Work Text:
A present for you, Yuuji-kun~
Under the text message is a video attachment, and a rather long one at that. It takes a while to load, and while Yuuji waits he’s restless, feet twitching under his comforter, the brightness of his screen burning his eyes in the otherwise complete darkness of his bedroom.
Receiving a vaguely ominous text message from his teacher a little after two in the morning is what most would consider a scenario more horrific than anything, but— Yuuji was awake, anyway. How could he sleep, knowing that Megumi’s in heat and there’s nothing he can do about it?
Nobara didn’t ask questions, as she was just happy that classes were cancelled, but upon seeing the confused, slightly heartbroken look on Yuuji’s face, Gojo had to explain.
“Megumi’s in heat right now.” He had dropped the information gently, placating, as if it would soften the blow to Yuuji’s psyche (it didn’t). “He won’t be able to come to school for a few days, and I have to stay home and take care of him, so it would just make more sense to cancel class until we’re both back up and running.” Yuuji hadn't fully considered the implications of what taking care of him would entail until now.
When the video finally loads, Yuuji is transported onto the scene; another dark room, but lit just enough by lamplight that Yuuji can see sweet Megumi, legs splayed on a mattress bare of anything but a fitted sheet. Megumi, too, is bare, and Yuuji’s mouth is bone-dry before the first second of the video has passed.
He looks unreal, like something out of Yuuji’s most selfish wet dreams, except that his expression is one of suffering, his body language tense and uneasy despite how alluring his pose.
“Megumiii,” Gojo croons, more gentle than Yuuji’s ever heard him, seemingly in a tone reserved just for Megumi. He’s crying, Yuuji realizes with a pain in his chest, glistening tears sliding down his cheeks, a fist coming up to rub at one eye.
“Megumi,” Gojo repeats, impossibly softer, “why are you crying?” Despite the boy’s obvious misery, he glares viciously at Gojo, and the cameraman laughs, in direct opposition with his sweet tone.
“You know why,” he responds, going for scathing but coming out thick with tears, making Yuuji’s heart clench.
“Yeah?” The camera moves closer, the mattress shifting, and Yuuji expects Megumi to lean back, away from Gojo’s touch like he usually does, but instead— he leans in, letting a large hand palm at the crown of his head, rubbing his hair softly between his fingers. “Why? You want something?”
He’s cruel in his sweetness, taunting, and Megumi scoffs, sniffling. “Want Yuuji,” he responds, and Yuuji lets out a slow, slow breath, hips shifting.
“Oh, poor thing,” Gojo says, letting the camera droop as he must be looking directly at Megumi. Jealousy wells up as Yuuji wishes he were the one looking into Megumi’s watery eyes, but the action inadvertently gives him a better look down the front of Megumi’s body, where his abs clench in discomfort, where the inside of thighs glisten in the low light, captivating. “What do you want Yuuji to do?”
Megumi mumbles, the sound already mostly unintelligible, even aside from the fact that Gojo’s camerawork is lacking, not showing his mouth. Yuuji supposes he can’t blame him, considering that he would also be unable to focus on filming if a heat-ridden Megumi were right in front of him, but– Gojo chose to record this. Why?
“Speak up,” Gojo commands, tender but also effortlessly commanding. Every second that passes sees Yuuji’s envy getting stronger, rising bigger and uglier inside of him, and he knows that despite this video being willingly sent to him, phrased like a ‘present,’ it’s mocking. This is an alpha with an omega (with the omega, with Megumi) at his disposal, and he’s dangling the harsh truth in Yuuji’s face.
“Knot me,” Megumi repeats, marginally louder, cheeks flushing violently. He squirms, as if saying the words are too much for him to bear in this state, rubbing his thighs together– Yuuji subconsciously mirrors the movement, unable to lay still with how painful his erection has become. It brushes up against his boxers, the head of his dick already damp. “Want him to knot me.”
There’s more laughter in Gojo’s response, low and easy. “And how is he going to do that?”
Yuuji feels like his emotions are banging harshly back and forth on either side of his ribcage like a pinball machine; one moment he’s listening to Megumi express desire for him and he feels like he’s floating, like he could come untouched, and the next he’s crashing, his skin heating with embarrassment, heart sinking at the humiliation of being unable to give Megumi what he wants– or, rather, what he needs. What Gojo can give him. It’s nearly unbearable, but to stop watching would be even more so.
Megumi doesn’t respond to the goading this time, turning his head to the side in petulance. His jaw is tight, his skin pink, and he continues to squirm, like despite how upset Gojo is making him, he’s still worked up. Gojo seems to notice this, too, and a long, pale arm reaches out from behind the camera, coming to rest on Megumi’s leg.
Immediately the omega is leaning into the touch like he can’t help it, his legs spreading. Yuuji can see the firm grasp Gojo has on Megumi’s skin, this thumb digging into the flesh of Megumi’s inner thigh; the plush skin protruding around it is riveting, and warmth circles deep in Yuuji’s gut.
“Poor Megumi,” Gojo laments, and Megumi sighs, his body opening up more and more at the alpha’s touch, the soothing lilt of his voice. His hips shift forward, brushing himself against the mattress and leaving behind visible wetness on the sheet, the sight almost as distracting as that of Megumi’s face, the way his eyes go soft and twitchy with the pleasure he gets from it. Yuuji reaches down and grabs himself, feeling so out of control, out of body, consumed by the small screen.
“Wanna show Yuuji how much you want him?” Gojo’s voice rings out again, once again disturbing Yuuji’s deluded fantasies of becoming one with the video in front of him. His hand— expansive, veiny, stern— slides up, the faint indention left behind proof of how tightly he was gripping Megumi’s skin; long fingers reach to brush the place between Megumi’s legs, and the camera moves closer with him. Finally that place is revealed, portrayed clearly to the camera, and Yuuji’s next exhale is punched out, his throat scathing, the breath burning.
Megumi whimpers at Gojo’s touch, his hips canting forward towards that hand, his desire made manifest in every molecule of his body. Almost more painful to endure are the wet sounds that begin emitting from Gojo’s hand on him, the movement still a little too far from the camera to be precise. Closer, Yuuji thinks, get closer so I can see, then another wave of shame crests over him, leaving him tingling all over.
Megumi’s lower body keeps shifting back and forth, wiggling almost cutely at the pleasure, betraying his heightened sensitivity. All Yuuji can see of Gojo is the arm that’s reached in between Megumi’s legs, and it’s visibly relaxed, casual in direct opposition to Megumi’s responsiveness. Yuuji wonders what it must feel like to have such overwhelming confidence in the presence of someone like Megumi, to look an angel in the face and still feel in control, authoritative, calm in the knowledge that he can give Megumi what he needs.
It must be an alpha trait, Yuuji thinks— an instinctive rightness that one feels when performing their primal duty. At the same time, though, alphas are significantly more sensitive to a heating omega than Yuuji would be, at least in terms of things like scent, right?
If it were Yuuji with Megumi now— now, as if this video is currently happening, as if Yuuji’s a real-time omniscient observer and not simply a patron of Gojo’s home movie— would he be able to handle it— handle Megumi? Would he do a better job soothing the omega’s whimpers of pain, lean in to whisper condolences in Megumi’s ear without being overcome with the desire to bite him the way an alpha would?
Amidst the rhythmic wet sounds of Gojo fucking his fingers in and out of Megumi, pawing patiently at his clit as he does so, the omega makes a noise of pleasure-displeasure, a moan almost resembling a hmph. Gojo’s got three fingers inside and, at the omega’s protest, laughs lowly and adds a fourth. Yuuji is nothing short of amazed, but it’s not enough; Megumi is nearly laying flat now, and keeps pushing his hips back against Gojo’s hand in a filthy emulation of riding it. The realization hits Yuuji that he’s been fucking his fist through the layers of his clothing, the fabric of his sweatpants stretched taught around the imposing figure of his dick. He groans, pausing the video for a second to breathe. He’s never been this turned on in his whole life.
Not that he’s never done this thinking of Megumi before— far from it.
His admiration for Megumi was short-lived in purity, that era ending abruptly after— he doesn’t quite remember, honestly; maybe waking from a dream that Megumi was sucking him off, coming into consciousness with the phantom memory of brushing Megumi’s hair from his forehead while shoving his dick into the mattress. Or maybe on that day that they got caught in the rain coming back from an off-campus lunch, Yuuji laughing over Nobara’s squealing only to look over and go still at the sight of Megumi twisting the hem of his drenched t-shirt, the ridges of his body beneath it fazing through, water droplets running down the slope of his jaw and neck as he scowled.
Once it began, thinking of anything or anyone besides Megumi would be a wasted effort, and Yuuji is a, ahem, healthy young man. Every little thing Megumi did after this shift in Yuuji’s brain became monumental for his imagination, a spiritual experience. The fact that he’s an omega was just that: a fact, an objective truth, and not one that Yuuji felt strongly about one way or the other as a beta.
It’s almost silly, the way he never thought twice of Gojo being an alpha, of Gojo living with Megumi, of what happens during one of their heat or rut cycles. Quickly, the thought of Gojo in rut (and more precisely, the thought of Megumi being anywhere near him during it) causes anger to swell violently in him, and he shakes his head to dispel the thought for his own sanity, tapping his screen with a thumb to resume the video.
While not particularly noisy, the video seems to fill his room with sound: the sound of Megumi’s pussy, Gojo’s steady breathing, the white noise of the background, like maybe the fan is on. Yuuji admires the twisting of Megumi’s abdomen, wishing to wrap his hands possessively around his stomach and pull him close. Almost as if responding to his thoughts, Gojo pulls his fingers out, gripping beneath Megumi’s knee to drag him toward the camera (toward himself, but from Yuuji’s perspective it feels like Megumi is coming closer to him), angling it downward to capture the way their hips are now flush.
Gojo’s erection is– impressive, to say the least, even hidden by the dark pants he wears; it twitches visibly against Megumi, clothed against the omega’s bare pussy, and Yuuji’s twitches as if in resonance.
The camera pans again to showcase Megumi in his entirety, and he’s gazing up like whoever is above him holds the power of life and death over him, holds everything he could ever want– but he’s not looking into the camera, of course, but just past it, to Gojo.
“Please,” he whispers, barely picked up by the speakers, but Yuuji has to reach beneath his waistband anyway, gripping himself in a tight fist, helpless.
“Please what?” Gojo’s response, while still gentle, is audibly teasing, and Megumi’s eyes go glassy, tears threatening to spill over again. The sight is so heart-wrenching that Yuuji almost expects some of his arousal to subside, but instead he gives himself one long, slow stroke, breathing heavily through the motion as Gojo reaches up with his free hand, cupping the side of Megumi’s feverish, tear-streaked face.
“Want it,” his voice is broken, a sob breaking through the words, and Yuuji lets himself close his eyes for a beat, unable to manage everything he’s feeling.
“I know,” Gojo soothes, softer than ever, and the camera falls again, drifting down to blank sheets, only part of Megumi’s arm visible. It’s clear what they’re doing, and Yuuji– is so ashamed, this is so pointless, but he can’t stop.
A few moments go by before Gojo remembers his task, and suddenly Megumi is in frame again. There’s rustling that’s soon revealed to be Gojo undoing his pants, pulling himself out, and Megumi starts squirming again, impatient, eyes far off. Does Megumi even know what’s happening right now? Will he remember the way he begged for Yuuji, for a knot that Yuuji doesn’t even have? Does any of it mean anything?
“Yuuji,” Megumi calls, then, head lolling to the side, and Yuuji grips the base of his dick to keep from coming.
“Yeah?” Gojo’s voice is more strained now, and his camera work struggles to keep up with his actions; he must be standing over the bed, having dragged Megumi to the edge so that he can fuck the omega that way. Megumi’s legs are spread for him, captivating. “He’s gonna make it better? Fill you up with his knot?”
Megumi brings a hand up to his face, loosely mouthing at his own fingers, and nods absentmindedly. He seems even more out of it than before, and fuck, it’s so hot somehow, like he needs it so bad he can’t think– like he genuinely thinks it’s Yuuji that’s about to fuck him.
There’s a pause, silence as Gojo pans down, makes sure the camera is steady on his dick sinking into Megumi’s pussy, and fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Fuck,” Gojo echoes his thoughts, breathy, his easy front starting to deteriorate. Yuuji’s fucking into his fist steadily now, the repetitive slap of it the only sound accompanying the audio from his phone. His dick is dripping, and he watches Megumi’s eyes roll back into his head, arching his back like he feels so good his body can’t contain it.
“Good– ‘s good, Megumi, so good,” Gojo praises, low and genuine, almost like he’s forgotten that his words are supposed to be performative; he fucks hard, as hard as Yuuji wants to, even though he’d like to think that he’d be gentle for his first time with Megumi, but– fuck, Megumi loves it.
Megumi’s hiccuped breaths are only occasionally broken by soft moans, and Yuuji listens, desperately waiting to hear his name again. He’ll probably come if he does, and he just hopes that it’s Megumi who says it and not Gojo.
“Good omega,” Gojo says, and suddenly Megumi is writhing, and Yuuji’s mouth opens, panting, almost drooling, as he watches Megumi come apart, slick gushing from his pussy to the point that it splatters against the camera lens. He can only imagine that it got on Gojo as well– and if omega slick is as craze-inducing as Yuuji’s heard, he doesn’t know how the alpha is still upright.
“Shit, fuck,” he mutters, out loud, breaking some kind of fourth wall between himself and himself, but he can’t help it; Megumi is gorgeous, an ethereal being, completely fallen apart, and Gojo is still fucking him just as hard– if not harder.
“I’ll take care of it, okay?” He’s convinced now that anything Gojo says is no longer for his benefit, but that the alpha is lost in it, holding his phone out of habit or something. The voice he speaks to Megumi with is searing with gentleness, a private conversation between alpha and omega, something Yuuji shouldn’t be an audience to. “I’ll– mm, I’ll give you what you need. Only I can, right?”
Megumi nods deliriously, bringing one of his hands back to his lips and teething at his fingertips. The action is thoroughly distracting to Yuuji (although, to be fair, every part of Megumi is distracting to him in this moment, his eyes darting all over the screen, desperate for more detail in the pixels); he wonders if omegas have the same instinctual urge to bite that he always hears about from alphas, if Megumi’s teeth ache with it. It almost appears innocent, childlike, a stark difference from how hot and open his pussy is for Gojo.
Suddenly the repetitive movement of his body from being fucked halts, and a pale, veiny hand impatiently maneuvers him, malleable and unhelpful, onto his stomach. He whines, but it turns into a long, satisfied moan as Gojo resumes.
The alpha’s hand is gripping Megumi’s slender hip, visibly taut, and it relaxes, slides up the pane of Megumi’s back, his spine, until it reaches the back of his neck. (Maybe it’s the angle of the video, but holy shit, his arms are so long.) He places a possessive palm over the area, almost like he’s scruffing him, and Megumi writhes in pleasure, hips wiggling for the camera. Yuuji’s pace on himself stutters.
Gojo huffs a laugh at the display, before moving that hand to grip the back of Megumi’s hair, yanking his head back harshly. The omega cries out, and Yuuji feels his orgasm fly up to the surface, his own overwhelmed pleasure threatening to overflow, his breaths coming quick.
“God, Megumi,” Gojo says like a curse, releasing his grip, and Yuuji’s view suffers once more as the phone droops again. Well, maybe suffer isn’t the right word— lowering to face downward, Yuuji has a better view of Megumi’s ass, as well as the unrelenting pressure Gojo’s applying with his hips, leaving behind red marks from the impact of his thrusts. Yuuji groans behind his teeth in frustration, his pace on himself just as mean, teetering on the edge and needing to see more of Megumi to get there.
“Want it that bad, huh?” is barely heard— he thinks he says it, or maybe him— and Gojo’s rhythm starts to falter. Yuuji can see the slick dripping down Megumi’s backside, soaking Gojo’s pelvis, the bed beneath them; suddenly Gojo’s fingers are there, toying at Megumi’s hole around his own dick, one sliding in alongside it, causing it to flutter and the omega to cry, and— Yuuji grinds out a curse, painful up his throat, as he spills all over his hand.
Another cold dose of reality— he comes before Gojo does, Megumi’s faint whimpers continuing in the background of his orgasm. (He tries to keep his eyes open, but he’s torn between the desire to look at Megumi getting fucked and the desire to imagine himself fucking Megumi, his hand on Megumi’s nape, and his imagination wins out.) By the time he’s finished, blinking back at his phone screen, the camera has lifted.
Megumi is looking over his shoulder, eyes teary and imploring as they’re gazing just above the camera, pink lips hanging open just barely. Yuuji knows what he’s asking for with that look, and even without the signal of the video going still, Yuuji can tell when he’s given it; his eyes flutter, head dropping, once again exposing his nape.
Gojo is silent as he comes, knots inside of Megumi, binding them together. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Yuuji wonders if Megumi still deliriously believes that it’s Yuuji, or wants it to be.
That hand reaches out again, its touch on Megumi’s hair soft this time, ruffling it; it’s too similar to the way Gojo touches him in public, at school, that it’s jarring. In his post-nut clarity, confused shame starts to build in Yuuji at the reality of what he just watched.
“Yeah?” Gojo asks, impossibly soft again, his Megumi-specific tone. “Better now?” Megumi nods, body slumping with relief.
“But what about Yuuji?” He asks then, and Megumi tenses, looking over his shoulder once more to give Gojo a dirty look, more himself than he’s been the whole time. The alpha laughs from behind the camera, and Yuuji tosses his phone away, wincing when it tumbles down the foot of his bed frame to the floor.