the warmth of suguru's frame beneath him is not unfamiliar. he feels that he's been here many times before, tucked away in some nondescript hotel room for the night with the lights turned down low and the body of his former friend keeping him steady. a pleasant ache has eased thru satoru's limbs, body sore, sweaty - and he could definitely use a shower after all of that... but as always, it was hard pressed to peel the sorcerer away from the one beneath him, his tactile being far too sweetened with the afterglow to allow suguru to leave him... again. usually they part - sometimes quickly, sometimes hours later when satoru has eased out of the comfort of his space and the the bleak reality of a world without suguru.
hands curl, long fingers flexing into the other's chest - as satoru looks upwards, paying no mind when snow white hair dips in front of glowing blue eyes. on the battlefield - gojo satoru is god incarnate, a being with the beck and call of the void at his fingertips, able to see all. he is untouchable, nigh on feral, and curses merely tremble in his wake. but like this... like this he is pliant, serene, and his limpid gaze is so terribly sad - so filled with want as he presses closer, closer, closer, ensuring geto's dark gaze is pierced beneath his own.
something boils in his chest, something he knows he shouldn't say, knows he shouldn't even think... but the world is different with suguru, everything narrowed down to this tiny hotel room and their kiss stained flesh, shattered upon the altars of antithetical ideals and satoru being unable to follow. so he speaks... softly, whisper quiet, almost imperceptible in sound level: " come back. " he croaks, voice just a touch hoarse, lacking in it's usual pomp, " come back, suguru. " it comes again, a little louder this time, " and we can... we can... " bright blue cast in shadow, as his eyes drift shut. " it never had to be this way. "
Once, their lives had been inextricably connected, those idyllic days belonged to times foregone. It was unfeasible that there could be a time where Satoru Gojo was banished from his mind, a formidable opponent within his warring heart. Even if he defected, turning his back on those antiquated ideals & the abhorrent fossils who governed them, he would never be free of Satoru’s apparition. It did not matter if they were enemies, standing on antithetical paths rather than friends, his dark, forlorn gaze would seek him out in moments of quiet & still feel the ache of his absence when he was met with silence. To have him in this carnal way, satiating the festering hollow within him with starved kisses & ravening teeth, had become curative. Suguru couldn’t allow the chance for that deprivation to impede him, even as he drew back on his clothing & allowed his gaze to follow the path he’d taken in departure, he understood this. It was never a possibility for him to efface the other from his life, he understood that too.
Long, lithe fingers curl against his chest, the pressure enough to hold him present. Satoru’s gaze was distant & limpid, purling, fierce blue. Earning his gaze was a portent of harrowing defeat, he was a god-like incarnation, the world ebbing & flowing around the places his fingers commanded. In this nondescript hotel room, with its off-white sheets & its low hanging light fixtures, he was delineated with an intense sorrow. It was compelling enough to slither around his ribs, settle in the apertures around his heart & tighten. His next breath was tremulous, akin to a long-held sigh. “ Satoru.” it’s a heady voice that calls his name, once breathless & impregnated with lust, now it evinces the exhaustion that had festered within him for all of those years. Even with that conviction & his antipathy to jujutsu society, how could he ignore the way his confident lilt waned into a sound not unlike a plea. It was as if the revered Suguru Geto was admonishing him. “ You as well as I know the reasons why that cannot be.”
His hand reaches out, rests the back of it against the pallor of his cheek, he doesn’t balk before him. “ How would things change for us if I returned ?” it’s spoken softly, as if he were appeasing his wounded heart. “ From a place amongst their ranks all we can do is as they say & die a death they approve of.” A sentiment of remorse curves at the corners of his mouth, he has never regretted his decision of leaving, only that it was Satoru who was left behind. “ Would it not be selfish if I asked you the same thing ?” a half-mast gaze cast upon him, dark eyes immuring. “ What would you do Satoru ? If I asked you to leave.”
