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She stands in front of the door shivering. It wasn’t suppose to be this chilly but the lake weather was temperamental. The thing cardigan and skirt she wore now felt stupidly pathetic in the face of the wind. But the distance between their houses was so short it seemed to silly to wear a jacket. So there she stood wondering how she got here.
The answer was like so many things incredibly boring. Her advisor, kind with the elbow patches and a thick beard that occasionally had flecks of lunch, had informed her she was missing her language credit.
“It’s a prerequisite for graduating,” he said blandly with the confidence that tenure gave. “Sorry I didn’t mention it before.”
“Of course. Not a problem,” she had replied, still trying to don the attire of the perfect student.
This changed dramatically as she realized this late into the semester the only languages available were either Mandarin or French.
“So I obviously took French,” she had explained on the phone weeks later.
“Utahime, you’re like barely able to speak English,” the voice had said. She could hear the background sounds of super smash and boys voices in what was probably some dorm of decrepit disrepair.
“Fuck off Gojo. Biochemists don’t need that shit anyways. C'mon. I wouldn’t call you unless I needed it,” she said. It was embarrassing. But cramming French verb conjugation was something she didn’t have the time, energy, or possibly the brain matter to handle. Between her busy schedule and her part time job what really was the difference between tu and vous anyways?
Of course it was simple for him. He practically lived half his life in some boarding school in Paris. He had been born to the kind of generational wealth that made her mind dizzy. She lived in their little sleepy lake town because that’s where her grandfather had bought a house. He lived next door because their family came and bought the whole damn lake front. He wasn’t just good at French, he was essentially a native speaker.
“Please Gojo,” she said. “I just need to pass this stupid distro.”
“Sure.” He said. So casually she could almost reach through the phone and strangle him. “I’ll be back anyways to visit my mom. She’s basically living there full time now. This Friday good?”
“Gojo…” she said. Cradling the phone to her neck, breathing easy for the first time. She only had a few minutes during her break and at least he had’t wasted them.
She was expecting a retort, something insulting and biting but instead she heard a girlish voice in the background. That your girlfriend? Followed by a Fuck off Shoko. Something inside her contracted.
“I gotta go but thanks you. See you soon,” she said and hung up.
As she took the last T train back to her apartment she had time to unravel herself. Calling Gojo had hardly been an issue. They had grown up next door. His parents were the nouveau rich type who saw a picture of the sleepy town and immediately had to have it. They were the type to use summer as a verb. She couldn’t understand why someone who had the means to go anywhere would continue to stay there for a month or two every year. But summer he did.
He was just her dweeby neighbor who she never would’ve believed was a so called genius if she hadn’t actually googled his name. For so long he was just Gojo. A summer fixture like the boats that would dock in the pier, a moment meant for fireflies and cicadas and boys that kept coming back taller and taller.
Something about that boy and the idea of a girl seemed absolutely incongruous. He was a sophomore now and yet it was just a few years ago he came over so often for dinner she set the table for him just in case. But now…
She shook her head and steeled herself as she got off at her stop. She would graduate in a few months and after that they would probably never see each other again except on the odd occasion. It was fine.
But that was a few days ago and this was now.
Because standing in front of his door, a place she has stood a thousand times before, it all felt obscene. They were just neighbors for chrissakes so why did she feel like she had gotten ready for something? Who was her mascara and blush for tonight? Because as she stood there freezing she couldn’t quite say it was just for her.
To calm herself down she tried to conjugate verbs. Être. To be. Je suis. I am. Tu es. You are. Vous êtes. You are but somehow more formally.
She only had to pass a few quizzes and shovel her way through the speaking portion. And after that she would never have to look at the language again. Jamais. She thought, then realized she had forgotten the word for again.
But before she can even knock, the door opens.
“Uta?” He said, his little nickname running off his mouth. He looked her up and down.
“Is that all you wore? It’s freezing.” He said, pulling her inside. Before she could even protest she was pulled into the foyer. Had his hands always been large enough to hold her entire forearm?
“It’s just next door,” she said sulkily. She looked around the hall before he interrupted her.
“Nah she’s already out. It was rose night. You want a glass?”
He was already padding down the hallway. His black sweats and thin grey cashmere hoodie floating down with the kinetic energy that felt so unbearably him. She tried to bite down a smile. At least somethings never change.
“You’re not old enough to drink,” she called out as she followed.
“I went to school in Europe. My BAC is required to be above a certain level or else I get kicked out of the EU.”
He had pulled out a bottle, undoubtedly something from Aix en Provenance, where they also had a place she remembered his mother once telling her.
She reached for the tumblers in the third cabinet,
“Merde. Un plouc,” he said, waving her off. “S’il te plait.”
He grabbed two wine glasses from somewhere and poured quite heavy.
She thanked him and oddly wondered if he had done this often in college. Impressed girls with manners and knowledge. She was pounding beers at a frat house and was her dweeby little neighbor trying to show off that he knew tannins and mouthfeels?
“You alright?” He asked, his shaggy mop of white hair covering most of his eyes.
“Your sunglasses,” she murmured. “When did you stop wearing them?”
“They put some new laser on my eye and voila. No more migraines.”
He took another sip.
“And now the baby blues have been freed and unleashed into the world.” He wiggled an eyebrow. She laughed despite herself.
“You’re such a dork.” But it came out with so much less malice than she had hoped for.
“Yea. A dork whose about to save ton cul.”
“You’re making me regret so many things,” she said and gulped down most of the wine. She grabbed the bottle. “Lead the way you - what’s French for asshole?’
“L’amour de ma vie,” he shot back as he walked upstairs.
“I know that’s not right!” She said, just behind.
She hadn’t been to the upstairs in a few years. When she came over they had watched movies on the couch or she had kept Gojo’s mother company in the dining room. She had never even been to his bedroom, a respectful gesture he never returned to her. She had once walked in on him in her room trying on one of her skirts and taking pictures as a joke. She had thrown half a set of encyclopedias at him before her mother made her stop.
So standing at the top of the stairs she wasn’t sure where to turn.
“In here Uta.”
She followed the voice until she entered what must have been his father’s office. He was sitting in the large black leather chair. An old desktop sitting on top of what was probably expensive mahogany.
“Only place to get wifi in this whole house,” he said. “Only downside to lake life is the complete and utter lack of good wifi here. I’m practically a cro magnon when I leave.”
She rolled her eyes, refusing to admit that her parents had dial up until a few years ago.
“Ok so I have to log in and take a hand full of quizzes. Can you just I dunno help spot check?”
“Sure, but on one condition,” he said, leaning back against his fathers chair.
“Sit on my lap.”
And he flicked his hand somehow finding a way to make it lewd.
“You’re fucking joking.”
“No I think it’s a good deal. You pass your distro and all you need to do is take a seat.”
He pats his leg and Utahime has decided that death would be too merciful for this brat.
“Cmon Uta,” he says, the little nickname he has no right to use rolling off his stupid tongue. It feels like a dare and she was not one to take that lying down.
“I need to pass this class,” she says. “And I’m not going to be put off it by your childish antics.”
And she strode over and sat right on down. She tried to sit on the least amount of his leg but alas. He immediately pulled her back towards him. She made a small sound as he sat her ass flush against him, her spine rigid as it presses against his chest. His mouth was near her neck now.
“Atta girl,” he said. And she thought it should be illegal for anyone to be so confidently an ass.
His internet is slow and so it takes her a minute to navigate through blackboard and go through the screens.
She can feel every ripple of movement. Every click making her mind go a little further than where she needs it to be. Each keyboard stroke made him press harder against her, and she has never been more aware of her breath as she sat there, his arms around her as he explained.
“This is a future tense, Uta and I’m pretty sure that’s not English or French.”
“It’s not only the verbs but it’s also sometimes the c’s have little tails on them. Look, I am a byproduct of the American education system. You can’t expect much of me,” She said.
“Yea it’s amazing any of you can read. Look this one? It requires the c with a tail. La cédille. It’s Old Spanish or some shit. I think Portuguese has it too.” One of his legs has begun to bounce and she wondered if it was French to die of humiliation.
“How do you know all this?”
“I got bored with physics and wandered into the humanities for a little,” he said. And then he leaned forward because there was no God. She could feel every inch of him pressed against her. And given how solid he felt, somewhere along the way her neighbor had discovered the gym.
“You’re taking this stuff for fun? I’d rather take econometrics again,” she said.
He snorts.
“No respect for your mother tongue. He tsk tsk.”
She doesn’t realize at first but feels one of his hands as it trails against her arm, skimming down her waist.
“What?” She said, the only word that her brain could produce at the moment.
“England was Germanic speaking with a smattering of danish.” He said. He had rested his chin into her neck and every word tickled her ear lobe. She tried to shift away but the hand at her waist was holding her down firmly.
“So when William the Conqueror well conquered he brought with him French. The two languages were used side by side until they melded together to be old English.”
She was having trouble understand anything as she was pretty sure her heart was hammering loud enough to be heard outside.
She tried to wiggle away but he just laughed. The sound was so low it was a small rumble against her. She knew she was getting wet. I’m getting turned on by Gojo which means I’m officially losing my mind, she thought.
“You keep doing that. Are you trying to turn me on?”
“No no at all.” She said quickly. Wondering how he could possibly know what she was thinking.
“You sure?” He asked and pushed down her hip - oh he was hard.
“This isn’t- I can’t be held responsible for your own perversion.” She blushed.
“My perversion? I’m just helping a girl pass her classes. You’re the one trying to seduce your innocent neighbor.”
The hand on his hip had begun to stray. It was moving down to her ass, the fingertips touching her thigh where the material had betrayed her by riding up. His other hand had left the mouse and tucked her hair behind her ear and god she was so fucked.
“You? Innocent?” She said. “Don’t make me laugh. Does this work on girls?”
“You want to talk about other girls right now?” And the way he laughed.
“This is disrespectful,” she said, trying to free herself.
“No,” he replied. “This is.”
And he tipped her chin towards him and kissed her.
Gojo Satoru tasted like rosé and french fries and lake side vacations and whatever was left over from summer whenever the weather turned.
He pulled back, looking up at her with blazing blue eyes.
“Uta-,” he said and she decided the time for thinking was over.
She dipped her mouth to his. She wondered how one would translate if I burn then we burn together.
A switch had flipped. Whatever control he had exerted was gone as hands wondered through out her body. If she had ever still thought of him as the dorky kid next door that thought was obliterated when she felt his fingers between her legs pressing at the juncture.
She hissed as his fingers pulled her underwear aside and pressed. She was completely soaking wet. The sound was obscene.
“Gojo-,” she said.
“No,” he replied.
“S-Satoru,” she moaned.
“Good girl,” he said.
He begun to swirl his fingers around her clit and she buckled. His other hand had unbuttoned her cardigan and began to knead her breasts. His hand was large enough he could palm both and what was someone suppose to do with that information?
The computer screen made a chirp and she turned to realize it was a timer reminding her that she would soon be logged out for inactivity.
“Oh I forgot,” he said. “Finissons.”
“What? I can’t-“ She said, her brain absolute mush as she was getting closer. It had been an embarrassingly dry year for her, between her job and classes she had simply had no time to find someone.
He nudged her face to the screen.
“It’ll be a cinch.” He said. “Super simple."
It was not simple. She could string together a coherent thought as his fingers continued to swirl at her core. His thumb making small circles as two of his fingers dipped in. They reached into her core and she was not proud of the sound she made as they moved back and forth.
She tried to click through the questions but at some point Go-Satoru was getting through them.
Impressive as his other hand had pulled up her tank top and bra. She shivered as the cold air hits her bare chest. She was not sure her nipples had ever been so hard.
What a scene she thought. Here she was panting, half naked, sitting on a someone’s lap being toyed with as he touched her exactly as he pleased. She came at the thought. Biting her tongue to keep from being loud.
“That’s it. Comme ça.”
She hasn’t even come down when she realized he had yanked down her underwear. And managed to free his cock from his sweat pants.
And now every time she squirmed she could feel his heat as it pressed against her.
“Satoru, this is…” she never got to finish the thought as he had grabbed her waist, lined them up, and eased her onto himself. He hissed in pleasure and her mouth was no longer capable of words.
What’s the French word for ruin? Hell for cocksleeve she though as she sank down on him. She could maybe get down half way due to the angle but the stretch was delicious.
“Move,” he said.
She raised herself as best she could, her earlier orgasm making it easy to slide up and down. His hand gripped her ass so hard she wondered if it would leave a bruise.
She closed her eyes.
She was getting close again. Her mouth has betrayed her with small whimpers. She pressed a hand over it.
“Absolutement pas. Je veux t’entendre,” He said. And he pulled her hand off her mouth.
“I assure you this house has heard worse.”
She didn’t want to think about how many girls he had fucked in this house. How little she might have mattered. If this would mean nothing well she would get hers.
So she moaned, a guttural sound. She felt him press his head against hers.
“Uta. Fuck. I need to-” he said. And abruptly pushed her off the chair against the desk.
She squeaked at the sudden loss of him. And both hands came out to steady herself.
Before she even had a chance to protest - as though she could given what a state she’s been reduced to - he had flipped her around.
He pulled her close and off went her underwear. He pulled down his sweatpants and she tried not stare at the way muscle turned into white tuft as it neared his cock.
He positioned her so he could pull her forward. A hand on each thigh as he lined himself to her. He pressed in one aching inch at a time and closed his eyes. She realized he was panting. Perhaps he wasn’t as unaffected after all.
But then every thought was fucked out of her when he bottomed out against her. She groaned, closing her eyes savoring the sensation of being completely filled.
He took a moment before he began to move. And if she had felt it was full before she had no idea.
He slammed into her, swearing and muttering something French or English. Ruin. God. Swearing. She didn’t need to understand French to know he was close.
His mouth had found hers again though. There was hunger in the he kissed her.
With both hands behind her she tried to brace herself as he kept hitting that particular spot, making her almost white out.
“Satoru I’m so close.” She said. “Don’t stop.”
Her words must have unleashed something as he fucked even harder.
She gasped when one of his hands found her clit again.
“I’m soak- I’m a mess.” She said in between gasps.
“Good.” He said. “I like you undone.”
And hit the spot again.
She came and he swallowed her groan, fucking her through her second orgasm. His movements felt shorter and she heard his breath shorten. In a few short strokes he finished.
She felt as though every piece of her had been jumbled and strewn on the floor. She would have to find each piece and rebuild herself one breath at a time. Perhaps this was what he did to people she thought. Or worse what if this is what he does to me?
His forehead was pressed against hers. His breath panting. Their noses nestled next to each other side by side.
I know what his orgasm looks like she thought in a daze. Le petit mort. His eyes were so soft, brilliantly blue the way water reflects the summer light.
“Are you… Are we…?” he asked. His voice a hoarse whisper.
The cold realization of what had just happened was easing into her as the last vestiges of her orgasm faded. She tried to pull at whatever she could to push herself towards clarity.
“Satoru. Look… Am I - that girl on the phone - did I just wreck-“
His eyes widened.
“Are you seriously mentioning another girl? You’re going to give a guy a complex,” he said. “She’s just a friend.”
His eyes never left hers.
“And me?” She asked. “Am I just a friend?”
“You’re not just anything,” he said. “Not to me.”
There is a moment and she gathers her courage before she jumps into the waters. She is a good swimmer. She knows he won’t let her drown.
“What’s French for I’m alright?” She said.
“Ça va,” he finally lands.
“Then. Ça va.” She said. And turned her mouth to his.