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xokiddo · 1 year

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—Fandom: Jujutsu Kaisen —Pairing: Itadori Yuuji/Megumi Fushiguro

—Summary:

Megumi blurts out, “I like this.” Itadori blinks, processing what Megumi just said. He takes in Megumi’s red ears and how he’s chewing his lower lip, and then that smile returns full force. The affection in Megumi’s chest roars into a full fire, threatening to consume him. He’d let it, if it’s for Itadori.

—Word Count: 7.2k —Content Warnings: spoilers through chapter 212!, mutual pining, angst and feels and smut (specifically handjobs and a blowjob), manga spoilers are within ye be warned

Read on AO3, or below the cut.

Isshiki Beach September 1, 2018

Megumi first notices a change when they’re at the beach.

He already realized that something began to change in regards to Itadori three months ago, just before Sukuna ripped out Itadori’s beating heart and tore him away from Megumi all in the same moment. He can’t downplay how his feelings were suddenly at the forefront of his mind to sift through as he grieved. Everything began to shift into something fonder and too difficult to put into words, but they became infinitely more complex the instant Itadori jumped out of that stupid metal crate.

Megumi is not in denial.

He just hasn’t quite sorted himself out.

That being said—when he looks over his shoulder, watching Itadori recording him and Kugisaki from a distance, he wishes he could quell his erratic heartbeat and keep his stomach from somersaulting.

If he were in denial, perhaps it would be easier to meet Itadori’s gaze over the phone without feeling heat creep up the back of his neck.

“What are you doing?” Megumi waves a hand at Itadori, beckoning him over. “Stop being a wallflower.”

Itadori seems surprised, lowering his gaze to his phone. His expression softens before he breaks into that familiar blinding smile that makes Megumi’s chest uncomfortably tight.

Kugisaki sharply elbows Megumi in the side. “Stop being so oblivious, idiot.”

Megumi doesn’t get to respond; Itadori is walking up to them, barefoot as he steps on the soft sand. He glances between Kugisaki and Megumi, warmth filling his eyes, and he playfully nudges Megumi’s arm with his own.

“Funny for you to be the one to call me a wallflower,” Itadori grins widely.

Megumi’s mouth is dry; he blames the sea breeze. “Shut up.”

Itadori just laughs, allowing himself to be pulled closer to the water with Kugisaki. They both flinch as the water washes over their feet; Kugisaki shrieks but doesn’t move away, only dancing from foot to foot as if it will help the ocean feel less frigid.

Megumi watches them overreact and laugh, his belly full of butterflies and his ears burning despite the chilly air. He shoves his hands deeper in the pockets of his jacket, wondering if it’ll be too obvious if he takes out his phone and photographs his friends.

Itadori’s cheeks are pink, likely from the cold, but Megumi wants to etch the sight into his memory permanently.

“Tuna,” Inumaki says from beside Megumi, shoving him and making him stumble. “Nori.”

Megumi throws a weak glare at Inumaki, but the rare image of Inumaki smiling without hiding behind his collar is enough for Megumi to concede.

“Fushiguro!” Itadori is suddenly beside Megumi and grabs the sleeve of his jacket and tugs, bringing him onto the wet sand as well.

Megumi’s breath comes in sharply at the absolutely freezing temperature of the water, stumbling in shock.

“Fuck—“

“It’s not that bad!” Itadori protests, to which Megumi looks at him with a scandalized expression and red cheeks. Kugisaki throws back her head and cackles.

Itadori is ultimately right—it’s not that cold—but Megumi’s chest fills with warmth when Itadori looks at him so fondly, like they could be here alone even though they’re surrounded by their friends. The sensation swells and threatens to break through his sternum as Itadori grabs his arm again, fingers wrapping around his bicep; even through the jacket, Itadori’s grip is firm.

“Come on, I found some cool seashells over here.”

Kugisaki waggles her eyebrows at Megumi when they pass by her, to which he glances at Maki before looking pointedly back at Kugisaki. She sticks out her tongue, waving him off dismissively even though her face fills with color.

He listens to Itadori’s excited chatter as he’s lead a few strides away from the group, Itadori suddenly stopping beside him to point at a few exceptionally lovely shells. They’re surprisingly in tact, and as they lean down, Megumi can see them shine through the water.

“They’re pretty, right?” Itadori asks, the corners of his eyes crinkling with his smile.

Megumi lifts his gaze to drink in the sight of Itadori, alight in the setting sun, reflecting it’s brightness like the ocean glitters in twilight. He wonders if Itadori, with a hand still on his arm, can somehow feel Megumi’s racing heart as it heats his body underneath, if it’s obvious how Megumi aches for this moment to last. He would take the coldest waters washing over his feet and ankles while his neck and ears burn aflame to keep him warm, if only it means he can linger this close to Itadori and revel in how Itadori’s smile is meant for him and him alone.

“Yes,” Megumi murmurs, his eyes never drifting from Itadori.

Itadori’s face flushes as he nudges Megumi playfully. “I knew you would like them.”

A sudden splash of water jolts them both. They turn toward Panda, his fur dripping from frolicking about shamelessly, uncaring of anyone who falls collateral. Maki and Kugisaki are equally as riled up, kicking their feet to send cold water flying toward Panda, who flinches.

“Ah! Toge, help!” Panda laughs through his half-hearted pleas to Inumaki standing further up from the water.

“Benito flakes.”

Itadori throws a sideways glance at Megumi with a wicked grin, dramatically joining Panda in his attack against the girls.

Megumi shakes his head and chuckles, watching the scene while the surf rolls in to break gently over his ankles. He cradles the embers within him, shielding them beside his heart for now, hoping to savor their warmth.

Shibuya October 26, 2018

“You’re hopeless,” Kugisaki tells Megumi factually. “Genuinely, truly, hopeless.”

Megumi gives her an unimpressed look, unwilling to have this conversation in the middle of Shibuya. They’re waiting outside a bakery that Itadori agreed to stop in at for Gojo. Naturally, this is Kugisaki’s opportune moment to corner Megumi.

“I might die of loneliness just by watching you pine,” she carries on.

“Not from pining after Maki, instead?” Megumi counters, his brow pinched in annoyance.

Kugisaki’s expression darkens, and she presses her index finger into his chest threateningly. “We’re talking about you, Fushiguro.”

“What about Fushiguro?”

Itadori steps out of the bakery, a white paper bag over his arm along with Kugisaki’s other purchases from the day. He’s looking between the two curiously, watching as they straighten up from being in one another’s face.

“Nothing,” Megumi deflects, ignoring the smug expression on Kugisaki’s face. “Did you get what Gojo wanted?”

“Yup!” Itadori grins, easily distracted and willing to let go of whatever was happening while he shopped.

Kugisaki elbows Megumi before beginning to walk in the direction of the train station. “Come on then, you two. We have to get back to campus by nightfall.”

“You mean you have to be back,” Itadori points out. “For that date of yours.”

Megumi shoots Kugisaki a deadly glare that she deliberately ignores—she’s been remarkably tight-lipped about anything related to Maki.

“It’s not a date,” she hisses. “We’re just watching a movie.”

Itadori and Megumi share a look—Itadori is stifling a laugh while Megumi is just exasperated at Kugisaki being in denial.

“Let’s head back,” Megumi suggests, hoping to avoid any further snide comments or nosy questions from either of his companions.

The train ride back is uneventful, with Itadori in between Megumi and Kugisaki, knees bumping Megumi’s and elbows brushing as he talks animatedly, looking between the two. Megumi tries to ignore the unhelpful pitter-patter in his chest each time Itadori presses his thigh against Megumi’s for a second too long, either unaware or unbothered by the prolonged contact.

Either way, Megumi leans into the small touches, and Itadori smiles just as widely at him.

When they return to campus, it’s not until they reach the dorms that Kugisaki takes her assortment of bags from Itadori, announcing that she has to go by her room before meeting Maki. Itadori and Megumi share a snicker as she stalks off from them, back turned to hide her blush. Just as Megumi is about to make a comment, Itadori reduces him to little more than a flushed mess with a gentle hand on his sleeve.

“Wait Fushiguro, before you go…” Itadori lets him go, digging into one of his bags, from the bakery that Gojo asked them to stop by. The tips of Itadori’s ears are red as he produces a small white box and offers it to Megumi, his posture unusually stiff.

“Isn’t this what you picked up for Gojo?” Megumi asks carefully, though he still takes the proffered box. It’s lightweight, clearly not holding whatever cake Megumi thought their instructor would have asked for.

“Oh, no—I have that here,” Itadori lifts the bag, still weighed down by a small cake. “That’s for you. It’s ginger candy.”

In an effort to avert his gaze and somehow keep down the heat in his face, Megumi opens the box, and sure enough it’s packed with wrapped candies. He can smell the ginger and sugar; he licks his lips, somehow dry despite the enticing scent of the candies.

“You got me ginger candy,” he states dumbly. He risks meeting Itadori’s nervous half-smile, feeling like his heart is going to jump out of his throat and onto the floor.

“Yeah. You like ginger, so, it made sense.” Itadori rubs the back of his neck, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

Megumi shuts the box with unnecessary care, wishing he had something to offer in return.

“This is thoughtful,” Megumi says softly. “Thank you.”

The small comment causes Itadori to brighten, his grin dimpling his cheeks, though the color in his face remains.

Before he can catch his words, Megumi asks, “Want to come in for tea?”

Itadori instantly brightens, nodding eagerly.

Megumi leads him into his room, kicking the door shut behind him. Itadori makes himself at home, setting down Gojo’s cake before plopping onto Megumi’s futon. Megumi fiddles with the electric kettle, putting together tea while Itadori starts to read a new manga on his phone.

This routine is familiar for Megumi. Itadori usually scrolls for funny videos or manga online while Megumi reads a book, enjoying companionable silence while occasionally shifting closer if Itadori has something to show Megumi.

As Megumi brings over two cups of black rose-infused tea, he realizes that his heart is pounding when Itadori delicately takes the cup, fingers grazing Megumi’s.

Megumi settles beside him, a respectful distance away, tea in one hand as he grabs his book from beside the futon with the other. He opens to the bookmarked page, taking a sip from his tea.

He tries to ease into the routine, tries to ignore Itadori placing a hand between them to lean on. In an effort to distract himself, he drinks more of the tea, re-reads the a page twice, eventually turns it so he’s not on the same page for five minutes.

Itadori is unaware of Megumi’s skin buzzing and his mind full of white noise; he drinks his tea happily, his focus entirely on his phone.

Or so it seems.

Megumi eventually gives up on trying to read as he drinks, though he holds his book so he can pretend to read while he’s stealing obvious glances at Itadori. Megumi finishes his tea far too quickly, leaving him to hold his book with both hands, toying with the corner of a page idly.

Itadori’s hand holding the phone is curled to cradle the device, knuckles pink and his thumb moving occasionally on the screen. The hand between them is splayed lazily, ridges of his veins spanning underneath tan skin.

Megumi stares, watching Itadori drain the last of his tea, licking his lips as he leans to set it down on the floor. As he sits back up, he catches Megumi’s gaze.

“What’s up?” He asks casually, lips curving up into a smile.

Megumi wants to shake his head, say nothing, and return to his reading.

He doesn’t.

He just holds Itadori’s fond gaze, feeling his ears begin to burn when his eyes flicker to Itadori’s mouth. The motion is so quick, Megumi almost questions if he did it at all, but Itadori’s eyes widen marginally and his smile ebbs, giving way to a blush.

Megumi blurts out, “I like this.”

Itadori blinks, processing what Megumi just said. He takes in Megumi’s red ears and how he’s chewing his lower lip, and then that smile returns full force.

The affection in Megumi’s chest roars into a full fire, threatening to consume him.

He’d let it, if it’s for Itadori.

Itadori, seemingly oblivious to Megumi’s plight, is the one to lean forward, bracing on a hand between them—he’s always been more bold, brave—and he’s in Megumi’s space. He’s inches from Megumi’s face, his other hand coming to cup Megumi’s cheek, and then he’s there.

They meet in a timid kiss.

For all of Itadori’s endless, buzzing energy, his kiss is so gentle that it’s jarring. Megumi curls his fingers against his book, wrinkling a page as he waits for the surge of another kiss—one more heated, something he expects from Itadori—but Itadori’s nose bumps his awkwardly before pressing their lips together shyly.

Megumi’s mind is full of static. He blindly sets his book aside, and with trembling hands, he grabs the front of Itadori’s shirt, lifting his chin to meet Itadori’s mouth fervently with his own.

Finally, finally—Itadori seems to relax, lips parting with a soft sigh as he shifts to his knees, settling between Megumi’s legs as they unfold.

Megumi pulls, silently asking for Itadori to come closer, his other hand sliding to the back of Itadori’s neck. His fingertips brush over the short, fine hairs there, and Itadori hums in turn.

The soft sound is encouragement for Megumi, who begins to inch closer, want turning into need.

There’s a vibration through Megumi’s pocket—and Itadori’s too, it seems like—that takes them by surprise. They break apart clumsily, both of them pulling their phones out.

There’s a text from Ijichi with details of a mission, but Megumi’s phone lights up with a phone call from Gojo.

Gritting his teeth, he answers.

“Yeah?”

“Megumi!” Gojo’s voice is loud, so loud that Megumi moves the phone away from his ear, glancing at Itadori.

Itadori is giving him a sympathetic smile, his cheeks still flushed as he idly scratches his cheek. They’re still inches apart, Megumi’s legs resting on either side of Itadori’s. Megumi is only half-listening to Gojo, still thoroughly distracted by Itadori, by the lips within reach, by the strong thighs that are between Megumi’s knees.

“Am I interrupting something?” Gojo asks suddenly.

Megumi can hear the smirk in Gojo’s voice, and tightens his grip on the phone. “No,” he says curtly, looking at a piece of fuzz on the futon and not at all at Itadori’s face. Even if Megumi ever wanted to approach Gojo with this—this confusing mix of emotions he feels for Itadori—he can’t imagine the reaction he would get if Gojo could see the position they’re in.

Instead, Megumi focuses on what’s being relayed over the phone.

Gojo rambles on about the mission he’s successfully pawned off to them, telling them to rally with Kugisaki so they can all go together and work on team-building.

Itadori hears this and grimaces with Megumi.

The mood is effectively ruined; not only will they have to go back out to exercise a curse, but they’ll have to interrupt Kugisaki during her date.

Resigning themselves to the inevitable outcome, they gather themselves, leaving the tea and box of ginger candies to be tended to later.

Tokyo Colony No. 1 November 14, 2018

They share a bed.

It makes the most sense, really—they don’t know Takaba and Kurusu well enough to trust them that much, so Megumi agrees to share a bed with Itadori at the first mention of the idea.

“It’s probably big enough for like, four guys, anyway,” Itadori remarks once the door is shut, leaving them truly alone for the first time since a few fleeting moments in the ruin of Shibuya. He appears unfazed by this—or unaware of the fact altogether—as he yawns loudly and stretches, extending his arms over his head. Megumi stares, catching a sliver of skin above the waistband of Itadori’s sweatpants before quickly diverting his attention to getting into bed. He turns off the lamp on his side of the bed before slipping under the sheets; they’re soft, the material whispering when Megumi’s clothes brush against it. He sinks into the mattress with a sigh, his body still aching from bruises and cuts all over, and he wonders how sore he’ll be in the morning.

The bed dips when Itadori gets in less gracefully, yanking on the tightly tucked sheets so he can pull them over his shoulders. Megumi lays on his back while Itadori gets comfortable, only to move again to turn off his lamp.

And then they’re in the darkness, left alone with one another, only empty space and uneven breaths between them.

“Night, Fushiguro,” Itadori says in a far too awake voice.

Megumi stares through the dark at the ceiling, wondering if he can vanish in the shadows without letting Itadori know. Then again, the entire point of them sharing a room is so that they can keep guard for one another, waking the other if something happens.

The idea falls apart when neither of them go to sleep.

They have barely had a moment to breathe since they entered the Culling Game, let alone a chance to truly rest like they have now. They both have been on edge, constantly ready to fight, prepared to do whatever it takes to keep moving forward.

Megumi takes a deep breath. He doesn’t hear Itadori’s breathing slow down.

What he does hear is the hesitant rustling of the sheets, a soft sound leaving Itadori while he turns, trying to get comfortable.

Megumi can deal with his own insomnia, but he can’t handle his never-ending trail of thoughts as well as Itadori inches away and so far out of reach all at once. He doesn’t know how to begin to face the insurmountable emotion that he’s felt since everything went to hell in Shibuya—particularly when it comes to the boy in his bed. The feeling only heightens when he thinks of their kiss, awkward and clumsy, and how they haven’t even been able to talk about that or anything else that’s happened.

Something brushes his arm, making him stiffen. Fingertips slowly drift over the inside of his elbow, then lower to his forearm. Megumi can almost feel calloused fingertips where his sleeve ends.

Itadori withdraws and leaves Megumi’s skin burning.

Megumi can feel the way his chest is rising and falling, breaths shallow, his heart pounding wildly loud enough that Itadori must be able to hear it.

He squeezes his eyes shut, mentally scrambling for those embers he felt on the shore in September, hoping to cling to them and be lulled to sleep. He can’t grasp them, and instead realizes that they’ve been burning too much in the last few weeks, making his blood run hot as he lies here with a chance he may otherwise never have again.

Turning on his side, Megumi extends his arm, reaching for Itadori. His hand meets Itadori’s shoulder, fingers curling in his shirt. He can’t bring himself to pull Itadori closer, not when his hand is shaking as he holds onto Itadori, uncaring if he rips the fabric with his grip.

Itadori’s hand is steady as he touches Megumi’s wrist, his thumb ghosting over the base of Megumi’s palm. Megumi’s hold eases, though he still trembles as Itadori slowly pries his fist open. Their fingers loosely catch, filling in the spaces between the other’s timidly. The tension is still present in Megumi, but as he’s able to slowly focus in the darkness, he can faintly see Itadori, on his side and looking back at him with wide, brown eyes.

Megumi’s chest aches for reasons entirely unrelated to the healing bruises there. Emotion wells up in his throat, and before he can catch them, words follow.

“I’m glad you’re alive,” Megumi whispers.

“Me too,” Itadori admits in a hushed voice. “I’m glad you’re alive, too.”

“Shut up,” Megumi retorts instinctually despite how he tightens his hold on Itadori’s hand. “No fucking dying on each other.”

Itadori laughs softly, and Megumi can see the smile on Itadori’s face, still looking unfairly handsome with his infectious smile even after everything that’s happened to them. Itadori squeezes Megumi’s hand, bringing their joined hands closer to his chest. Through the shirt, Megumi’s knuckles graze the raised skin of the fresh scar where Yuta’s katana pierced through.

“I thought that if I die, you’ll kill me.” Itadori speaks in that same carefree tone, like his life isn’t actually on the line for their success. Megumi can feel the rumble of Itadori’s voice in his chest against the backs of his knuckles just as easily as he hears them, all of it solidifying Megumi’s newfound resolve.

He will not lose Itadori.

Not again.

“I said,” Megumi pushes up with his other arm, moving across the small distance between them as he says, “shut up.” He catches Itadori off-guard with a hard kiss in which their noses bump. He presses against Itadori’s chest with their joined hands so Itadori ends up on his back, following so he can keep his mouth against Itadori’s. Megumi’s lips are chapped, but Itadori’s are raw from being chewed on. They both fumble through kissing, both of them too eager and too inexperienced, yet unwilling to break apart.

Megumi lets go of Itadori’s hand so he can climb on top of Itadori better, placing a leg in between Itadori’s, and he accidentally brushes his thigh too high, earning a whine when he feels Itadori’s reaction.

“Sorry,” Itadori mumbles, though he quickly meets Megumi in another kiss, lips parted and tongue swiping at Megumi’s lower lip.

The clear arousal brewing is left unspoken, but Megumi is mindful to keep a respectful distance between the two below the belt, not wanting to give into impulse. Megumi’s head is swimming, his thoughts nothing more than a muddled mess of Itadori and an indescribable ache within him. He keeps one hand on the mattress, using the other to push up Itadori’s shirt haphazardly.

“I—Fushiguro—“

In between kisses, Itadori makes a strangled sound as a rough palm explores his muscled torso, making him shiver as calluses scratch his stomach, tickling him. Megumi pays no mind to the way Itadori twitches from his curious touches, pushing the shirt up higher until he can splay his fingers over the scar in the center of Itadori’s chest.

That same memory is before Megumi’s eyes in an instant—the rain cold on his face, mixing with the blood that trickles into his eyes, almost obscuring the image of Itadori bleeding and falling onto the pavement—and he presses his hand harder against Itadori’s chest, counting the quickened heartbeats beneath his palm.

Megumi almost jumps out of his skin when Itadori reciprocates by only placing a hand at his hip, thumb pressing into his hipbone just above the top of his pants. Megumi loses count of Itadori’s heartbeat, but he can still feel it pounding under his touch, so he sighs, letting Itadori’s tongue trace his lips.

Without thinking, he uses Itadori’s first name, if only so he can encourage the use of his own, wanting to hear Itadori say it, over and over again.

“Yuuji,” Megumi murmurs, pulling back just enough to try and make out Itadori’s—Yuuji’s features in the dark.

Touching Yuuji, kissing him, being so close in the safety of the darkness is not enough.

He hastily reaches for the lamp on Yuuji’s side, yanking the chain so it turns on. He blinks through the white spots from the sudden light, settling back over Yuuji to admire the sight before him.

Yuuji’s face is flushed, brown eyes blinking rapidly to adjust to the light, and with his shirt shoved up so high, Megumi can see the new scars on his body from the violence in Shibuya and the fights following after. The ones on his face give Megumi pause, one at the corner of his mouth and the other at his right eyebrow.

Would Megumi be able to survive such wounds?

Would Yuuji, without Sukuna?

For a moment, Yuuji looks like he wants to say something, but then the color in his face only deepens with a small frown.

Megumi’s ears are hot, but so are his cheeks, so he leans down to press his lips in a soft kiss to Yuuji’s scars—first to his eyebrow, then the side of his mouth, and he inches down to do the same to the raised scar on Yuuji’s chest, still pink from having recently been healed.

Yuuji inhales sharply, his back arching absently to meet Megumi halfway.

“No dying, right?” Yuuji says breathily, cutting through the silence with a hollow, bitter chuckle. “That’s what you told me.”

Megumi hides his weak smile in Yuuji’s shirt as he presses his forehead to the center of Yuuji’s chest.

Yuuji lets him, even threading his fingers affectionately into Megumi’s soft, dark hair. He repeats the motion several times, feeling the tension ebb from Megumi more and more as he slowly cards his hand through.

“Right,” Megumi finally agrees. His body feels weighed down from exhaustion, but the ache to act on this pent-up desire is only amplified.

Gently, Yuuji guides Megumi back up so he can kiss Megumi’s lips, then his cheeks, and then his jaw. He leaves soft kisses along Megumi’s exposed skin, giving extra attention to each bruise and cut he finds. When he reaches the loose neckline of Megumi’s shirt, hanging low on his collarbone, he hooks a finger in the fabric and pulls it aside to drag his mouth over Megumi’s lightly freckled shoulder.

Megumi shivers, though he doesn’t dare move away lest Yuuji withdraws from him. Instead, he moves his leg further up, his thigh brushing over Yuuji’s now-obvious erection. A startled noise leaves Yuuji as he cants his hips, absently seeking out friction.

“Megumi,” Yuuji whispers against Megumi’s clavicle. “I—we—“

Yuuji doesn’t finish his thought, but instead of withdrawing, he flips them in a swift motion. He sits astride Megumi’s hips, pinning Megumi’s wrists down on the mattress.

Megumi stares up at Yuuji with wide eyes at the unexpected change in their positions, and color blooms across his face. Yuuji grins sheepishly, his thumbs brushing back and forth over the inside of Megumi’s wrists. His weight on Megumi’s hips only serves as a distraction alongside the delicate touch at the base of Megumi’s palms.

“Not fair,” Megumi complains with a light tone. “You’re stronger than me.”

“Gotta make you work for it somehow, right?” Yuuji retorts, but he can barely hold in a breathy laugh when Megumi’s blush deepens further at the playful challenge.

Megumi tries to push up against Yuuji to no avail when Yuuji keeps him pinned with minimal effort. Deciding to change tactics, he cranes his neck to kiss Yuuji, who is all too eager to meet him roughly with eager lips. Megumi rocks his hips up, his own plan backfiring—he all but melts under Yuuji when he feels how hard Yuuji is against him, all because of him. Megumi’s hands close around air as he does it again, this time with Yuuji angling himself better so that they drag along each other through their clothes.

“Megumi,” Yuuji mumbles, his voice cracking when they grind against each other for a third time. “I want…”

He trails off, his mouth open as his sentence remains unfinished, his words dying on his tongue before Megumi chases them with his own.

Yuuji, Megumi realizes, is far too selfless. He’s always thinking of others, of the impact he leaves in his wake while knowing that he won’t live long enough to see the results, always wanting to give but never take.

Megumi fights Yuuji’s hold, though he’s kept in place by Yuuji’s hands—he isn’t even consciously pinning down Megumi, if the maelstrom of emotions in his expression is anything to go by.

“Yuuji,” Megumi murmurs. “I want you.”

His voice is soft, but he says it—if Megumi is anything, he’s always honest, painfully so, and seemingly apathetic all the same. As he looks up at Yuuji, acutely watching for any signs of rejection, he can see the blush in Yuuji’s face and his ears, the heat filling Yuuji’s dark eyes.

Yuuji comes to a decision, his hands slipping from Megumi’s; for a fleeting moment, he worries that Yuuji will slip away, only for those same hands to come to his stomach and slide up, catching Megumi’s shirt.

“Take this off,” Yuuji requests in a hushed voice, hastily adding a muttered please.

Megumi does, lifting his back as he tugs off his shirt. “You, too,” he responds, settling back on the mattress.

Yuuji removes his shirt swiftly, pulling it by the collar and discarding it somewhere on the floor without a glance.

Instantly, Megumi’s hands find Yuuji’s skin—warm under Megumi’s palms, raised where it’s scarred and smooth with defined muscles. Bathed in the low light from the lamp, Megumi can still admire the tan Yuuji always seems to have. As his fingers brush over the scar on Yuuji’s chest—one that’s healed twice over, now—he feels Yuuji’s shallow breaths.

“You know,” Yuuji brings a hand to Megumi’s side, his touch as reverent as it is shy. “You’re really beautiful, Megumi.”

Megumi’s eyes snap to Yuuji’s, his heart fluttering. He wants to quip that Yuuji is ridiculous, that he doesn’t mean that, but the expression on Yuuji’s face is so earnest that it hurts.

Megumi has never wanted to be beautiful, but Yuuji saying so makes him want to bask in his praise.

Unsure of what he could say in response, Megumi kisses him deeply.

Yuuji’s body lowers onto Megumi, their bare chests pressed together; Megumi cards a hand through Yuuji’s hair, desperate to keep him close while rocking their hips together again with renewed fervor. Yuuji responds in kind, moving to grab Megumi’s hip, pushing the waistband of Megumi’s pants down so he can feel smooth skin under his hand. While it’s only a few inches, Megumi feels his skin tingle where Yuuji’s thumb digs into his hip bone, where Yuuji’s palm curls around his side.

Eagerly—perhaps too eagerly—Megumi moves to try and wiggle out of his pants. Luckily, Yuuji picks up on the intention, breaking away to help Megumi kick off his pants and boxers, only pausing as he realizes he should do the same. Megumi only glimpses Yuuji bare before Yuuji settles back between his legs, kissing him languidly to hide the any awkward discomfort.

The uncertainty fades almost instantly when Megumi feels Yuuji’s hard length brush against his, and all that fills him is needy arousal. He reaches between them, his heart racing and his hand trembling before he wraps his fingers around Yuuji.

The gasp that’s pulled from Yuuji sends a thrill through Megumi, and he’s encouraged to move his hand as Yuuji touches his forehead to Megumi’s, eyes shut tightly. Yuuji’s hands are on either side of Megumi’s head, balancing precariously over him, though his hips twitch into Megumi’s hand with every stroke.

“Yuuji,” Megumi says. “Look at me.”

He does, eyes snapping open wide, fixing on Megumi.

“Touch me,” Megumi whispers, drunk on Yuuji’s reactions, on his eagerness to please—on Yuuji.

Megumi assumes that Yuuji will move his hand between them, much like Megumi, but he’s surprised when Yuuji kisses him again. The kisses trail across Megumi’s jaw, chaste until he reaches Megumi’s throat. There’s an introduction of teeth gently grazing over skin, never hard enough to break skin but still able to leave marks; Megumi’s hand slows on Yuuji as he becomes more distracted.

Yuuji slides lower, his mouth now at Megumi’s collarbone. Megumi’s breathing grows shallow, tilting his chin lower so he can watch Yuuji drag his mouth over his chest, along his sternum before hesitating, his glaze flickering up. Seemingly reaching a decision, Yuuji brings a hand over Megumi’s chest, his fingers ghosting over a nipple.

Megumi’s breathing only quickens, arching up into Yuuji.

Encouraged by Megumi’s responses, Yuuji inches lower, lips brushing along the defined planes of Megumi’s abdomen, his hand following along, drifting over the divots of musculature. Megumi is little more than a trembling, malleable mess beneath him, watching through half-lidded eyes.

Yuuji could just go for it—put his mouth where they both want him to—but he hesitates, instead kissing the junction of Megumi’s hip. He brings a hand to Megumi’s cock, loosely taking hold and stroking while he explores more of Megumi all the while. Megumi shivers at the contact, his arousal almost painful with Yuuji idly touching him.

Shifting further, Yuuji pushes one of Megumi’s thighs up and back, focusing on a spot on his inner thigh with tongue and teeth, intent on leaving his mark. Megumi’s leg flexes in his hold, but Yuuji digs his fingers in to hold him in place, using his other hand to squeeze the base of Megumi’s cock at the same time.

Megumi whimpers, desperate for more, but all he can do is throw his head back against the pillow and weave his fingers in Yuuji’s hair. He tugs slightly, not quite meaning to, but Yuuji hums in approval and sweeps his thumb over the head of Megumi’s length in response.

“Yuuji,” Megumi whispers.

Abruptly, Yuuji adjusts, moving so he can lick along Megumi’s cock before taking it in his mouth.

Megumi moans aloud, his face pinching with pleasure.

Yuuji’s inexperience shows—he accidentally drags his teeth, his incisors causing Megumi to twitch away—but his determination to please helps him learn as he goes. He has Megumi’s thigh still in one hand, his other at the base of Megumi’s cock, stroking what he can’t reach with his mouth.

Megumi tries to watch, wanting to burn the image of Yuuji’s lips stretched over his cock, Yuuji’s face so beautifully flushed, Yuuji letting him pull his hair when the pleasure is too much—and his chest grows tight along with his abdomen.

In an attempt to take Megumi deeper, Yuuji tries to take as much as he can, only to gag and hurriedly pull off. He sputters, but he still moves his hand along Megumi’s length, glancing up at Megumi sheepishly.

“Sorry.” He gives a bashful half-grin, his lips swollen and his whole face red, as if Megumi’s cock isn’t weeping in his hand.

Megumi almost tells Yuuji that he’s an idiot, but instead, he tries to sit up.

“I want you,” he repeats his earlier words, his guard now fully down. “I want you to fuck me.”

Yuuji’s eyes widen comically, and he bites his lip as he averts his gaze, his hand on Megumi slowing. “I—I don’t think this is that kind of hotel…”

Megumi stares, wondering what Yuuji could possibly mean, until his gaze flickers to the hands on him—Yuuji’s fingers pressed tightly to his thigh, fingers curled around his cock, scarred and callused and gentle, fingers that Megumi wants inside of him.

And then it clicks.

“Oh,” he mutters, embarrassment washing over him. They don’t have lubricant or condoms, and Megumi is fairly certain neither of them are confident enough to try to have sex without either.

They regard one another, though not for terribly long; Yuuji shifts, inching higher so he hovers over Megumi’s stomach.

“Is this still okay?” He asks quietly.

Megumi nods, remembering a moment later to vocalize his thoughts when Yuuji patiently waits for an answer. “Yes, yes.” Megumi’s voice comes out hushed, almost a plea for Yuuji to continue.

When Yuuji’s mouth engulfs him again, his jaw falls open, a strangled moan coming out, and he tightens his grip in Yuuji’s hair. Yuuji moves more eagerly this time, allowing Megumi’s hips to jerk up to meet him, hollowing his cheeks and sucking for only a second just to nearly pull back.

Megumi knows he won’t last long; he conveys this to Yuuji in stuttering half-sentences. “Yuuji—gonna cum—“

Yuuji continues to move, spurred on by Megumi’s stream of soft praise and the physical responses coaxed from him.

Pleasure comes in waves, rolling and rolling until it crashes over Megumi, his eyes shut tight and his fingers balled into a fist in Yuuji’s hair, spilling over in Yuuji’s mouth. Yuuji takes it in stride, and he swallows, albeit messily. Megumi melts into the mattress, his mind cloudy with the bliss of his orgasm.

Megumi opens his eyes, his vision blurry as he blinks, his hand loosening in Yuuji’s hair. Yuuji crawls a little higher up Megumi’s body, though he pauses at Megumi’s chest, hesitating.

Megumi surges forward to claim Yuuji’s lips with his own, cupping Yuuji’s cheek to guide him all the way back up. As he slides his tongue against Yuuji’s lips, into his mouth, he tastes himself, but he doesn’t wither.

Yuuji’s cock is still hard, pressed against the dip of Megumi’s hip, and Megumi comes back to himself. He breaks the kiss, wanting to watch Yuuji’s expression twist when he reciprocates the attention he’s been given.

The audible gasp that falls from Yuuji is enticing, and the way his body shivers at Megumi’s hand on his cock, his forehead dropping to Megumi’s, makes Megumi grin.

There’s something intoxicating about having one of the strongest sorcerers Megumi has ever encountered—and probably will ever encounter—be willing and keen to fall apart by his hand.

Yuuji murmurs Megumi’s name, his voice strained, further stoking that desire.

Megumi moves his hand quickly, knowing better than to tease Yuuji after going this whole time without being touched.

“Shit, so—so good,” Yuuji whines. His nose bumps Megumi’s, his lips parted as his breathing grows shallow.

“Yeah?” Megumi lifts his chin, his lips hovering centimeters away from Yuuji’s. “You feel good, your mouth felt so good.” Megumi is generous with his praise, being extra vocal for Yuuji, who only moans and whimpers in response as he’s stroked to his climax, bucking his hips into Megumi’s hand.

Poignant, potent emotion blooms in Megumi’s chest; he kisses Yuuji to keep himself from speaking the words aloud, drinking in the sounds of Yuuji’s orgasm when it finally hits. Megumi’s hand and stomach get streaked with white, but he doesn’t falter, carrying Yuuji through the high until he’s trembling over him.

The silence of the room is deafening as they slowly remember themselves; the air conditioning is humming quietly, their breaths are audible through their mouths with heaving chests, and their heartbeats roar in their ears.

Megumi swallows anxiously as he takes his hand off of Yuuji, his palm sticky and wet, just as his stomach is.

“Hang on,” Yuuji tells him, clamoring off of Megumi haphazardly and darting for the bathroom.

All Megumi can do is watch Yuuji’s nude body retreat, and then drop his head on the pillow to stare at the ceiling.

In the midst of one of the most dangerous days of their lives, they found time to do this.

Megumi doesn’t regret a single second.

Yuuji returns with a hand towel, sitting on the edge of the bed before immediately beginning to wipe down Megumi’s stomach. Megumi flinches, expecting it to be cold, but the towel is warm and damp. Yuuji gently cleans off Megumi with intense focus, and he takes it upon himself to also clean Megumi’s hand, wiping off each digit delicately before swiping over his palm.

“You’ve got pretty hands,” he remarks.

The towel is tossed into a small trash bin in the corner of the room—seemingly wasteful but Megumi remembers no cleaning services will address the soiled cloth—and Yuuji remains perched on the edge of the mattress. Megumi lets his gaze wander over Yuuji’s body, silently appreciating every inch, lingering where he sees Yuuji’s blush turn his neck and ears red.

“You’re just pretty,” Megumi says in return, catching both of them off guard. Yuuji looks startled at the stoic compliment, but then he laughs, his eyes glassy and crinkling at the corners.

The levity settles in, and Megumi can’t keep himself from laughing, too. He reaches for Yuuji’s hand, tugging him closer, seeking out that warmth that always radiates from Yuuji. They lay in the tangle of sheets, basking in the contact of bare skin against bare skin.

Megumi kisses Yuuji, trying and failing to hide his smile.

“This is nice,” Yuuji comments, reaching for the covers to pull over them. He rolls onto his back, taking Megumi with him.

From his new position, Megumi looks down at Yuuji’s hair splayed on the pillow, messy from his fingers and face still pink. Megumi’s heart races; Yuuji picks up on the shift, his amusement faltering.

Megumi wants to agree that this is nice, but he can’t get past that this is fleeting. This could all end.

Yuuji could—

“Megumi.”

Yuuji caresses his cheek with the backs of his knuckles, his brown eyes filled with a maelstrom of emotions. Megumi tilts his head into the touch.

“I’m not dying yet,” Yuuji promises.

Megumi only nods, choosing to believe him. Needing to believe him.

They can savor this.

“Stay with me,” Megumi requests, hoping that Yuuji won’t refuse him.

Yuuji, of course, agrees.

They fit with one another like two puzzle pieces; Megumi rests his head on Yuuji’s chest, listening to the steady heartbeat. He splays his hand over the scar there, and Yuuji’s hand is on his shoulder. Megumi briefly thinks that they should put clothes on, that they should hurry and sleep, but the thoughts dissipate when Yuuji traces shapes into his shoulder.

Yuuji’s voice cuts through the silence once more.

“When this is all over with, can I take you on a date?“

The question is absurd. This is seemingly never-ending—the Culling Game, Gojo’s fate, Yuuji’s fate—but Megumi can only blush and nuzzle his cheek further into Yuuji’s collarbone.

“Yeah,” Megumi says softly. “I’d like that.”

Yuuji’s glee is palpable as he squeezes Megumi’s shoulder and his heartbeat quickens beneath Megumi’s ear.

Wrapped up in Yuuji, Megumi manages to relax, and eventually, sleep. He dreams of gentle touches and softer kisses, and the bright smile of a boy who cares just as deeply as he does.

Tokyo Colony No. 1 November 16, 2018 3 PM

Yuuji can’t focus on anything—Tsumiki, the throb in his hand where his pinky finger is missing. Everything else is white noise as he watches curse marks spread across Megumi’s face.

The same jawline that he cradled, over the bridge of the nose that bumped his when they kissed.

Megumi’s mouth stretches into a wicked grin that Yuuji has only seen in the depths of Sukuna’s domain.

Eyes that were blue moments ago are now crimson as they meet Yuuji’s, all four now fixed on him.

“Hey, Yuuji.”

His heart shatters.

#words by kiddo #kiddo after dark #itafushi #all aboard the pain train #itadori yuuji x fushiguro megumi #itadori x fushiguro #yuuji x megumi #yuji x megumi #jjk 212 #jjk spoilers #so many tags god damn

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