nanagobb - Tumblr blog

nanagobb · 2 years ago

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TAGS: artist au, pining, semi-public sex, blow jobs, anal sex, bottom nanami kento, top gojo satoru, college/uni au

read on AO3 here.

Gojo arrives handsome and 10 minutes late.

“What’s your reason today?” Nanami asks once Gojo rolls down the windows of his blue Porsche. He steps away from the wall of his apartment block and opens the backseat, depositing his bags of art supplies amongst the soccer jerseys and shoes Gojo still hasn’t cleaned up.

He slides into the passenger seat and Gojo grins at him before placing his hand on Nanami’s headrest and backing out of the driveway. “Let’s see… I woke up extra early, planning on getting you to class before the prof himself, but as I was ordering our drinks—your coffee is on your door, still hot by the way—a drunk man came in with a knife, telling the employees to give him money. So of course, like the upstanding citizen I am, I effectively disarmed him and gave him a few extra thousand yen I keep on me.”

“How heroic,” Nanami replies, ignoring most of what Gojo’s saying so he can concentrate on the appropriate ratio of looking out the window and sneaking glances at Gojo’s bicep. He’s wearing a tank top today, like he said he would yesterday, cheering ‘sun’s out, guns out’ and saying Nanami should do the same. Nanami looks at the cup holder on his door and takes his coffee. He looks at his coffee for a few seconds before looking at Gojo, then his arms. “And the real reason?”

Gojo pouts and places both hands back on the steering wheel. “My hair wasn’t cooperating.”

Now Nanami freely looks at Gojo’s face. A sort of ‘woke up like this’ aura with his minimal makeup and the artfully mussed cloud of his hair. Like the first time they met, it makes Nanami’s heart forget it has a job to do. “It looks the same as always.”

“Nanami!” Gojo cries. “You’re not supposed to say that! You’re supposed to say: yes, Gojo-senpai, your hair does look slightly off, but overall, is still quite stunning and it doesn’t decrease your immense natural charm and attractiveness.”

“Ah, of course,” Nanami muses, taking a sip of his coffee. Despite the morning sun that anticipates a heavy afternoon heat, he’s glad for the growing warmth in his chest and within his hands. “Thank you for the coffee.”

Gojo beams. “No prob. I still don’t get how you can drink it without sugar or milk. Blegh.”

“I need it to stay awake when I have to draw the most boring subject matter.”

“What is it? Is it the vases like the last two days? Or did he switch it up for the days I wasn’t modelling, like— oh… you motherfucker. Remember who has the car.”

Nanami smiles to himself and adjusts the short sleeves of his linen button up. “And I pick up my car next week. I’ll bear public transport if I have to.”

“I hope the mechanic fucks up your car so much more that it becomes undriveable.”

“What will you do if he doesn’t? Beg me to be your passenger? You’re too prideful.”

“What pride? I embarrassed myself this morning because everyone could see my terrible hair when I gave half my life savings to a homeless woman and her dog.”

“I need to tell Yu that his boyfriend has shit taste in friends,” Nanami deadpans.

A few months back, he had been introduced to Gojo at a party Yu’s boyfriend had hosted. He had thought it was the alcohol that made him jealous of the popsicle stick Gojo was chewing on, but even after occasional run-ins, group hangouts, and their new circumstances, it seems like that wasn’t the case.

At times, Nanami finds himself wishing he was the lip gloss Gojo handles so daintily. But he shouldn’t be so surprised at himself. His reaction to realising Gojo would be modelling for his goal university’s fine arts holiday taster course was… embarrassing. He had completely forgotten Gojo studies computer science at the same campus. And plays soccer in the field right next to the art building.

Nanami drinks his coffee and banishes the thoughts of a sweaty, sunburnt Gojo from his head.

It’s been a week of the course, and despite only seeing Gojo intermittently, he’s become accustomed to their banter, the easy morning drives, his hands warmed by coffee in Gojo’s bright yellow reusable cup.

And if he will let himself feel it, he fears he’ll become too accustomed to seeing Gojo himself.

Gojo wears a smile now. A lopsided grin, not directed at Nanami, but still because of him. He's looking at the road, and Nanami can’t help but study how he looks from the side, Gojo’s lips settling into a small smile as he begins to hum to himself. He is still learning that there is never a moment where Gojo is quiet.

Now Nanami’s not one to fall quickly—not that he’s falling, not at all. He simply recognises that Gojo is his type. One must stay honest with themselves, and if the gossip in class is also the truth, Gojo is not known to fall for anyone, period. Nanami is sitting in the car of a playboy, a jock, a man with lip gloss and hair dyed white, arms and thighs all muscle in his shorts and tank top. The hems look like they’re straining.

Nanami looks out his window before he does something rash.

They drive through the brick walls of the university, trees slowly moving past as Gojo makes his way to his usual parking spot that overlooks the soccer fields. When Gojo places his hand back on Nanami’s headrest as he backs into the space, rear to curb, Nanami reminds himself he’s just another to notice Gojo’s physical appearance. It’s not like anything will happen, nor does he want anything to. Besides, Nanami already knows how annoying Gojo can be.

“Something wrong? You haven’t taken more than five sips of your disgusting bean water,” Gojo says.

Like that.

Nanami furrows his brows and lifts the cup to his mouth, finishing half just to prove Gojo wrong. “It’s better than your pile of diabetes,” he replies, motioning to the pink drink piled high with whipped cream and at least three different types of sprinkles.

“I think,” Gojo says, opening his door and sliding on his sunglasses, “that you are too judgemental and need to try new things. And it’s not just sugar, they said they put real strawberries in there! Look at that pink stuff at the bottom!”

Gojo lifts the cup from its holder and brings it to eye level. The pink stuff looks like decapitated gummy bears.

Grimacing, Nanami gets out of the car. “I think I’ll stick to coffee.”

“I thought artists were supposed to be creative,” Gojo says. He follows suit and walks over to Nanami, taking the bag that holds his sketchbooks to lighten the weight on Nanami’s shoulders.

Nanami lets him, just to see his arms again. “Yes, well you seem to pose no threat to the dumb jock stereotype.”

“So mean, Nanamin,” Gojo whines, locking the car.

“All that muscle and you’re not strong enough to handle the truth.”

Gojo makes a fake pained sound and clutches at his chest, stopping for a moment as Nanami continues to walk to the art building. He doesn’t want to be in the heat for longer than necessary.

Then he hears a gasp and the footsteps of Gojo hurrying to catch up. He has a wide smile and Nanami knows his eyes are sparkling behind the dark lenses. “You think I’m muscular?”

“Barely,” Nanami scoffs. “I’m bigger.”

“Yeah?” Gojo asks. His head is tilted down slightly as he looks at Nanami. The stupid grin plastered on his face disappears for a moment as he bites his lip, trying to contain something before he decides he doesn’t need to think before he speaks. “Bigger than my ten inches?”

Nanami lifts his hand and slaps Gojo’s arm.

It elicits a loud yelp, and Gojo staggers away, exaggerating his pain as he clutches at his arm. “Nanami!” he cries, lifting his face to the sky like he’s pleading with the gods. But the facade doesn’t last for long before he breaks into breathless laughter, once again having to catch up to Nanami. “I deserved that, but oww, that hurt!”

“We both know you can take harder than that.”

Instant regret fills Nanami once he finishes speaking.

“Bigger too.”

Nanami raises his hand.

“Okay, okay,” Gojo laughs, lifting his hands in surrender. “I get it.”

“Good,” Nanami says. He walks through the open doors of the art building and takes a right, walking into the large classroom and shivering slightly as the air conditioning hits him faster than the realisation that Gojo would probably be shirtless today. He notes the professor setting up an assortment of boxes in the centre of a circle of chairs and a handful of other students in varying stages of preparing for class.

Gojo follows him to his seat near the window that spans across the entire wall, and he carefully deposits Nanami’s bag next to his chair.

“You better capture my natural beauty, yeah? Don’t be too hard on yourself if you can’t, though. Nothing compares to the real thing.”

“Get your head out of your ass,” Nanami replies. He sits down and shoos Gojo away. “I’ll draw you as shit as I like.”

“Looking forward to the results!”

Gojo leaves Nanami with two thumbs up and makes his way to the centre of the circle where Professor Yaga greets him. Nanami busies himself with setting up, eyes occasionally wandering back to Gojo who runs through test poses, sitting on a box and stretching his long limbs out. Other students are watching him already, some even attempting to pretend they’re doing warm up sketches.

The girl next to him—Miwa, if he remembers correctly—giggles and turns red as Gojo slides his hand up his torso, bringing the front of his shirt with it and exposing more toned muscle. “Gojo-san!” she calls out. “Can you start with that pose? I need to practice drawing folds of fabric.”

A ripple of light laughter cascades through the room, more students now taking their seats. Everyone knows that Miwa’s reason is a blatant lie, another student from the other side saying, “Might as well just take his shirt off, eh, Miwa?”

More giggles, and Miwa gives a guilty smile.

Nanami will freely admit it to anyone but Gojo. The man’s clearly attractive. But to openly crush on him and feed his ego should be something akin to a crime with how big Gojo’s head is already.

“Patience is a virtue.” Gojo coos, letting his shirt fall. He leans back on his hands and crosses his leg. His foot bounces.

“Alright, alright,” Yaga says over the slowly growing thrum of chatter in the room. He claps his hands for attention. “Good morning, class. As always, you are free to use your chosen medium, but today’s focus is lighting and tone. Implement chiaroscuro, experiment with negative space, use your erasers, hatching, rip your paper. Get experimental with it. You need two finalised pieces by the end of the day, and I’ll be circling around to give pointers. Now Gojo will be with us for the first quarter of today.” He turns to Gojo. “Just two minute poses for the warm up again. Please remember that you’re supposed to stay still.”

“Still as a statue.”

“Mei Mei will come in for the afternoon to be your model for our longer drawing sessions, and we’ll have an exercise before she comes in. A reminder that crit is tomorrow, so polish off the works from the past week and bring them in. We’ll begin with our first two minutes. Start.”

Yaga clicks the timer on his phone and a hush falls over the room. A quiet that consists of the scratch of pencils against paper, the crack of charcoal breaking, the occasional curse or a click of a tongue. Yaga’s footsteps echo slightly as he walks outside of the circle, so as to not block anyone’s view of Gojo who stands, one foot up on a box.

The angle Nanami has is one where the longest line of Gojo’s body spans from the back of his heel on the floor, to the slight arch of his back, to the nape of his neck. With one flick of his wrist, Nanami solidifies that line on his page and draws Gojo around it. The line of his shoulders, the angle of his leg, the curve of his thigh.

The two minutes are up and Gojo switches positions. A hand in his hair, face turned away from the window. Nanami begins again and turns Gojo’s body into workable shapes. It’s no question that Gojo is beautiful enough to have his face in the Louvre, but Nanami finds his thoughts wandering back to why Gojo would take up the offer of modelling. Even now, Nanami can see Gojo’s fingers moving slightly in his hair and the subtle reposition of his foot on the floor. It's like a hummingbird beating its wings 10 times in a second just to stay still mid-air. And why would a hummingbird be inclined to remain in one place when there is no offer of food?

Perhaps it’s to feed his ego. Thirty eyes trained on him, and him alone. Thirty hands creating Gojo’s likeness from nothing. He must have heard of the single minded devotion some artists have towards their subjects, and Nanami has seen an inkling of Gojo’s motivations, most of them being purely selfish. But he can’t blame the man. If Nanami looked like that, he would be selfish too.

Sighing, Nanami resists reaching for his eraser as he realises he drew the tilt of Gojo’s head wrong. The labour of art comes with the pressure of creating beauty, of visualising emotion, of expressing the self, or conveying a message. Nanami is glad for the comforting weight of it. Comparing the pursuit of creating art to the toll of earning his business degree, Nanami thinks he is more suited to using his hands for smudging graphite, rather than creating spreadsheets. The high ceiling of the studio gives him space to breathe.

He looks up when movement draws his eye. Gojo changes positions, and now he’s looking at Nanami, his eyes a glimpse of the sky he tried to find in 2am test cramming, memorising economic principles. With a small smirk, Gojo winks.

Nanami presses his lips together and flips Gojo off, earning the laugh he expected, and the immediate admonishment from Yaga.

“Gojo. What happened to ‘still as a statue’?”

“It’s Nanami’s fault,” Gojo whines, still while trying to settle his expression.

“Then don’t look at Nanami.”

Gojo huffs and casts his eyes to the far wall, and Nanami details in the line of his Adam’s apple, a faint contentment building within him. Maybe it's possible that life can consist of things other than sleepless nights, endless research, and five cups of coffee per day.

Second day, second week. Another afternoon of trying not to imagine himself between Gojo’s thighs. Nanami huffs and flips to a new page and scribbles a line across the top to loosen his hand and remind himself to draw rather than perfect.

His eyes return to his model: Gojo, completely naked and splayed out on a couch with his eyes, as always, on Nanami. Sometimes it’s unnerving, being locked in mutual observation.

The room is quiet from Nanami’s request for silence ten minutes ago, and a lack of other people, everyone having left when class ended. Yaga had allowed them to stay behind with Nanami’s promise that they would lock up, understanding Nanami’s frustration and drive to learn. And Gojo is staying because… well, maybe he’s just being a good friend.

“Maybe Yaga left in a hurry because he had a dick appointment.”

Clearly not a good enough friend to stay quiet.

“Like I said, you’re free to go if you’re bored. I have photos I can reference on my phone.”

“Better not go around sending those to people, hey?”

“I doubt anyone would want to see your nudes anyway.”

Gojo looks like he’s about to burst into a practised litany of reasons why the entire world would want to see him naked, so Nanami throws his eraser at him. It hits his knee and bounces onto the floor. “Be. Quiet. And stay still.”

And Gojo does. It’s always a mystery why Gojo acts the way he does sometimes, but Nanami is not one to question it, unwilling to fry more brain cells in his interactions with his personal needy tamagotchi. Taking another eraser from his pencil case, Nanami removes his representation of Gojo’s left arm which is slung across the back of the couch. It was too stiff, and didn’t hold the ease of which Gojo lays down.

Eyes flicking between Gojo and his sketch, attempting to realise what is needed in the curve of Gojo’s arm, Nanami moves to a clean area of his page, dissatisfied. He begins again, lightly drawing the base shapes of Gojo’s body. Circle, inverted triangle, ovals for his thighs that are splayed ridiculously wide.

Nanami bites the inside of his mouth and stands, grabbing his stool and moving closer. He settles down in a spot five feet away from the couch. It alters his perspective, but maybe that’s what he needs. He needs to shake off the distracting thoughts that ask him what would happen if he were underneath such a body. What would Gojo’s expression be? How would his hair frame his face? What would Gojo whisper as he leans down and gri—

“Ah, my rizz is working.”

“I don’t think I even want to know what that means,” Nanami mutters. He hopes it’s nothing that means Gojo knows what he’s thinking.

“You’re so old, Nanamin.”

“I’m younger than you.”

“Oh, my bad. I couldn’t tell with all the wrinkles on your face. I know I’m hot, but like you said, you have pictures and I’m practically at your whim. Ease up on the staring and relax,” Gojo says, drawing out the vowels in ‘relax’.

Nanami is not so full of himself to ignore when idiots accidentally say intelligent things so he does as he’s told.

Flexing his wrist, Nanami exhales and shifts the pencil between his fingers before putting graphite to paper. Gojo, head cocked, a line comes from the circle at an angle and forms his chin. Gojo, his shoulders rounded and sloped, easy, unburdened, confident, shoulders small arches connecting to his arms that almost match the span of the backrest, his long fingers almost dainty. Gojo, thighs open, thick and muscular, stretch marks running along the inside and directing Nanami’s gaze to his—

Uh.

“G–Gojo-san.”

“Hmm?” Gojo raises an eyebrow and the corner of his mouth. He doesn’t know.

“You’re…” Nanami raises his sketchbook to cover his face and the lower half of Gojo’s body. “…You’re hard.”

Despite how quiet Nanami is, Gojo hears it quickly and his body coils inwards, legs pulling in, hands covering his dick. His face flushes and he looks like he’s about to vault behind the couch.

“Sorry!” Gojo exclaims, voice pitched high. “I– I– shit, sorry. Just… Just… I’ll go to the bathroom. Give me ten and I’ll be back, yeah? Fuck.”

And Nanami is staring at the window, sketchbook now almost touching his cheek as it creates a wall between him and Gojo. He hears Gojo stand and continue swearing, and the rustling of fabric means he’s picked up his clothes.

“Wait,” Nanami says, voice choking. His eyes are still trying to count the specks of dust on the window, but his brain is preoccupied with evaluating the reason why Gojo’s body reacted. It can’t be so sensitive it reacted to the still air of the studio. So what if…?

“Yeah?”

“Stay.”

“...What?”

Speaking to the window and the audience of dust that watches them, Nanami swallows. “Let… Let me help you. If you want.”

Gojo coughs. “I don’t think I heard you right, can you say that again?”

Nanami turns to look at him carefully, his sketchbook still covering Gojo’s bottom half. He tries to swallow all his hesitancy and speak clearly. “You heard correctly.”

“Are you sure?” Gojo asks. His eyebrows are pinched and his face is still painted pink with embarrassment. He eyes Nanami as Nanami stands, placing the sketchbook down, and takes considered steps to stand in front of Gojo, keeping his eyes trained on his face.

With only Nanami’s clothing that stands between them, Nanami is confronted with how big Gojo is, yet again. He’s just shy of having to tilt his chin up to look at Gojo, those cautious blue eyes staring back at him. “Yes,” Nanami breathes. “If you would like me to.”

Gojo swallows and covers his mouth with a hand, casting his eyes heavenward for a moment. He nods.

He slowly sinks downwards, giving Gojo ample time to change his mind, and when there's no protest as his knees hit the polished concrete floor, Nanami lets himself drink in the sight of Gojo’s dick up close. It’s proportionate to his body, meaning it’s long and thick, and makes Nanami worry about the state of his jaw after what he’s about to do.

He lifts his hands and realises they’re shaking slightly, so he steadies them on the backs of Gojo’s calves, his fingers curling around hard muscle, and he has to exert more self control so he doesn’t shift his focus to Gojo’s toned legs instead.

Nanami leans closer and ducks his head slightly to drop a kiss on a vein, located along the underside, that draws his attention. It causes a small twitch and a hitch in Gojo’s shallow breathing.

“Don’t tease,” Gojo mumbles, hand still covering his face.

“I’m not,” Nanami replies. “I’m… preparing myself.” His breath ghosts over sensitive skin and he reaches up to Gojo’s elbow, tugging his hand away from his face to place it in his hair and encouraging him to hold the roots. Like this, he can see Gojo better. Maybe he should only ever draw Gojo from this angle, like the sole purpose of art is to worship, to adore, to memorise the colour of Gojo’s hair in this light.

Nanami wraps a hand around the base of Gojo’s length and hears a whispered, “You’re so hot.”

He flicks his eyes back up to Gojo and gently kisses the tip of his dick and watches it bob. “So are you,” Nanami replies, only realising a second after he speaks that he’s not talking to Gojo’s face.

He straightens and reminds himself of why he’s at Gojo’s feet. Opening his mouth, he begins to lave his tongue along Gojo, slowly wetting the entire length before he strokes with a loose hand. With it, he takes the first two inches into his mouth, getting reacquainted with the weight and the motions of pleasuring another. He takes note of what makes Gojo sigh or his hand tense and grip Nanami’s hair tighter.

It’s only when Nanami tightens his fist, twisting on an upstroke, causing Gojo to let out a choked moan, that he realises Gojo might be holding back.

Nanami furrows his brows and sees Gojo’s bottom lip captured in his teeth. He releases it only to ask, “Are you alright? Am I hurting you?”

“What?” Nanami asks, pulling off. “No. You can be rougher with me. You can fuck my mouth.”

“Shit—Shit, okay Nanami,” Gojo groans. He passes his hand over his mouth and takes a couple shaking steps back to the couch, falling back to sit down with his legs spread. He beckons Nanami over with a slight tilt of his head and two fingers.

Nanami, not seeing the need to stand, makes his way to Gojo on his knees. The movement rubs the fabric of his pants against his crotch with every step, and Nanami weakens with it, finding himself at Gojo’s feet, his hands quickly undoing his own pants.

“Ah, did I do that?” Gojo asks, voice teasing. He’s grinning, most of his embarrassment gone as he runs his tongue along his teeth. With his foot, he pushes Nanami’s hands away before he can push his pants down, and presses it against the thin fabric of his underwear, barely concealing Nanami’s straining dick.

Nanami gasps an airy ‘Gojo-san’ at the pressure and his hands fly to grip Gojo’s calf as he presses down, dragging his foot up and down Nanami’s trapped length. He can feel his own face contort from the pleasure and his nails dig into the thick muscle of Gojo’s leg. He tries to bear sensations he hasn’t felt from another in the longest time.

“Oi, oi, Nanami, I knew you could look it, but I didn’t know you could sound so… pretty,” Gojo muses. He leans down, applying more pressure on Nanami’s dick as he does so, and he tilts Nanami’s head higher with the guidance of a finger. “Can I kiss you?”

Suddenly Nanami’s eyes are open and he’s met with Gojo’s pupils blown wide. If he tries, he could probably see himself in that dark mirror, protected only by a thin moat. He swallows and forgoes answering, instead closing the gap between them and finally, finally, finding out what his lip gloss tastes like.

Strawberry melts on his tongue as he licks Gojo’s bottom lip. Sugar, and glitter, and Gojo, Gojo’s tongue in his mouth, Gojo’s hand on his collarbones. Nanami goes lightheaded with it. His hands move up to Gojo’s chest and pushes him back, seeking air and a better position. When Gojo falls back against the pillows of the sofa, Nanami sees his flushed face, lip gloss smeared across his cheek. Stumbling onto his feet, Nanami only gets back onto his knees as he sits on Gojo’s lap.

Like this, Nanami realises the reality of their situation. The two of them, already so debauched, in an empty university classroom, the large windows overlooking the soccer fields outside, Gojo’s hard dick between them, and Nanami’s own demanding to be freed.

“Nanami?” Gojo asks, raising a hand to hold Nanami’s cheek and direct his gaze back to him. How humorous, that the muse always demands attention in some way or another.

“Gojo-san,” Nanami answers. Attention now on the smear of gloss on Gojo’s cheek, he decides to throw all caution to the wind, a decision swayed heavily by his aching dick. He shoves his underwear down and surges forward to capture Gojo’s lips again, sighing as he grinds his dick against Gojo’s and finally feels the pleasure of skin against skin. Looping his arms around Gojo’s neck, he lets himself moan as he feels a large hand wrap around both of them and begin roughly stroking, smearing precome to ease the movement.

Distantly, he hears Gojo swear, and Gojo moves down to kiss along Nanami’s throat, his other hand supporting his back. Nanami bucks up into Gojo’s fist and feels teeth against his collarbones as his own desperate rutting feeds into Gojo’s pleasure.

“Keep doing that and I’m going to cum,” Nanami pants, gripping the roots of Gojo’s hair. “If— if you want me to fuck you or… ah.” Nanami curls into Gojo and feels his body tremble as he tries to stave off his own orgasm, his mind half gone with Gojo’s attention on him. “Or would you rather—shit—rather…”

“Whatever you want,” Gojo says. He rucks up Nanami’s shirt, then urges Nanami to discard it altogether, pushing his arms up as he slips the shirt off and drops it behind the couch. Torso now visible, Gojo’s now at Nanami’s chest, dipping his head lower to lave his tongue along pebbled nipples, sucking them into his mouth obnoxiously loudly. Lacking any coherent thoughts, the lewd sound only makes him want something inside. So he says—

“Fuck me. Please.”

Gojo stills and he looks up at Nanami with a smirk and a raised eyebrow. He knows he looks delicious from Nanami’s angle, and Nanami despises him for it.

“Oh? My Nanami can actually say please when asking me for something?”

In fear of something in him exploding at an inopportune time, Nanami ignores the possessive determiner and tries a scowl that appears to have no weight with how Gojo laughs, his eyes crinkling as he surges up to litter kisses on Nanami’s face— cutely, almost. If Nanami lets himself imagine it.

“Shut the fuck up,” Nanami mutters, weakly pushing Gojo away. “Don’t tease me. And… maybe we shouldn’t. We don’t even have lube or condoms.”

Gojo hums and leaves languid kisses along Nanami’s jaw, to his earlobe. He gives it a light bite. “I do, actually,” he says, distracted with eliciting small shivers from Nanami.

“Prepared for… ah… nothing except impromptu sex?”

“I signed up to model to fuck someone after each session, so yeah, I guess.”

There it is.

The hummingbird tires its wings for the promise of nectar. Of course it does, though. It’s only natural, isn’t it?

Nanami swallows down the realisation that he’s just a fuck, because of course he is, of course. He offered himself up to be devoured like this anyway, body tinted red, a canvas for Gojo’s hands, his teeth, his tongue. “Get them, then. We’re doing this quickly, or not at all.”

“Yes, Sir,” Gojo says, only ever amused by Nanami’s irritation. His hands are on Nanami’s waist and he lifts him effortlessly as he stands, depositing him on the couch before walking to bend over and grab his bag, giving Nanami a purposeful eyeful of his ass.

Here, Nanami drinks his fill, only a little ashamed when Gojo turns around and smirks, but still, he takes in his body, and the length that will fill him. It’s a size only slightly terrifying until Gojo cages Nanami in with his body and leans down to kiss him deeply, tongue invasive like he’s seeking marrow from the hollow of a bone.

Nanami lets hands settle back on his waist as they draw apart, a thin string of saliva connecting their swollen lips like a perverse string of fate. Gojo licks his lips and breaks it.

“How do you want it?” Gojo asks.

In response, Nanami takes a hold of Gojo’s bicep and pulls him down to sit beside him before standing. He shoves his pants and boxers down and kicks them away before straddling him, returning to their original position. “Like this.”

“Taking the reins?”

“No, you’re doing the work.”

Nanami takes a hold of Gojo’s wrist and plucks the condom from his fingers, dropping it to the side for the moment. He uncaps the lube and pours a generous amount into Gojo’s palm, trying not to get ahead of himself as he realises how long his fingers are, how big his hand.

Gojo hums and slicks up his fingers as Nanami deposits the bottle next to the condom and spreads his knees further. He steadies his hands on Gojo’s shoulders.

“You’re so hot,” Gojo says, sliding two fingers against Nanami’s rim, teasing, testing. His eyes flick to Nanami’s face.

“Get on with it.”

“Testy.”

But Gojo does as he’s told, and carefully inserts a finger in. His eyes remain searching for any sign of discomfort and finds none as he presses against Nanami’s walls and curls his finger. He adds a second when Nanami demands it.

“Shit,” Nanami mutters. His eyelids flutter and his head dips, watching Gojo’s perfect fingers slide into him and stretch him out, his glistening palm nudging against his balls. It’s been forever since anyone other than himself has touched him like this. It’s been never that it was Gojo. “A third. Faster.”

Gojo pouts. “Ask nicely.”

Nanami sighs and relents easily in fear of being caught and in the tremendous want for more. The window beside them still taunts, the door to the classroom still lays ajar. Nanami kisses Gojo and breathes please into his mouth.

And it is a new thing, learning how much of a pleaser Gojo is like this, giving Nanami another finger and making him feel more full than some of his toys at home. Nanami sighs again, with pleasure this time, and rocks on Gojo’s fingers, doing it again when Gojo stutters through his question of if Nanami is ready.

“Yes,” Nanami says, punctuating it with a kiss to Gojo’s slender neck and tightening his arms around it. He draws his hips closer and feels the loss of Gojo’s fingers and the anticipation of his dick.

Gojo grabs the condom and tears the wrapper, rolling it on smoothly before firmly grasping Nanami’s waist. “Relax, baby, alright?”

Nanami can only nod and he raises up on his knees slightly to help Gojo, letting him align his dick, before he lowers. He feels every devastating drag as Gojo breaches him. He exhales shakily and digs his nails into Gojo’s skin once he’s fully inside.

They stay like that for a moment. Gojo lets Nanami breathe and adjust to his size, his hands running up and down Nanami’s spine as he peppers kisses along his shoulder. To be honest, it makes Nanami want to laugh. How intimate they must look, to the dust on the windowsill, to the empty chairs, to the rustling leaves outside.

So he replaces one building, growing, wanting thing for another and grinds down harshly, biting down on Gojo’s shoulder to muffle a moan. He calls the feeling inside him desperation and wets the marks he left with his tongue in apology. “Fuck me,” Nanami says against the shell of Gojo’s ear, pleading.

“At your service,” Gojo coos in response. He shifts and spreads his thighs, hands gripping Nanami’s waist. He lifts Nanami easily and jerks his hips up to slam into him, knowing this isn’t the time, nor place, for slow and gentle.

It yanks a loud moan from Nanami’s mouth and he grabs at the roots of Gojo’s hair to ground himself. “Shit,” he gasps, curling around Gojo. “Shit. Again, please. Again.”

And Gojo repeats the movement with a breathless laugh, as if he scored a goal he didn’t expect to make. He licks a line up Nanami’s neck and nips at his jaw. “Begging already, Nanami? Didn’t strike you as the type.”

Gojo handles Nanami without any strain; it distracts him from responding, brain far too clouded with the thought that likens him to a toy. Is this how Gojo fucks? All teeth and aggression? Nanami doesn’t mind it at all, not when it makes him feel so good.

“You’re so pretty for me, Nanami,” Gojo grunts, keeping up the brutal pace. “You’re taking me so well.”

His hips smack the bottom of Nanami’s thighs with every thrust, and it makes Nanami vaguely wonder what areas of his body will be bruised by tomorrow. But the thought disappears quickly as he relishes the feeling of weighing nothing in Gojo’s large hands, and he tries to grind down to meet each thrust, if only to extend his own pleasure. He hears the echo of their sex in the room and he belatedly realises that half of the sound is from his own treacherous mouth. Was he always this noisy?

Whatever.

“Almost there,” Nanami all but slurs. He reaches down between their bodies, Gojo’s skin hot to the touch, and he wraps his hand around his forgotten dick. He tries to smear his precum down his length amidst their movement, but his hand jerks with the collision of their bodies. It takes a few dry drags of his fist to get it somewhat slick, though he pays it no mind as he feels his orgasm building.

“Same. You feel so good around me,” Gojo pants. His hips stutter, but he quickly rectifies the pace, hands holding Nanami deliciously tighter.

Nanami dips his head and glances between them. He sees the hint of bruises already showing up on his skin, and he moans, twisting his fist around the head of his dick as he nears the precipice of the cliff.

“So pretty,” Gojo says. “You’re so warm. So good for me, baby.”

Then he hits a spot inside Nanami that makes him see stars.

His whole body tenses and he grasps Gojo for purchase as he cums through his fingers. He bites down on the abused skin of Gojo’s shoulder and moans into it, only louder now as Gojo continues to fuck him through his orgasm. Distantly, he registers the shaky gasp of Nanami, and the sudden halt of thrusts as Gojo succumbs to his own pleasure.

Despite the hurried nature of the act itself, they pull apart slowly.

Nanami grimaces at the stickiness of his fingers as he releases his softening dick. The mess of his cum was mostly caught by his hand, but some splattered on Gojo’s torso, and he mutters an apology and tries to clean it up with the back of his hand.

“No need,” Gojo says, taking a hold of Nanami’s wrist. He draws it up close to his mouth and follows the lines of Nanami’s palm to lick it clean, tongue then moving up his index finger before sucking it into his mouth and swirling his tongue around. Enraptured by the sight, Nanami watches him do the same to his other fingers until the only thing on Nanami’s hand is Gojo’s saliva.

“Oh.”

“I wouldn’t mind tasting more of you,” Gojo hums. His cheeks are pink and his smile is telling that he knows exactly what he did to Nanami who’s left blinking at his wet hand.

“That… That… can be arranged,” Nanami replies. He lifts off Gojo’s dick with a groan and stands, in spite of the shakiness of his legs.

When Gojo takes off the condom and stands, Nanami thankfully finds the couch free of any stains. He wouldn’t know how to tell his parents he’s returning to business because he can’t obtain his art degree due to sexual impropriety. Finding no other evidence of their act, he relaxes and begins to pick up his discarded clothes to avoid the heat of Gojo’s gaze.

“Round two at my place? Or in my car?” Gojo asks after he clothes himself again, dipping into Nanami’s eye line with a smile.

Nanami glances at his forgotten sketchbook and considers the ache between his legs. He presses on the faint marks Gojo’s fingers have left and he nods. “Sure. Okay.”

He hopes this new development in their relationship will only leave him with bruises on his body. He has no time, or capacity, to experience any other pains.

He isn’t quite religious, but he hopes the gods will pity him.

#nsfw

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