches milk from the fridge and puts a pan on the stove to heat. The fridge is tragically empty, aside from this. Some eggs, a container of miso, assorted flavors of ramune, a couple bottles of beer for Shoko when she visits. ]

Worried for you or worried about you? [ He takes a bar of chocolate from a cupboard. It's expensive quality, a dark chocolate that he likes. He breaks it into pieces and scatters them into the milk.

It's easy to keep an eye on Choso through the Six Eyes. Satoru doesn't let himself think about why he's keeping his back turned, why he's keeping his hands busy with a task.

He doesn't think about Choso's hands warm on his chest when they'd kissed beneath the mistletoe.

There's a lot that Satoru hasn't been thinking about, lately. He can feel a skittishness around the corner of his mind, a desire to keep Choso at arm's length, to ignore and avoid him. And, simultaneously, a needy yearning for attention.

He finds a bottle of caramel syrup in the cupboard and puts it in the microwave for ten seconds before pouring some of the syrup into the pan.

He isn't hyperaware of Choso sitting on his couch. His spine doesn't prickle with the knowledge that Choso's attention is focused on him in return.

He isn't thinking about Choso at all. He isn't thinking about anything other than trying to remember which cabinet has the tiny marshmallows. ]

( a typical answer, and one that he expects from someone like gojou satoru. after all, what would be the point, worrying about someone like him? he might be special to yuji, but that doesn't dictate that any of his companions--or teachers--have to tolerate him, or even like him; at best, they have to work with him, which is arguably more difficult for some. there's no point in worrying about a creature like himself. he knows that.

he knows that, and yet: satoru's stiff, standing over there, his hands busy with more than just pouring that strange powdered nonsense into hot water and stirring vigorously, which is his only experience with hot chocolate. no, he seems to be actually concocting something out of all the pieces: some kind of decadent version, with chocolate and milk, if his nose is correct. is he trying to keep his attention away from him? is he causing him trouble? no, but then why bring him here in the first place?

with a slow breath of a sigh through his nose, he turns his gaze to the rest of the room. there's not all that much to look at, and since he's keeping his palms pressed neatly onto his knees, looking like the perfect house guest, his gaze slowly rotates itself back to watching satoru, instead. )

...I would like to assist you. ( matter-of-factly, as though it isn't rude for a guest to demand to help the host. )

I'm not good at sitting plainly and apparently not being worried for, or about.

( it's a gentle dig, a gentle tease. ) I'm better at doing the worrying. Let me help.

It's not a particularly complicated process. [ And yet it needs all of Satoru's attention, apparently. ] You just stir. I guess you can stir, if you really want.

[ He judges that neither of them can mess up 'stirring'. Satoru's never bothered to care about gaining skill or experience in the kitchen, but making hot cocoa isn't all that difficult.

Stretching an arm up to fetch a bag of tiny marshmallows, Satoru sets it on the counter and then gets mugs out. He points at the pan of hot milk and partially-melted chocolate when Choso comes over to help. ] Just keep it going. Slow circles. The important part is not letting it scald on the bottom.

[ But once this task is handed off, he doesn't know what else to do with himself. Is there something else he can add? He sprinkles in a bit of salt to help the flavors bloom. Then he fetches a box of cookies from another cabinet.

There's nothing else for him to do or say while the chocolate finishes melting. It won't take more than a minute, but that's a whole minute that Satoru doesn't know what to do with. ]

( he's relegated to a task, which has him easing off the sofa and onto his feet--but even so, satoru seems off. his thoughts are elsewhere--and it could be that he's thinking about what just happened, thinking about the mission, thinking about how he might not be able to trust choso anymore when it comes to difficult tasks like that. disappointment blossoms through him, as though only just realizing that the silence could be interpreted as displeasure, instead of nervousness, or worry. of course that would be more likely. of course gojou satoru would be thinking about the sorcery.

stiffly, he comes into the kitchen with a soft bob of his head, as though apologizing for his intrusion. the instructions are simple: he just has to stir, and keep anything from burning. easy enough. with a slow breath, he takes the spoon, turning it in careful, measured circles around the melted chocolate; his gaze focuses there, as though he hasn't been permitted to look anywhere else.

but satoru is still there. lingering. he doesn't seem to know what to do with himself, which is--odd, really, for someone like satoru. shouldn't he be bouncing around, teasing him, poking fun at him for his weakness? so what is this?

the kiss at christmas? had he ruined things then, and not even realized it? satoru did immediately break away, there, but he had figured that had been more out of disgust than anything else. )

You are hard to trust when you are quiet. Something is going on inside of your head, and I want to know what it is. ( it's low, matter-of-fact and teasing at the same time. his gaze lifts, wary, to find satoru's vicious blue gaze. )

Am I making you nervous?

The implication being that I'm easier to trust when I'm chattering? [ Satoru asks, zeroing in on the meaningless in order to avoid having to be genuine. ] And you should be careful what you ask for, given that the contents of my head make for one of my most devastating attacks. [ A misrepresentation and a further deflection: Unlimited Void may be a reflection of his soul, but it's wholly different from the mental preoccupation that he knows Choso meant. ]

Making me nervous, [ he repeats, with a tone that implies this is both ridiculous and baffling. Tearing open the bag of marshmallows, he turns to lean back against the counter, head tipped in Choso's direction. He tosses a couple of tiny marshmallows in his mouth, then fishes out another one and holds it out between two fingers like he expects Choso to open his mouth to receive it. ] I don't really do 'nervous' and you're not exactly intimidating. So, no.

[ Insecure, maybe. Wary, maybe. But for those things it's because he doesn't trust himself, and he can't decide if it's a betrayal to Suguru to be attracted to someone else.

Ironically, it seems normal to him that it would be Choso. It helps that he's inhuman, other, massively powerful, and a little bit charmingly awkward. Satoru's always felt like he's set apart from his peers, from everyone but Suguru, so it helps that Choso is also set apart from everyone, in a way that isn't entirely dissimilar. ]

At least I can understand you better when you're talking.

( embarrassment wells up inside of him, and it's hard to know what to do with it. he doesn't get embarrassed, really, at least not when it comes to spending time with yuji; some people would call him shameless, but it's more that he feels as though he can be his true self with yuji, and still be accepted as his brother.

here, he is nothing more to gojou satoru than a menace, someone who messed up a simple mission, who had to bailed out and literally carried away from danger. and in what would would he make satoru nervous? or even--interested?

his jaw locks, and firmly, almost childishly, he twists his head down to stare at the hot chocolate. his hand moves, methodical and slow, as though it operates differently than the rest of him; he stands there, stiff as a board, like a cat that's puffed up against potential danger.

satoru offers him a marshmallow, but he doesn't take it. if he could sink back inside of his robes and disappear, he would. )

It doesn't matter. ( he finally says, gruffly--it would be easier if satoru would just say what he is, instead of what he isn't, but his guesses have all been wrong so far, and it's presumptuous to keep going.

without asking, he reaches to--well, he wants to turn the heat off on this cooking contraption, which has him cranking the heat up, once, before turning it the opposite way and off. the little 'snap' tells him he did well. ) Sit. I'll put this into cups.

[ Satoru pouts when his marshmallow is denied. The childishness of the expression helps to soften him, takes off a little of his defensive edge. His head tilts to the side, amplifying his performative pouting all the more in order to make sure that Choso has to take notice of it. ]

I didn't bring you here to wait on me. [ Though he does like being spoiled and cared for, he's not about to deny that. He just dislikes Choso trying to do so while Satoru's still feeling protective over him.

Putting the two mugs in front of Choso so that he can pour, Satoru does not move to go sit, as instructed. He waits until Choso pours, then he scatters marshmallows on top of both drinks. ]

They hurt you. [ It's almost an explanation. He takes one of the drinks, still not going to sit down. His eyes have slid away from Choso again, gazing at nothing in particular. ] Obviously you've healed yourself now. [ It's without a doubt one of the things that makes Satoru consider Choso to be special-grade as a sorcerer in addition to being special-grade as a curse. Reverse cursed technique used for healing is an immense tactical advantage. ] I still want you somewhere no one else can touch you for a while.

( the sight of that pout only steels his own irritation at himself, like a cat puffing out its fur at the sight of another. satoru doesn't listen--he hadn't really expected him to--and instead provides him the mugs and waits there, so there's no choice that he has other than to carefully tip the pot in the hopes of not spilling. one mug gets overfilled, while the other he fills about halfway: pointedly, he's intending for satoru to have more of it than himself, but the little marshmallows cover up both and it's hard to tell which is which.

some of the chocolate drips over the edge of the pot--he immediately swipes a finger there, poking it into his mouth to suck it off. the last thing he wants to hear is how he ruined a precious dessert by getting satoru's kitchen all messy.

he would tuck himself into the sink and wash the dishes, too, but satoru is still not sitting, so he sets the pot back on the cooking stove, and juts his lower lip out in irritation. he doesn't want to listen, at first, because he's sure it's just an explanation of how he's patently wrong, but--the words surprise him, enough that his gaze is jerking up to meet satoru's face in confusion. )

Why should that matter, to someone like you? ( they're not harsh words, and it's not a harsh tone, but it still feels a little defensive--like he's afraid of the answer even as he asks it.

without anything to do with his hands, he reaches for the mug of the warm chocolate, staring down at the little bulging mess of marshmallow fluff at the top. )

...Things that are precious should be held tight by those who want to keep them. ( or maybe his thoughts are too archaic. but: ) You don't want to touch me, either.

I've touched you repeatedly, [ Satoru argues, choosing pedantry as his new defense. He's always been good at using words to deflect attention to and from whatever topics he wants. ] I just tried to touch your mouth and got denied.

[ Satoru pulls a face at him, 'so there', as if he's made a well-reasoned argument here instead of defaulting to brattiness and deflection. Then he takes a sip of his drink, relishing the warmth and sugar, the silkiness of the milk and the richness of the chocolate. His eyes close for a moment as he savors the physical pleasure and emotional comfort of the treat, expression briefly unguarded in pleasure, and then his lashes flick open again and his lips curve into a smirk. ] Where would you like me to touch you, Choso? And with what? [ He lifts a hand in Choso's general direction and wiggles his fingers in a sort of playful threat.

Maybe if he just keeps bluffing, he'll figure out his own emotions along the way. He's too uncertain of his own goals in this situation, too skittish about pursuing his interest, and he's aware of how that's giving off a constant morass of mixed signals. He tries to convince himself that the mixed signals are just a smokescreen for his intent, but he knows full well that he hasn't figured out his own intent. ]

( he's not so easily swayed. he's seen various sides to satoru, but none of them are quite as unguarded as the look he gives while he sips at his hot chocolate, as though it's the one vestige of normalcy and pleasure he's allowed; he looks comfortable, young, much simpler with his eyes closed and those pale lashes brushed against his cheeks.

naturally, as soon as satoru opens his eyes again, the mischief returns. without thinking much of it, his own hand lifts, swatting away those wriggling fingers as though they might come in closer.

he isn't necessarily wrong. satoru picked him up, satoru touched him--satoru did a lot more than he expected him to do, and is still letting down infinity, as far as he can tell. even if the marshmallow offer had been a tease, there's that as well. it's more-- )

You don't listen. ( it's said with the tone of a frustrated older brother: annoyed, but still trying to provide some clarification. ) I said 'things that are precious'.

So am I precious to you? ( pointedly, he's left his own mug of hot chocolate untouched; he holds it now between both palms, taking the warmth off the sides, but his gaze is rooted on satoru's face, studying it pointedly. ) If I am, then touch me.

I heard you just fine. [ Satoru sets aside his own mug, safe on the counter. ] And no, you're not. [ He reaches for Choso's mug, too, takes it with long fingers curled over the top, caging in the marshmallows beneath his palm, so that their fingers do not brush. It goes to the counter beside his own. ]

Such a strict dichotomy, Choso. [ Playfully scolding, with a hint of a taunt in it. This is going somewhere, of course. Like he's tempting Choso to follow along on a path, even if it leads into a trap, because he knows it's hard to deny his pretty face--especially with his celestial blue eyes still exposed and pinning Choso in place. ] You said yourself that precious things should be held tight.

[ He takes a step closer, almost chest to chest, accentuating his height as he smiles down at Choso--all teeth, his favorite kind of threat. ] But you are not precious to me. I barely know you.

Isn't there any room for nuance? Something on the spectrum between precious and despised. [ His hands lift to frame an invisible spectrum between them, like a line in the sand that separates them. ] Hold tight, or cast away. [ One hand moves, then the other, affixing those labels to the opposite ends of the imagined spectrum. ] What's in the middle between precious and despised? [ He moves one hand to the imaginary middle of this spectrum, then tips it forward to place the edge of it against Choso's sternum. ] Neutral, I suppose? Disinterested?

So, somewhere about here, maybe. [ The edge of his hand slides over Choso's chest in the direction of 'precious', stopping before it reaches his shoulder. ] Curious. Intrigued. Maybe attracted. [ His eyes do not meet Choso's, now. The 'marker' of his hand seems to need his full attention at the moment. ] The desire to touch.

( it's easy to let the mug go, because the wind is kicked out of his sails, punched out of his stomach--because this is the answer he'd been expecting, in his own downturned favor, but it still feels like something unpleasant to hear it out loud. his fingers curl in as though to keep himself grounded, arms dropping down to his sides, and there's a part of him that no longer wants to be here, facing down gojou satoru's bright blue gaze.

but if he ran away from every mistake he made, then how would his brothers learn? for better or for worse, he's always told himself to endure. to stumble and get back up again, no matter how painful it might be.

so his gaze slides, wordless, to watch satoru's depiction, to the imaginary spectrum, paying attention only in so much as he follows the movements. his chin drops, but he doesn't swat the movement away or shrink away from the touch. he notes the indication, the explanation, with the same tired eyes that had watched satoru show up, initially, to save him.

the hand moves further than he expects, at least. confusion and irritation battle inside of him, but he can't argue that his own terms are particularly black and white; he has both the best and the worst view of love and attraction, romanticized just as much as it's demonized. satoru provides nuance, explanation, though he still doesn't understand how he even ended up on the spectrum of it all to begin with. )

Then tell me how to touch you. ( not literally, not with regard to infinity, not with regard to rank or status or the fact that he's an incarnation that has stretched out flesh that doesn't belong to him to make shape. one of his hands lifts, curving it over satoru's hand, as though pushing the marker down, pressing it with his palm. )

In the maybe-attracted way.

[ He doesn't know. He doesn't have any idea what he's doing, and it sticks in his throat to try and admit that.

When Choso presses his palm down, Satoru shifts a little closer, almost chest to chest. He stares at the spot where their hands are connected. His thumb drifts lightly along the line of Choso's sternum.

He hasn't thought about that kiss. Every time it's drifted close to his thoughts, he's promptly found something else to think about, something more urgent to do.

But the thought of it is still there, hovering at the edges of his consciousness, along with the knowledge that he's a coward. He fled from that kiss, and has been avoiding Choso ever since.

Lifting his free hand to cup Choso's jaw, Satoru tips his head as he leans in to kiss him. It's a sweet, hungry kiss, nothing tentative about it despite how Satoru's spent so long avoiding this. He wants. That one fact is simple, so he lets himself want. ]

( gojou satoru is good with words. he'd noticed that from the beginning: that he could easily spin things around with the longest or the shortest phrases, that he had full, clever use of his tongue, and the thoughts that fueled it. at times, he finds it aggravating if only because he can't say that he's as confident himself: he blurts out blunt truths, but the majority of his thoughts sit, sullen, inside of his head instead of put into words. there's something about them that makes him want to be careful with them, but gojou satoru employs them without consequence.

and yet, for all of satoru's clever, smart words, he's pointedly silent, here. it's like he's back in his head again, and a part of him wonders if he should apologize--even if it's ridiculous--for pressing down over his hand to begin with. maybe he shouldn't have touched him. maybe he should have committed to his ask.

but that free hand goes to his jaw, and his tired eyes narrow, but satoru's mouth is over his before he recognizes what he's doing. as far as teaching goes, it's clear, and to the point; this hungry, yearning sort of thing is how he's supposed to touch satoru back, which is why his own hands are slipping free, reaching out blindly for satoru's waist in order to clench either hand into the fabric there, tethering him in.

it's just a kiss. he can't think too hard on it. but his knuckles clench, reeling satoru in closer to him as though he doesn't want him to get away; his head tilts, pressing fimrly into the kiss as though to reassure him that, even silently, he agrees. if this is the last kiss that gojou satoru gives him, he needs it to be thorough enough that he's content with that. )

[ He doesn't pull away.

There's a tiny sound in the back of his throat as Choso pulls him in. Something between a grunt and a whimper, and so quiet that it's barely more than a catch of air in his nostrils.

He hasn't been held like this in so long. He hasn't let himself be held, hasn't let anyone touch him. He's kept the whole world at arm's length, pushing them away with Infinity, with his sharp, clever words, and the world made it easy for him. Everyone had always told him that he was other. Special, powerful, a weapon--but not a person. He did not belong with other people.

But Choso, like him, is not a person. Choso, too, is special and powerful, created and then recreated to be a weapon. Choso is something other, but Choso is still kind, and a little bit funny, and his hands are warm.

A shiver travels through Satoru's spine. He feels like he's crumbling, but he can't pull away. He's too hungry for this.

The brush of their lips makes him feel alive. It's a kind of desire and arousal that he hasn't felt for so long. Often he's felt like he's not even capable of it anymore. The thought of touching himself is depressing, and he cannot fathom touching anyone else.

He didn't realize until now just how desperately he's starved for this.

Defenses forgotten, he loses himself in the kiss as if nothing else matters; as if he'll be allowed this and not punished by the universe for stealing a single moment of pleasure. ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Nothing's gonna take you from my side

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