Archive of Our Own ^beta

A solitary lamp on the end table painted everything in a dull, soft gold light, and strewn haphazardly over a comfortable looking recliner was ten year old Fushiguro Megumi. Black hair was tousled slightly like he'd had a restless night, his legs dangled over the armrest, clad in his boxers, coupled with a wrinkled tee. He was turned partially away, chubby cheeks flushed from embarrassment, hidden away from Satoru who was burning holes into his head from the couch.

"I'm asexual" he repeats, his socked feet rubbing together shyly.

He looked smaller than usual, with his hands curled around the hem of his shirt, fidgeting... All curled up into himself. Satoru swallowed when he saw the kid chewing on his bottom lip. Anxiously, awkwardly.

He was just a boy. A baby.

An astute brow framed eyes shining with acuity, pinning Fushiguro in place like a butterfly set for mounting. Satoru's gaze traversed his face, unperturbed, almost amused.

"Megumi," he lets out something inbetween a snort and sigh. "It's pronounced 'autistic'"

The kid doesn't skip a beat.
"Y-you know what? I'm leaving. I can't- I can't even... I'm expressing something personal here you asshole. I haven't even-" his mouth bobs like a fish out of water "no one knows but you now- and... and" the boy sighs defeatedly, his shoulders dropping and he mumbles out a none heated: "I really hate you sometimes"

A hand grasps at his ankle, long fingers wrap around the entirety. There was not a lick of body fat on those muscles, Gojo observed, only distantly.  So soft, so fragile, one hard squeeze and he could shatter it. He wouldn't, but having the option did something to his chest.

"Meg, look at me," you're not going anywhere, he means, stay right here "You're not asexual"

Megumi's chest heaved, enough was enough. He shakes his foot wildly until Gojo's hand slides off.
"You're always doing this! Undermining me... I just- I guess I just never know what I'm talking about, do I?" He, very uncharistically, fumbles over his words. He was nervous.

No one else was home judging by his volume. It's not like Megumi would be laying about in his boxers if anyone were around anyway. Satoru was a different case, he'd long ago decided.

Gojo doesn't agree nor deny, instead he moves his elbows to his knees and rests his chin on intertwined fingers.
"Megumi, spell, asexual"

The boy scoffs, "A spelling bee? Wh-what is this first grade?"

He was in third grade now, thank you, and made sure to bring it up anytime he was looked down upon (like that could do anything but make him look more childish)

Gojo blinks almost annoyingly slow in his direction, his gaze challenging, and it makes the boy pause, assess, and try.

"A. S. E. X... U... I- or, I mean.." It's surprising steam hasn't bursted from his ears from how hard he's trying "O..." Fushiguro frowns. "I know what I'm talking about. I did the research" he shoves the couch cushion Satoru's sitting on with his foot and it's adherently adorable how his toes struggle to reach it in the first place.

Megumi was almost leering at the man now, his narrow shoulders shaking slightly. He was a tiny little thing, all hair and eyes at his age. His countenance was almost bird-like with his baby soft locks spilling out like feathers and his lashes brushing his cheekbones with every blink. Pretty boy. Pretty, naive, little boy.

"I just.." and takes a few seconds for Fushiguro to compile his thoughts into words that won't make him sound like an idiot. He shimmies a little in his seat awkwardly.
"I don't find it interesting, I guess... But, I don't know. I just... I don't feel the same way about, you know," he twiddles his fingers as he struggles to get out the next word "sex and stuff like other people do"

For a moment, Satoru ponders. His little Gumi was still young, there was a heavy chance that he simply wasn't old enough to be interested. Not like Satoru could attest to that, by ten years old he himself was girl crazy (boy crazy came in his later years.)

In lou of his silence, Fushiguro continues.
"The thought of being with anyone. N-not even in a sexual way just...anyway, it... I don't know, scares me? Makes me all tingly... and not in a good way"

Dissociating from relationships... The kid was always abnormal, this was probably an unstoppable turn of events. Being sold off by his own father before he even finished first grade definitely didn't help.

"You know why people pair up into couples, Meg? Because being a human is terrifying, but it's a hell of a lot easier if you're not doing it by yourself. It's natural to be scared of... women at your age"
The look on the kid's face makes him pause. He looks... Bashful? Almost. "Commitment" Satoru corrects. That was a conversation for a different day.
"But being asexual is something completely different. You haven't even discovered masturbating yet, have you?"

Fushiguro's face went rosy which he tried (and failed) to hide behind his knees when he bunched his legs up. He mumbles something that goes unheard and his eyes dart from the floor, to Gojo, then to the floor again.

Cute little bastard… the man's mind supplied unhelpfully, then promptly shut down because what the fuck aren't you going on thirty?

Megumi shrugs his shoulders, nervous and hesitant. It didn't help that Gojo was examining him like a scientist would a rat in a cage.

"No..." He looks uncomfortable, but Satoru's gaze relentlessly presses on as if he knows the kid has more to give.
Megumi gulps. How embarrassing this was...
"I heard that whenever I masturbate all of my dead relatives are up in heaven watching"

As if Gojo needed more evidence to prove how gullible this kid was.

"C'mon, Gumi, think. How is that heaven? Do you-" the man laughs. "You think Great Grandma is turning down a house party invite to Abraham Lincoln's house because she wants to watch you jerk it?" He makes a crude gesture with his hand over his crotch.

Fushiguro stares at the floor, eyes squinting slightly as if thinking 'That is a great point that I've never thought of' but he doesn't give Gojo the ego boost of admitting it out loud. Instead, he shakes his head and rests his chin in-between boney knees.

With his legs bent to his chest, the fabric of his boxers stretch and one can almost make out the indention of his little cocklet from betwixt his calves. His boxers are loose fitting, the kind that a kid is told they're supposed to grow in to, but it's been a few months and Megumi hasn't filled them out at all. He looks like a little girl walking around in them, really. His cock was just too small to show off an indention unless the fabric gets pulled against his skin—much like it is right now.

In a perverted and completely unorthodoxed way, Satoru's eyes glance down between his calves. He doesn't know why, they just do.
Truth is, he hadn't even paid attention to the kid before, not like this. Not when Meg climbed into his bed one night claiming to be scared of the thunder, not when he broke his wrist and Gojo had to help him bathe for a month, not even when the kid'll sit on his lap and tie his tie like a little house wife all while sporting a forced scowl because how silly was it that a ten year old was fixing an adult's tie for him? He could spin a tale, flash a rare smile, bounce his messy locks with the tiniest shake of his head—where was Satoru going with this? Oh, right.

At the end of the day, Fushiguro was just a boy. A boy Satoru had never had any reason to be so attuned to the sounds of before. A boy who ate breakfast beside him every morning. A boy who's worn those same shirt for a week straight and should really change it already.

Gojo hated how aware he was of him.

"I wasn't trying to make this a big thing... I just thought you, out of people, would understand. I shouldn't have said anything..."

The kid's voice came like he heard Satoru's thoughts. It was like drinking first thing in the morning, sickness and dread pooling in the pit of his stomach. Still, Satoru couldn't stop his gaze from following the sound.

The bottom half of Megumi's face is hidden by his legs, wide impressionable eyes locking onto the man like a magnet would a hunk of metal.

"Gumi, fuck, alright. Listen buddy. Sexuality is a spectrum and... And it's okay to be wherever you wanna be on that spectrum. You know what else is on a spectrum?"

"I swear to God if you say autism"

He wasn't and now he definitely couldn't, but damn what a missed opportunity that was.

"Happiness, kid. Your sexuality is a complex thing. It's not always black and white. You'll grow to learn what makes you happy and what doesn't. But you're much too young to decide that now. You just haven't found the right motivator yet, that's all"

Gojo places a hand on the armrest of the chair now that the little boy's legs no longer drape across it. The hand is aged, has been through hell and back and ended one too many lives. It's scarred and callused, from decades of fighting and years of protecting.

"The right motivator..." Fushiguro mumbles so quietly Gojo barely hears it. Brown eyes bore up into him, damn near straight through him, actually.

The boy's eyes flashed differently than before, expostulative, relaying something buried within him, if only for a moment. Satoru assessed him unblinkingly, nearly reptilian. There are many people he'd associate with that gleam but not Megumi... Not his special little boy. That look... It was so un-Megumi-like. There for one fleeting moment, and gone in the next, but there, nonetheless. And fuck, Satoru latched onto it like he was a shark and it was a drop of blood in the water.

That look, holy shit that look. Whether it was meant to or not gave him an idea.
A terrible, God awful, despicable, filthy  idea... Yet so disgustingly thrilling.

Because what better way to show Megumi he's not asexual than to actually show him? That's what's Sensei's do, they teach.

Gojo pats the cushion beside him. 

"Come here, Megumi. Sit next to me"
He heard himself say; it sounded so distant, like listening from under the surface of a pool. Distant, but collected, typical Gojo Satoru fashion.

Megumi straightens in his seat and seems to hesitate, but after eying the spot beside Gojo for a few seconds and not seeing it spontaneously combust, he complies. Fushiguro stands up from the recliner chair, stretches, and then plops himself beside Gojo with the typical grace of a ten year old boy—which is none.

He looks even tinier sitting there next to such a tall man. Satoru could see the gobsmacking difference between the size of their thighs, spread next to each other, bare. His mind being his biggest betrayer, he was far too aware of the distance separating them.

And he could feel Megumi watching him. Wanting to see just what his Sensei had in store. Innocent, naive, big fucking eyes of his paired with a sheepish expression. They were set on Gojo. Megumi wasn't even pretending to be focused on anything—and why would he need to be, Gojo absentmindedly thinks, you're the one who called him over, idiot.

And in all honesty, Satoru's not sure why this... Idea popped in his head at all, but he couldn't shake it loose. Maybe it was his need to always to be right and shit would it sound lovely coming from the boy's mouth. It seemed like Fushiguro was always judging him (maybe it runs in the bloodline) and for once, it would just be nice to hear a: 'Y-you were right... you're al-always right'

Of course, Gojo fumbling with the TV remote and the words 'Pornhub' shining on screen didn't exactly incite that reaction just yet.

"Wh-what are you doing?" Megumi's eyes dart between his Sensei and the TV screen like some sort of feeble squirrel.

Satoru stared at the screen, unblinking, scrolling through a plethora of videos.

"Proving you're not asexu—ah-hah!" He lands on a particularly graphic looking video and clicks on it without a second thought. "this is a classic, Meg. Pay attention, kay?"

And oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, the Fushiguro boy feels like a stranger in his body. Like he's unwelcome, like he shouldn't be here.

"This is... Oh God, this is wrong on so many levels. I can't- I can't, f-fuck I need to..." He is rambling now. He looks about ready to make a run for it and Gojo throws an arm over his little shoulders as an anchor.

On the screen a group of hillbilly looking men are watching a woman sunbaking in a bikini, laying back in a small canoe when they start to descend on her like vultures circling their prey, dragging her boat to shore. The woman tries to get away when one man starts to claw at her bikini, tearing off the top and leaving her distressed, her breasts completely uncensored and exposed. She weakly fights back but one of the men pushes her into the long grass behind her. 

Suddenly Megumi stills and goes tense with the smallest little intake of breath. He's looking a little like a deer in the headlights.

The boy is wearing the most expressive face Gojo's ever seen him make. His mouth, though… It was ridiculous was what it was. A mouth so cherry pink that it looked like the boy had put something on it. Lips full, shiny, parted slightly. They were wet and swollen from—a little tongue comes out to lick at them. Satoru doesn't remember his Meg's lips ever looking so... so-

The woman on screen lets out a loud scream; the man averted his gaze.

It doesn't get any quieter from there. Lots of screaming and fighting, and after a minute or two of intense struggling, she is tied down to the ground, completely nude as they circle her, Making crude comments about what they plan to do to her. 

Megumi grips his thighs tight, pressing his lips in between his teeth. Gojo can practically feel the kid's heart pounding under his rib cage and wonders if maybe he's getting scared. This kind of graphic sexual violence was obviously not something he was used. Poor thing was overwhelmed to Hell. The boy watches with wide eyes, nostrils flaring, and curling into himself.

Gojo is more intune to those reactions than what's happening on the screen in front of them.

"It's okay, Megumi. They're just pretending. They're acting, you know?" He says into kid's ear and the boy doesn't even flinch. It's like he's hypnotized and Gojo suddenly is even more curious, eyebrows knitting down.

The woman is screaming loudly across the speakers, "Stop it!" while the other men are encouraging one another to "hurry the fuck up, grab her leg. Hold her down!" And then one of the men is on top of her naked body, thrusting exaggeratedly against her as she continues to thrash and scream and Megumi's eyes widen to the size of saucers. A quiet whimper slips through his lips and Satoru latches onto it.

"They the first pair of breasts you ever see?" he asks, damn near fascinated by the kid's reaction.

"Sh-shut up..." He says, unable to tear his eyes away.

So that's a yes then.

The woman starts to crawl away from her attackers into the trees and bushes and for the next couple of minutes, they watch her entirely nude body—Gojo notes the classic 70's style bush the woman had. She tries to get some distance between herself and the men who were basically hunting her. 

"Look at that tiny ass" The man says like a passing thought. He pauses then nudges the little shoulder beside him. "Kinda looks like yours, kiddo" And that makes Gumi's breath catch, his brown eyes glistening. He looks on the edge of something... Something Satoru can't quite put a word too. Frankly the kid, flushed all over, looks seconds away from spontaneously combusting.

Gojo Sensei briefly wonders if Fushiguro is about to turn around and accuse him of being a sick fuck for showing him a video like this.

There's another struggle on the screen as they drag the woman's limp but screaming body over to a rock and continue their violent assault of her, insinuating that they are raping her from behind, forcing their dicks into her unprepared asshole, and even Gojo winces at that one. The scream through the speakers crackles and Megumi actually covers his eyes at this point.

Satoru cocks his head to the side, pulls the kid's own hands away and is surprised not to see a look of shock, fear, revulsion but instead flushed cheeks and dilated pupils. He is about to ask what's up, when he looks down and sees a notable tent in the kid's boxers, one far too big for his little cock to make while soft.

Oh.

That should have been it, really. Gojo proved that the act of sex, the thought of it, would make Megumi aroused. Megumi's not asexual; Gojo was right and that should have been it damnit! But his train of thought skimmed past that station and instead landed on:

Fucking hell,

There's a small wet spot darkening the light gray fabric and as Satoru stares he swears he can see that little cock twitch. Megumi's not getting soft, not from the attention or the fact that neither of them are paying any mind to the porn anymore; he stays hard under his Sensei's gaze. Fuck, did the kid like this?

What a naive boy. Too young to even know what was going on. Too young to know how dangerous it was too look like that infront of someone like Gojo. Too young to know what Gojo could fully do to him—what he's imagined doing to him before, thoughts that were so vile and visceral that his own memory erased most of them. Didn't matter. They all came back eventually.

Just a baby.

Sometimes the thoughts were brought on by a particularly tight pair of pants the Fushiguro boy chose to wear, the way he chose to suck a milkshake up his straw, or eat a breakfast sausage. Never had the cause been so dangerously close to the actual fantasy itself. That little thing, embarrassingly hard sitting next to him. Holy fuck, his mind could run wild with that.

I could break him so easily, the thought came so swiftly to Satoru. A vicious pleasure shot up his spine. I could ruin him.

Did Megumi want that? Would he let him? Did Gojo even need permission?

"Well… Well… well…" Gojo taunts, his mouth spreading into a smile, shark-like in a predatory sort of way. "Do you have a kink you want to share with the class? A secret fantasy about getting rough with someone, overpowering them?" 

Meg is shaking like a leaf. His hands cup over his erection, still such a tiny thing that one could cover the entirety. He's looking down, everywhere but Satoru.

"Wait…" the man's voice drops low. He licks his lips like the words on his tongue are too delicious to let go of.
"You have a fantasy about being forced" It's not even a question, not with the way Megumi bites the inside of his cheek. Saying Gojo was surprised would the fucking understatement of the goddamn century.

Fushiguro ducks his head away, as far away as he can from his Sensei's gaze. He'd leave but... In lou of that not being an option, he'd rather not be aware that he was trapped.

Satoru was persistent.
"Tell me, kiddo. Who have you fantasized about popping that little cherry of yours?" He places a cold hand on Gumi's bare thigh and the kid jolts like he's been shocked. He applies just the right amount of pressure to feel like a warning. 

Megumi whimpers and chews on his lip, trying in vain to stop any more telling noises from slipping out.

"Some boy from class? Anyone I know? A teacher?" Gojo's own eyes widen momentarily at the thought. Some fifty year old pervert pinning his little Gumi down to a desk. His tiny body writhing and whimpering under someone four times his size. Fuck, the image was so clear and it made his cock throb.
"C'mon Meg, tell me. This is a safe space. Who am I gonna tell?" 

"Everyone?" The kid guesses.

Oh right, well, he has a point and Gojo feels the need to clarify:
"I won't. Now spill"

Megumi is a lockbox without a key, a digital safe in prehistoric times, a useless ask all in the same because the kid wasn't speaking.

"Don't make me do it for you" Satoru huffed a laugh when the kid gave him a side eye glance. "You're just a kid, but you've been through so much, huh Gumi? If I were to guess... Sometimes you just want to let go, let someone else take the wheel" he shifted; it brought them inches closer. "Even if that person bends you over a table, you'll take it, isn't that right? Whisper a few sweet nothings in that dumb little head and you'll let anyone show you the fifty states, I bet" the man gave another chuckle.

Gojo pressed his thigh against Fushiguro's.

"Gojo" the boy's voice cracked and Satoru can't place the tone, so he airs on the side of intrigued.

"You know, you're a kink to some men" Satoru murmured, voice right by his ear. "God, what people would pay to be sitting next to you right now... And here I am getting the show for free. You think you'll take off your boxers if I asked, kiddo?"
That lilt; it did not hide the intention behind Gojo's words, the breathlessness. It didn't hide the tease. His widened pupils didn't hide the interest. Nothing hid the genuine fucking question.

Fushiguro's eyes cut to him.

He got met with the huge knowing grin, the sheen of tease in those aged eyes—they've seen alot, but nothing so addictively captivating. A caesura of silence followed, only prickled by the sound of porn on the TV. Then Gojo laughed again. A fuller sound this time, emboldened by mirth.

"You're thinking about it"

"Cut it out"

The man tilted his head, a single strange of snow white hair falling to rest in the middle of his blackened shades. "Cut what out?"

Megumi could feel the whine building in his throat, he could hear it. So did Satoru, as it made him smile wider and shift to close the distance more. The boy's eyes slid down his body without meaning, just for one second. His gaze followed those animated and long limbs, the lithe chest. Then he realized the hard-on his Sensei was sporting in his trousers.

A rock sat in Fushiguro's throat.

He quickly averted his gaze, but Gojo caught it. That teasing smile growing on his face.

"You know what" Megumi persists. Little hips swivels in his seat, looking for a better position. His balls, probably full and aching, rubbing against his thighs as they move and he bites back a groan.

And holy shit, that sight alone has all the images Satoru had been trying to hold back so desperately came back to hit him. That taut little ass he could hold in his one palm, he could dig his teeth into the flesh of it and probably get the kid to thank him for it. The hipbones he could bruise black and blue as he yanked the boy close to himself. He would take no caution, god knows, he would just bite around the hole he knew was pretty and pink, and he would break the skin, make Meg sob. God, he wanted to make him sob, make him beg, make him cry. He wanted to make him wear that expression again he'd just seen, boyish, of true desperation.

The last bit of Satoru's fortitude is thrown to the wind as he asks:

"Ever think about being forced on your knees? You're going to hate how much you love it"

Megumi continues to adjust in his spot. His hard cocklet sways and rubs against his thighs, at some point even get caught between them which makes him moan.
"Stop it.." he spoke softly and fuck it sounded like it came from the bottom of his soul.

Gojo could dirty him up so well, couldn't he? He could eat that boy right up, he could eat him up. He could have Gumi reach over and put that tiny hand of his on his cock, jerking him all clumsily, strokes unpractised. His touch would be so light, so new, wrong and right at the same time. Gojo would touch him in return, of course, put his hands on the boy’s face, tug at that perpetually messy hair, grasp it tight till it hurt. He would hold the boy there, right there by his cock. He would rub himself on those lips, fuck, he'd get himself in that fucking mouth and fuck into that warm, wet hole. He would shut up that little boy for good. Those lips would stretch wide around his cock and what would his little Gumi look like then? Needy, boyish, desperate? Eyes begging and popping out of their sockets?

"What? Just because you're my little boy doesn't mean you don't deserve to get fucked like a slut"

From Megumi's spot—control slipping like water down a drain—He tried determinately not to shiver as Gojo's breath washed past his ear, tried to pour every vestige of decorum into a vexed:
"Sensei, please, sh-shut up and... and I won't tell anyone about this. I swear"

Where was the fun in that?

Gojo took, like he'd always taken, greedy, vicious, starving
And Gojo—Gojo wanted to say he was sorry, wanted to be sorry. But he wasn't. Couldn't be. Not right now. Because he's done a lot of awful things, and if this was it, if this was his one taste of Heaven before an eternity damned in Hell, then he was damn well going to take it.

Megumi would hate him for it. He knew that. How else could this end?

"Why would I? You're so nuts for this. Aren't you, Meg? You're so primed. I can see your little dick twitch every time I move a muscle or say a word—holy shit, baby, I can see it. ohhhh, yeah. Yeah, arch your back so I can get a good look. Yeah. Yeah"

His deep bass rumbled through the air, and the little boy sucked his lower lip through his teeth.

"Stop. J-just stop. Stop it, Gojo Sensei"

He doesn't.

"I'd treat you so good, Meg, and you won't care. It's gonna feel so good. All you'll be able to think about is getting me back inside you. Keeping me here, packing you up tight and deep, fucking into you so hard you pass out"

The image was so real before his eyes. He wanted that little boy on his cock, the half a mind he had left thinking of nothing else but that now. He wanted him here, naked and on his hands and knees in front of him. He wanted him begging, fuck, he wanted Megumi begging, begging, begging to have his ass stuffed full of cock.

And for a moment Satoru will never forget, a moment he'll see everytime he closes his eyes—Megumi shudders and his mouth drops. A sound that landed somewhere between a groan and a hiss left his lips. A full body tremor runs through him once, twice, then leaves his body limp like a rag doll. The wet spot in his boxers grows thrice in size.

His eyes were glassy, huge. His lips were puffy and red, parted slightly for his calmed exhales. He was looking at Gojo with his gaze a little lost and dazed. Ten years old and naive. Post-nut. Well-fucked.

"you cum in your pants or something?" Gojo asked. It was supposed to be a joke, but he realized after he said it that he wasn't smiling. Or joking. The Fushiguro boy was shaking. That single fact managed to pierce through Satoru's cloud of desire.

The porn continues to play in the background. Loud. Did it get louder? The man searches around the cushions for the remote but to no avail. He just had it.

The boy's face is all teary as he turns away and he looks so ashamed but also... Afraid.

And for a moment Gojo just thinks, he's overwhelmed. You're fine. You did nothing wrong, he gave you the look before hand, he was asking for it, the man repeats like a mantra... Before he realizes: how the fuck can a ten year old ask for it?

The curtain drops and suddenly A profound sense of illness coiled in the pit of Gojo's stomach, heavy like a brick. It was like being doused with ice water.

Fuck what did he just do?

Satoru gulps. Feels sick. Wants to vomit. His own softening cock be damned. Megumi's eyes are round. Hands shaking. Breaths shallow and quick, hot and heavy. A crushing wave of panic hitting him so hard he looks like he's on the verge of passing out and collapsing to the floor. Satoru's heart is fucking pounding.

"I'm sorry" He straightens in his seat. "Megumi, I'm sorry"
His pupils are dilated. A nervous sweat is percolating across his skin. And he's hot and cold all at the same time, mind racing a million miles a minute. Oh fuck holy shit I just...

"You're sorry?" Fushiguro  mumbles under a breath, barely audible. (And holy shit does he sound remarkably like his father) the boy looks like he's about to shatter into pieces.

He clenches his fists like he wants to throw a punch. And if that's how Gojo could apologize, then he'd take every hit.
He wouldn’t fight back. Even if Megumi absolutely destroyed him. He deserve it all: the slaps, the punches, the hatred.

Megumi's hatred.

But nothing, nothing, could have prepared Gojo for the look on the boy's face when he finally raised his gaze.

It wasn't hatred. It wasn't even anger. It was just sadness. All-consuming sadness.

Fushiguro's eyes held a hazy, almost glistening sheen. The start of tears, Satoru realized distantly. Tears he was responsible for.

"Hey, kiddo..." His throat was tight, the previous moment's thrill plummeting into nausea. What had he done? He moved closer—then remembered himself, remembered he was the reason for this—and withdrew. "Gumi, Meg" He forced the words, distressed, fevered. "I… I take it back" Breathing grew difficult; he raked a hand through his hair, desperate for the magical combination of words to make this right. "I shouldn't have done that. I take it back. Don't be sad, Megumi. Please, don't cry… I'm sorry" Gojo Satoru had never apologized this much in his life.

Those words might as well have fallen on deaf ears because tears break free from Megumi's eyelids with little to no regard of Gojo's plea. They start rolling down his cheeks and the streaks they leave glisten.
He gulps again, but stays silent while slowly blinking a few times, the poor boy in obvious shock.

And it's killing Satoru seeing his boy like this. Watching Gumi retreat back into his shell because he can't trust him anymore. And Gojo wants to wrap both arms around him and pull him close and hold and protect him. He wants to so fucking bad it hurts.

So he moves a cautious inch forward, toward Meg. But immediately the boy shuffles back, an equal inch away, keeping the distance between them, arms still crossed as he encases himself in whatever tiny 'safe' space he has left since it's all he has now.

It feels like there's a thick slab of concrete between them, impenetrable at best. And it's the first time Megumi's ever shielded away from Satoru's touch in years and Jesus it's absolutely gutting him.

"Look I... I just wanted to show you that you're not asexual, okay? I went too far and I'm sorry" Gojo says and for some reason that's the best he can muster up despite wanting to say so much more.

It doesn't work. Because silent tears are free-falling from the kid's eyes, dripping down his cheeks, over the button of his nose, raining onto his upper lip. Those big, round brown eyes of his are staring off into nothingness, somewhere past him, beyond him, because oh my god oh my god I can't fucking believe this what the fuck is happening this isn't real it has to be a bad dream.

Finally he responds. "Yeah," he quietly croaks with a slow nod, eyes and cheeks sopping wet, an absent and detached expression across his face. "You sure did"

Megumi slowly brings both hands to his cheeks, each palm covering half his mouth, tears collecting atop his fingertips.

"Oh my god" he mutters softly, airy. It lacks any body and is light as a feather. And it sounds like he's on the verge of breaking.

"What did you do Satoru? What did you do?" He moans, finishing with a borderline squeal as he's hardly able to keep himself together.

The first time Megumi ever uses his first name and it's in this context. Someone stick a dagger in Gojo's heart right now; it'll be less painful.

"Hey, it's okay. It's okay, Megumi" He desperately tried to soothe, expression serene as could be. But his heart rate is rapidly increasing and seeing Megumi, that strong little boy of his, falling to pieces in front of him isn't making things easier.

The boy's face fills with red, and he looks like he's about to give Gojo an earful. "Don't you know what you fucking did!?" He screams.

The man is taken back, but before he can even get a word in Megumi's back at his throat.

"That was—that was everything Satoru! That was it! That was my innocence! That was my trust in you! It- it-" he splutters, chokes, can't finish and feels he's about to crumble into nothing but a hot, sobbing mess.

Their eyes meet.

"I want you to leave" Those beautiful eyes of his narrow, squeezing a few more tears out of the corners of each.

And Gojo feels like he's fighting an uphill battle so he agrees.
"I'll... be upstairs when you're ready to—"

Megumi, who was previously hugging himself, jutted out a harsh finger in his Sensei's direction.
"No, I want you to leave. I-I don't ever want to see you again... I can't stomach it... You... You make me want to puke" he says, tone a bit softer, yet still quite stern. His finger points to the front door.

And holy fuck is that a bomb-drop. Though Gojo's not entirely sure if it's an empty threat or not. Isn't sure if he could really do it, handle life without him around, he's all the boy has left, but Gojo also knows that if a Fushiguro is determined enough to make that decision, he absolutely would. But holy shit Gumi. Could you do it? You would literally die. You wouldn't be here. You'd get killed by curses in a day, tops.

Satoru can practically hear the neurons firing away in Megumi's brain. It's like he himself is wondering if what he just said is the truth or not. But it doesn't really matter, because either way the mere thought nearly breaks Satoru in half and causes him to tremble.

"How can you say that to me? After everything we've been through. All I've done for you" Gojo says, voice quivering, and wounded like it did really hurt. His glasses slide down the bridge of his nose, those blue eyes coming out to play. It's an extremely rare moment of weakness, of vulnerability from him that Megumi's hardly ever witnessed, but he's not giving in.

"Well did you ever think this is what I would've wanted? To be molested?" Gumi's hands and arms thrown forward at the man in jest. They push at his shoulders. Infinity off, it still doesn't even move Gojo a millimeter.

"You're my Sensei and you just—This isn't... this isn't..." He pauses, struggles to find the right word.
Then it hits him. And it just falls out of his mouth with an exhale.
"Okay. This isn't okay"

Satoru's at a loss for words. Feels defeated. Is this was loosing feels like? That's new. He has no idea what to do for the first time in, well, ever. It looks like he doesn't have a plan; he doesn't have an escape route. So he just scoots towards Megumi, looking so fucking desperate to get his arms around him. And Gojo's eyes actually look like they're about to water while his voice comes out shaky as ever. "Megumi please..."

"Get the fuck away from me!" He shouts, retreating again. Immediately. The sudden movement just feels instinctive and reactionary.

It causes Gojo's throat to twist into a knot and suddenly it's hard to breathe. And whether he knows it or not his arms are fucking shaking because not being able to hold his boy right now is pummeling him to bits.

Megumi sniffles, lets out a quick sob, hands pulling up to his cheeks once more to hold his face. This hurts him more than he'd admit because he hates Satoru so fucking much right now and is so angry. But seeing this man who's become his entire support system in so much pain and teeter on the brink of self-destruction is also killing him.
But Fushiguro can't back down. He won't. He remains steadfast, grounded in his position. Like father like son.

"What happened to you, Sensei?" He says. It's nasal, silky soft and coupled with a few more tears dribbling down his cheeks.

Gojo makes one more attempt to get to him, moving forward again, arms reaching out. "Meg..." And it sounds like he's begging. And he is.

But Megumi moved away. Again. "Unh unh," he chirps, shaking his head, barely voicing his resistance.

He swallows hard, hands still holding his face, feet pressed together and legs rigid as he stands, looking so fucking delicate like a leaf trembling in the wind. Like he could shatter into shards of broken-Megumi at any moment.

"This whole time I thought I'd finally found someone who would never hurt me. Someone I finally felt safe with. I thought I could trust you, Sensei"

"Oh Jesus Megumi" Gojo loudly groans because this boy is effectively killing him, his whole body aching and voice climbing in volume because the realization that he might actually lose him is hitting him with the impact of a freight train. And for some reason he looks weak, like he's rapidly losing whatever strength he has left.

Megumi sniffles once more, and his voice comes out soft as velvet, but squeaky and so fucking injured. "Why'd you have to..." He shakes his little head and his thick head of hair follows suit. "I told you to shut up. Fu-fuck... Why couldn't you just shut up, Sensei?" As if that would've saved them; in reality, Fushiguro and Gojo were fucked the moment that video started playing.

"Gumi, just... "

"Don't. You don't get to call me that"

Satoru stops, feels himself choke on his words, ice blue eyes dancing in their sockets and frantically looking around the room for some solution to all of this because there has to be one right!? He can find a way to fix this, right!? He was Satoru—fucking—Gojo!

That in of itself was a problem.

It's useless. And it all hits him at once. Hard. And he swallows. "Oh shit, baby, please..."

Megumi shakes his head. "No" It's a soft peep. Tearful, quick, fatally wounded and half-serious and half-reluctant all at the same time.

It's obvious Megumi's not sure what the fuck to do in this moment. He's feeling all sorts of things and the synapses in his brain are firing in every direction. Before Gojo can even plead to him once more, the kid is bolting for the stairway...

"Megumi!" He shouts, reaching for him.

It's too late. He's already out of arm's reach and halfway there.

"Don't fucking talk to me! I don't want to see you anymore!" He screams, eyes leaking tears as he darts up the stairs.
It only takes Megumi a few seconds to scamper all the way up, and in the next moment he's storming into his bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

And he leaves Satoru there, sitting next to the phantom spot he left, the ghost of him. All he has to cling on to was the smell of his shampoo and the sound of porn in the background.

A baby, the word came to the man again, for the thousandth time. He's just a baby. Barley lived, he doesn't know any better. He shouldn't need to know any better, not at this age.

Fuck, Satoru, the kid's right; what did you do?
 
He wished he get rid themselves of the memories and live in a 'Stepford Wives' kind of ignorant bliss. Fuck that sounds appealing... Just to forget.

But did Gojo deserve that? No, is the short answer. The longer? Nooooo.

"Gojo Sensei?"

Fuck. Satoru exhaled, chest caving from the crushing pressure of realization. Realizing that everything he's done, everything he's ever worked for has amounted to sexually abusing his ten year old adopted son. Damn, that's low, even for him.

"Are you..?"

The man sighed and rubbed his brow, resigning himself to the fact that what he did may have just been the nail-in-the-coffin, the nail-in-the-coffin for tomorrow.

"...hey!"

This isn't... okay, Megumi's voice echoes in his head.

This isn't okay

"Sensei!"

This isn't okay

"Gojo!"

This isn't okay.

" WAKE UP ! "

"You scared the shit out of me!" A pubescent voice cracks. For a moment, Gojo had convinced himself that the ringing in his ears had learned English. That is, until he cranes his neck up to meet and upset looking Megumi peering down at him
"I know you said you were a lightweight, but come on! You were passed out for hours; I thought you died"

His eyes were far too intense, filled with fire, intimidating in a way only a Fushiguro can achieve no matter the age. And part of Satoru wanted to kick himself in the gut for causing that look to engulf Megumi's face. For causing him to worry. Asshole. The nerve.

Of course, that only lasts for a portion of a second. Just until Megumi is flooded with relief that Gojo actually woke up instead of anger that he took so long to do so. (The man only has a birthday once a year. So what if he wanted to get a little drunk and pass out on the bathroom floor during this one?)

"Wh-whatever" the boy mumbles. His lashes flutter as he looks through them "Are you okay?"

Even if he'd never admit it, he's so inexplicably happy to see him awake. (Mostly because Gojo was his guardian and Megumi didn't want to relocate after finally adjusting to his bedroom)

"I was flickering peanuts at your head at first, but then I ran out of em'. Would'a switched to M&M's but you ate them all" he says, like this is all just some fun and stupid game of 'will he wake' or 'won't he wake' Satoru's concocted to entertain him.

For some reason the lighthearted tone behind his playful quip makes everything so much worse. At least if Megumi were pissed and distant then they'd both be. Gojo can deal with that. But this is so much fucking worse, since given the circumstances Gojo's gonna be the one to ruin this rare, yet wonderful good mood of his. Again, Asshole.

So Satoru doesn't respond, doesn't keep eye contact, can't bring himself to push even a few words across his tongue.

Megumi's just about to start again, lips opening, but he stops and collects himself. It only takes a moment, then his eyebrows rise as he realizes exactly what's transpiring here, takes note of Satoru's slouched posture and subdued demeanor. Megumi's eyes widen a bit. It's easy to forget that Gojo is a person with feelings and fears, tough ones apparently.

The boy gulps. It's loud, the sound of it clearly audible in the silence between them.

"Oh"

His voice is airy and soft as velvet, brimming with empathy, the polar-opposite of a few seconds prior. And there's a tone underneath it that says he understands.

"I have nightmares too... All the time" he tries to reassure him with as much grace as a baby giraffe. He has no clue what Gojo saw, how to comfort him... If he should even try. But whatever scared Gojo Sensei probably wasn't something he wanted to hear anyway.

When Satoru stands up the kid leans down to help and he promptly pushes that little hand away. He... He couldn't have Gumi touching him, not right now. Satoru stands on shaky feet, swaying like a sleeping bat in an earthquake.
Megumi watches with those wide, impressionable eyes of his.

"You can't stand. Stop trying to tough it out" he scoffs and reaches out again "Here, just lean on—"

"Back the hell away from me" Gojo snaps. And Megumi doesn't deserve it, he knows this. Though right now all he can think about is that other Megumi curling away from his touch... The look in those glistening brown eyes...

Gojo's lost alot... He's ruined even more.

And for some reason that feeling of loss, that feeling of missing a crucial part of him, was renewed with that little Fushiguro boy. It's been rediscovered after years of learning to attach himself to nothing.
That's how Gojo learned to survive; attach himself to nothing and he's good at it. But surviving now has a whole new meaning with Megumi in the picture, because you can't live without him and you know it.

"I-" the boy blinks quickly, obviously taken back. His brain lags.
"I don't care what you dreamt... that doesn't give the right to be an ass to me"

Megumi shoves Satoru as he walked past and damn his skin is searing.

"Clean yourself up, you smell like vomit" he announces, already out the door.

A sigh, some injured sound escaping from the depths of Satoru's stomach, leaks through his hardened but breaking shell. His normally sturdy frame bows and seems to crinkle like paper under the weight of... Himself. And he was a heavy weight to bare, just ask anyone who's ever known him.

His head dips, eyes squeeze shut, posture becomes flimsier and less rigid than before as he rests nearly all of his weight against the wall, fingers curling into his hair so tight the whites of his knuckles blend in. And he lets out a muffled groan, like he's in pain, because a string of words are repeatedly running through his head as if he's counting sheep jumping over a fence. He's just a baby. A baby. He's a baby, that's all. He will never forgive you if he finds out. Don't let him find out.

He likes to think Megumi's found meaning and purpose in him, like Satoru has in him. He really fucking wants to believe it. He takes comfort in the fact that ever since his arrival Megumi's grades have risen as well and he's gotten much much stronger. And maybe that and only that is all Satoru does deserve. Just knowing that no matter what happens, no matter where they are, close or far apart, even after he's gone... Fushiguro Megumi will be okay. Maybe not happy, maybe not thriving, but okay. Alive.

That kicks Gojo in the gut. Hard. It hurts, but it's a good hurt, because at least he's feeling something besides the half-hard on in his trousers.