Chapter Text
Irresistible Force
A drabble
By nomadiccentrifuge
—
The August heat felt eternal.
Nanami threw the thin sheet back, shivering when his sweat slicked skin mingled with the warm air of the apartment. The ceiling fan coaxed the air into a gentle swirl, keeping from stagnancy, but no more than that. Electricity was expensive, and if he could cut back by keeping the air conditioning off and the fan operating at the bare minimum, then Nanami would remain content. He pulled on his underwear which had been discarded on the floor, and then slowly made his way into the kitchen.
He opened the fridge door and revelled in the cool gust that hit his bare chest. He lazily scanned its contents, stalling so he could steal an extra moment in the cool refuge.
Margarine - cholesterol reduced.
An old salad kit that had definitely expired.
Half a dozen eggs.
And an opened pack of bottled water.
He reached in and took out two bottles, nudging the door firmly shut with the back of his hand, and returned to the bedroom. He climbed back on top of the bed and sat with his back pressed against the headboard.
It felt cooler. He eyed the covered figure beside him, the turned back facing him, then looked up at the ceiling fan, which had miraculously gained momentum in his forty-two second absence. His eyebrow twitched with annoyance. Fucking sorcerers.
No. This fucking sorcerer.
He steeled his righteousness indignation and pressed the second cold bottle against Gojo Satoru’s slightly glistening back.
“How is it that I’m the one warming your bed, and not some nice young lady, hm?”
Nanami hummed. “It is a waste of my chivalry.”
“Che… So mean.” A hand snatched the bottle from his grip, but Nanami paid the rudeness no heed, answering by unscrewing the lid of his own and taking a few generous chugs of the chilled water. He sighed softly and turned his head, gazing across to the window across the room, watching dim lights dance idly along the pane as he felt the body next to him finally roll over and join him on top of the sheets.
Nanami wasn’t one for irrelevant small talk, and hardly ever instigated unless out of necessity. He sat still and silent. He would never ask Satoru to leave, never ask him why he kept showing up at his apartment every other week. They were fruitless questions anyway, when the answers were plainly obvious.
He had lost count of how many times they had lain like this, in the atrophy of their temporary desires. They would stay like this for a while, and never discuss their earlier indiscretions, then Satoru would either leave or curl up on his side to sleep. Nanami was fine with either, however when Satoru did impose on staying over, he couldn’t help but feel some small welling of flattery bloom warmly in his chest. A ridiculous, pathetic feeling, as if he was honoured to have Gojo Satoru use his bed.
“You know, if you put some work into this place, you could make this a bachelor pad and invite a woman over.” Satoru sipped at his water and pointed to his plain looking two seater couch in the corner. “Maybe a throw there and a couple of fuzzy cushions?”
Nanami groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. Satoru infrequently made suggestions such as those, unprompted and unwelcome. They were irksome and counter-intuitive. Especially when not a half hour ago he’d had his cock buried in Satoru’s ass. The memory suddenly spurred a slight ache in his lower abdomen, and he felt his cheeks warm at the thought. “Why don’t you worry about the decor of your own house? This is more than sufficient.” He deigned to look over at Satoru who was smirking playfully. The man was never serious, but there was something infuriating about this repeated jabbing that Nanami found difficult to ignore. “Instead of encouraging me to find a woman, why don’t you do that yourself?”
Satoru pouted childishly and put the empty water bottle on the nightstand. “Women are troublesome… They’re just so sensitive, Nanami.” As he rolled over, Nanami spotted the bite mark he had inflicted on him earlier, just at the base of his neck, where the skin met his shoulder.
It was sloppy, rough and desperate. All of their meetings were the same, some more depraved than others. He was reminded of the very first time, when Satoru had turned up at his door unannounced late one afternoon, a year after he had left Jujutsu High and started his corporate job. He’d still been dressed in his work attire after just returning home for the night, when Satoru sauntered inside his apartment without asking his permission.
They had spoken about Geto Suguru and what had transpired then. Satoru had reminisced and told him repeatedly how being a salaryman didn’t match up with Nanami’s talents as a Jujutsu Sorcerer, and Nanami had responded saying that he simply had to try it anyway. He wasn’t interested in dying young, which so many Jujutsu sorcerers were so in wont to do.
He’d lingered, for a while after that. Until finally their list of revisited topics were well and truly worn out, and Satoru was forced to reveal his true intentions for his arrival. He removed his mask with a deliberate slowness, revealing those eyes to him, as he strode up and slipped the suit jacket from Nanami’s shoulders.
Nanami had bristled then, stiffened by this abruptness of intimacy. Satoru’s presumptuousness had truly beggared no bounds. He then sat on top of the other man’s lap and nipped at his ear.
“Ne ne, Nanami. Would you fuck me?”
Gojo Satoru had forced his way into his home and had his way with him. The gall he had, as he writhed beneath him, cat-like and ever so fucking responsive. Nanami had never fucked someone that had shown such a look of pleasure while he pinned them down. Not one woman measured up and made him push him over the edge with simply meeting his eyes. Those damn eyes.
Nanami loved women. He loved how delicate they were, how beautiful and endearing. He loved their softness, where he was sharp and angular, they were curved and malleable. Inherently unselfish and natural givers of generosity, nurturing and loving. Just like his mother who had planted a fruit tree for each of the children she had carried and lost.
His feelings for women were warm and gentle, like the kisses he would place on his mother’s forehead before he left for school every day, or the names he had given all of the plants he’d populated his apartment with. Yuzuru, Emiko, Hana, Aya and Chiyo.
On the contrary, Nanami’s love for men was dark, unforgiving, and rough. His opponents in battle he gave no quarter, no essence of mercy, unless they were curses needing exorcising. The relationships with the men he’d worked with in corporate had been unfeeling, unsentimental attachments that were simply serving a purpose, which all rested on financial gain. Dog eat dog, survival of the fittest.
Sex with Gojo Satoru was no different in many respects. Aggressive and unsentimental at most. Merely sating an animalistic need. Darkened rooms with Satoru bent over, or riding on top of him, moaning sweet murder while he plowed his ass with no restriction. He had him how he wanted, feelings of comfort or harm lost on the both of them while they pushed against one another, like ocean waves crashing against rock. And Satoru took it, willingly, wantonly. His desire for Nanami was shameless, and Nanami had accepted in fulfilling that hunger.
Nights when he used Satoru for his whims, kneeling in front of him, hands tied behind his back with his own blindfold as Nanami fed him his length, sweat trickling from his temples as Satoru groaned, lips spread obscenely wide. He could never deny him, never stop wanting.
An immovable object meeting an unstoppable force. An irrevocable meeting, one which Nanami could not extricate himself from. He was addicted, perhaps even obsessed with their incompatibility. An incompatibility that was never meant to be.
Nanami put the empty bottle on the floor next to the bed and rolled over the other, crouching above him. The dull ache in his nether regions had begged to be satiated again, and he held no qualms with asking for more.
Below him Satoru’s eyes flashed with immediate understanding. He reached up lazily and tangled his fingers in those silky blonde tresses, pulling him down towards his face forcefully, closely so that Satoru licked Nanami’s waiting lips.
“Ma, have you not eaten enough today?”
A grunt was all he he could conjure before grabbing the other man by the throat. Hard enough to manipulate, but not enough to bruise. He tried to not leave marks where they could be easily seen. He needn’t have guessed that Satoru intended to keep their activities a secret from those around them.
His other hand snaked down and slid underneath Satoru’s thigh, sneaking behind until a digit slipped into his still wet hole. Stretched and ready for another fucking. Coming inside of him earlier had worked in his favour, no matter how irresponsible it had likely been. Recently they had forgone the use of condoms, and had stumbled quickly from the door to Nanami’s bed.
Satoru moaned deeply into his ear as he fingered him gently, both his hands reaching up and back to grip the top of the headboard above him. He arched his back as far as he could as Nanami’s stroked at his prostate, and keened sweetly, toes curling in the sheets as his cock rose back to life, a few pearls of precum smearing across Nanami’s lower abs.
Nanami pulled his fingers away and swiftly replaced it with his throbbing dick, spearing the other man without a moment’s refuge, and Satoru’s voice broke over the sound it made, gasping and grabbing onto Nanami’s broad shoulders, his nails piercing into the hard skin there.
He wrenched his body downwards, his hands planted firmly on each of Satoru’s ass cheeks as he pulled him down from the headboard until his was flat beneath him, his legs crooked over his shoulders.
He fucked Satoru into his mattress, his expression messy as he drooled over the sensations Nanami was pounding into him, his tongue lolling as he could scarcely hold onto his arousal. He came not long after, spurting thin, watery cum across his own chest, and it took all of Nanami’s control not to join him. He held those delicate wrists in one hand, pushing them hard against the sheets as he continued his steady assault, watching those blue eyes, teary and dazed. An odd thought occurred to him then, as he took Gojo Satoru for the third time that night.
Nanami had Geto Suguru to thank for this degenerate relationship.
He couldn’t help the thoughts that followed after that initial one. How had he fucked Satoru? Did he know how best Satoru liked to be taken? Did he know where he was most sensitive? And how many times had they…? The images swirled unprovoked in his mind.
Nanami couldn’t help the vision of Geto Suguru, holding Satoru’s arms back as he took him from behind.
He fucked him harder.
Satoru moaned loudly, his cries desperate as Nanami’s thrusts became more demanding, more brutal. His nails ripped flesh down his back as he held onto him, unable to do much else. The overstimulation was powerful and threw his head into a frenzy.
Nanami groaned, the pain dotting his eyes with moisture. His hips slammed into Satoru a handful of times before finally he crested, orgasming inside of the other man again and filling him with his seed. This time, Nanami bit him on the upper side of his neck, just an inch or so below the lobe of his ear, in a place that even his upturned collar would not be able to hide. He let his teeth sink in further at the thought. The thought of the questions he would incur at this mark, the staring. It thrilled him. A thrill he had not experienced before. The taste of blood was sobering, and he pulled away, relinquishing his punishing hold of the other man’s skin.
Satoru whimpered softly, and he brought his hand up to his neck and dabbed at it, staring wide eyed at the other man as his fingers drew back, mottled with his red blood.
Ah, fuck.
He drew back, putting a little space between them as Satoru lay still, his chest rising and falling heavily as he came down from his own high. Pink blossomed across Satoru’s pale cheeks, and he pressed those reddened fingers against his lips, licking the blood from them.
“Feeling possessive all of a sudden, Na-na-mi?”
Fuck.