Work Text:
When Gojo arrives at the karaoke bar, Utahime is already five beers deep.
She’s got this lovely pink flush on her cheeks, the color of peonies, of fresh summer peaches. When she sees him, her amber eyes light up, and Gojo has to look away lest they out themselves immediately.
“Nice of you to pencil us into your busy schedule,” Mei drawls from where she’s lounging in the booth, a martini in one hand. Nanami’s sitting next to her, his suit jacket discarded and his tie loosened, one of his muscular arms curved around Mei’s waist in a rare public display of affection. They’ve got a quiet kind of love, the kind that doesn’t need any sort of announcement to be understood. Last year, when Gojo first caught Mei tugging Nanami closer to her with a finger in his belt loop, he was startled by the ease with which Nanami let himself be pulled in, the softness on both of their faces transparent, unhidden.
His parents never put their love on display, so he doesn’t have much of an example to go off of. But he thinks he can understand it, that inability to hide what’s so clearly felt. He’s no stranger to such overwhelming emotions, is actually quite familiar with the way someone can be your undoing. But it still makes him feel strange all the same, unused to letting such vulnerabilities be seen, what with him being the strongest and all.
Shoko wordlessly holds out a colorful drink to him, a fruit mocktail from the smell of it, exactly the kind he’s partial to. Gojo accepts it, feeling weirdly touched by this small act of love. He forgets sometimes that people know him, and that they make the conscious choice to love him based on this knowledge of his character.
Suguru pulls Shoko out of the booth to sing the next song together, and she indulges him, smiling as he pecks her on the cheek, presses the microphone into her hand. Another easy demonstration of affection.
Now that they’re out of the booth, the seat beside Utahime is open, and she’s looking at him expectantly, so Gojo slides in next to her, hoping he appears more casual about her proximity than he feels.
“Hey, senpai,” he smiles, willing himself to be normal, to not let himself get drawn in by her gold eyes and pretty smile.
“Hi,” she giggles, putting a hand on his thigh to lean her weight onto him. “I’m really drunk.”
“I can tell,” he chuckles, eyeing her lineup of empty bottles. “You’re having a party, huh?”
“I’m celebrating,” she hiccups a little, her smile warm, gooey, softening the delicate lines of her face. “It’s Friday night. That means the weekend’s tomorrow. Isn’t that great?”
“Who’s on Utahime duty tonight?” Gojo aims this question at Mei and Nanami, who’re watching their interaction with clear amusement on their faces. “Because they’ve done a shit job at making sure she paces herself.”
“Relax,” Mei waves him off. “She’s just having fun. You can watch over her from now on if you’re so concerned.”
“I—” Gojo begins to protest, but then Utahime slips an arm around his neck and drags his face close to hers, loudly whispering, “Hey, did you know Gojo’s coming tonight?”
He can’t help the small smile that curls his mouth upwards. “Is he? Who invited that idiot?”
“Not me,” she replies, fiddling with the collar of his powder blue button-down. He knows for a fact that she likes this shirt—she’s told him as much, although he had to force the confession out of her—but he definitely didn’t wear it for her. Not at all.
“You don’t like him?” he asks teasingly, allowing her to slide her hand further downwards, pressing her palm against his sternum. If she moves it a few inches, she’ll feel just how affected he is by her touch from the way his heart is racing, and he isn’t sure which of them it’ll embarrass more.
“No,” Utahime sighs, leaning her temple against his shoulder. “I can’t stand him. He’s horrible—he makes fun of me all the time, and he thinks he’s a better teacher than me.”
“I can’t imagine anyone’s a better teacher than you,” he reassures her.
She hums, pressing herself closer into his side. He feels her breasts graze his arm and freezes, his eyes flicking to Mei and Nanami in alarm. Luckily, they’re engrossed in their own conversation, their heads bent close together. He glances over at Shoko and Suguru, but they’re standing a few feet away, belting out the song on the screen, so it looks like he and Utahime are in the clear for now.
“Hey,” Gojo says softly, gently pinching her arm. “Why don’t you drink some water? We gotta sober you up a little.”
“Nooo,” Utahime resists weakly, now attempting to push him away from her. “I’m having fun!”
“Come on, baby,” he murmurs in her ear, hoping to whatever gods are out there that Mei and Nanami aren’t listening to them. “Will you please drink some water? For me?”
Utahime squints at him, her eyes widening when she realizes who he is. “Gojo? Gojo! You’re here!”
He melts a little when she loops her arms around his torso, pressing her face into the crook of his neck.
“Okay, senpai,” he laughs nervously, glancing around to ensure their friends are still distracted. “We really need to get some water in you. C’mere, drink up.”
She pulls back, allowing him to tip a half-full glass of water into her mouth, the smooth column of her throat shifting as she drinks. When the glass is empty, Gojo sets it down and wipes away a droplet of water at the corner of her mouth with his thumb.
“You’re so handsome,” she sighs, her voice dreamy, tender in a way that makes him ache. Her affection is written all over her face, gleaming in her irises, pinking her cheeks. Gojo swallows, feeling horribly soft, alarmingly aware of how difficult it is to keep love hidden.
“Thanks,” he smiles. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
“Wanna kiss you,” she implores quietly, nuzzling at his neck. “You look so yummy.”
Her teeth scrape over the soft skin above his pulse and he jerks a little, his blood fizzing like it’s full of carbonation.
“Uta,” he says under his breath, balling his hands into fists to stop himself from touching her. “Come on—you’re making this really hard. I thought we agreed to keep this a secret for now?”
“I don’t like secrets,” she mumbles, brushing her lips over the hollow of his throat, making him stiffen. “I just like you. I like you so much. I can’t believe how much I like you.”
When her hand finds his crotch beneath the table, Gojo jolts, grabbing her wrist before she can make him pop a boner around all their friends.
“Utahime,” he hisses, and she merely giggles in response.
“Someone’s extra handsy tonight,” Mei remarks, startling him. She and Nanami are both watching them again, looking intrigued. “I’ve never seen her like this.”
“Isn’t she always a clingy drunk?” Gojo points out nervously.
“Did you make her drink water?” Nanami checks. “She’ll have a terrible hangover at this rate.”
“He gave me a drink,” Utahime supplies. “I drink his stuff all the time—Gojo likes it when I swallow. He says it’s really hot, and—”
“O—kay, Utahime!” he hastily interrupts her, tamping down the furious blush threatening to stain his face. “You’re talking nonsense now. Should we get you to bed?”
“No!” she exclaims. “I wanna sing—I wanna—hey, Gojo, let’s sing! Oh, let’s sing together!”
“I don’t think—”
But she’s already jumped to her feet, wobbling a little as she skirts around him to get out of the booth. Shoko and Suguru have just finished their last song, so Shoko hands her the microphone, patting her cheek as she returns to the table.
“She’s really feeling it tonight, huh?” she grins.
“You gonna sing, Satoru?” Suguru says into the mic from the front of the room.
“You know the rules of karaoke night,” Shoko prompts him, nudging him with her shoulder. “Everyone’s gotta do at least one song. Get up there, rockstar.”
Shit, Gojo sighs to himself, reluctantly exiting the booth. Normally, he has no problem putting on a show for his friends, but Utahime’s so flirtatious tonight, and there’s no way she’s not going to expose them.
He takes the mic from Suguru, who’s smirking at him like he knows something Gojo doesn’t. Then he goes to sit next to Shoko, slinging an arm around her shoulders.
Gojo swallows hard, acutely aware of all their friends’ attention on him and Utahime.
Utahime’s choosing a song, her lovely face tense with concentration as she flips through the songbook. When she finds one she likes, she inputs it into the system, and the lyrics pop up on the screen.
She’s chosen “Kinku” by Nakamori Akina, a song that Gojo knows is dear to her heart. As the music starts, she loops her arm through his, smiling up at him, her eyes glittering like stars beneath the lights.
He has the overwhelming urge to lean down and kiss her, but he obviously can’t do such a thing right now. Instead, he returns her smile, wondering how much he’s giving away, but finding it hard to care in this very moment.
“Do they think we’re stupid?” Shoko questions, tracing idle circles with her thumb onto the back of Suguru’s hand.
“I think it’s sweet,” Mei coos, her dark eyes fixed on the pair as they sing with their arms linked. “They think they’re so good at keeping it a secret.”
“Uta came down to our campus this one time, and she and Satoru spoke for two minutes. The next thing I knew, all my students were asking me if they’re dating,” Suguru recalls.
“Should we place bets?” Mei suggests with a smirk. “How soon do we all think they’ll tell us?”
“We shouldn’t bet on their relationship, honey,” Nanami reasons, affectionately tugging on the end of Mei’s silver braid.
“Twenty bucks says they’ll slip up and reveal it within the next two weeks,” Shoko interjects.
“Thirty says Satoru’s gonna be the one to do it,” Suguru adds.
The group titters with laughter, then glances over at their two friends again. Utahime’s leaning into Gojo’s side, letting him take her weight, steady her. And Gojo’s face is tilted downwards, his blue eyes reflecting the light from the screen as he looks at her with the tenderness of a bruise, his face cracked wide open.
“Idiots,” Shoko shakes her head, but her voice is warm.
When they’re finished their song, Utahime wraps herself around Gojo’s waist and refuses to let go, so he feeds their friends an awkward speech about taking her home so she can sober up.
“Take good care of her,” Mei orders, smiling knowingly at him.
Gojo nods, leading Utahime out of the bar. When they make it out onto the street, he releases a sigh of relief at having narrowly escaped exposure, cupping her face and feigning disapproval.
“You almost got us caught, you little troublemaker,” he admonishes her.
“I don’t care,” she giggles, her pupils wide and bottomless. “I like you soooo much, and I don’t care who knows.”
Gojo pauses, gazing down at her. “…Do you mean that?”
“’Course I do!”
“Then why did you want to keep our relationship a secret?”
“Mm, because you did, silly.”
“Well, I—” he fumbles. “I don’t know, I just—I thought that’s what you’d prefer. Historically, you haven’t been my biggest fan. I thought it might be hard for you to explain that we’re together.”
“I wasn’t a fan of you before,” she agrees. “But I am now. What’s so hard to explain about that?”
“Yeah,” he murmurs, brushing her bangs out of her eyes. “I guess you have a point.”
He hails them a cab, instructing the driver to bring them back to his apartment. During the car ride, Utahime’s all smiles, unable to stop pressing kisses to his face. Gojo knows he’s blushing, glad that she doesn’t seem to take notice of the fact. Her hand skims over his inner thigh, coming to rest atop his crotch for the second time that night.
“Uta—Utahime,” he chokes out, catching her wrist when she rubs the heel of her palm over him. “Not right now, sweetheart.”
“But I want you,” she pouts. “Isn’t that why we left? So we can go have sex?”
“No, Uta,” he laughs softly. “We left so I can put you to bed.”
“I don’t wanna sleep,” she croons in his ear. “I wanna sleep with you.”
She’s half on his lap now, one leg slung over his, her arms coming up to circle his neck. When she presses her lips to his, he can’t help but reciprocate the kiss, opening his mouth so she can slide her tongue against his. His eyes flick to the cab driver, but they don’t seem to be paying the two of them any mind, likely used to such a scene.
When Utahime nips at his lower lip hard enough to draw blood, Gojo suppresses a shudder, pulling back. She always gets a little rough when she really wants him, losing herself to her desire.
“Gentle, baby,” he murmurs to her. “Look, we’re almost home. I’ll take care of you when we get there, okay?”
“Okay,” she sighs, pecking the tip of his nose.
The second they enter Gojo’s apartment, Utahime’s on him, pushing him against the front door as she kisses him.
“Utahime,” he laughs, stopping her clumsy attempt at unbuttoning his shirt. “Come on, let’s just go to bed. Aren’t you tired?”
“I’ll be tired after I cum,” she states matter-of-factly, reaching for his pants now.
Gojo halts her again, studying her. She’s definitely drunk, but she looks aware of what she’s doing, and the desire on her face is plain as day. A part of him would gladly give her what she wants, but the bigger part of him knows he’ll end up feeling guilty, even if he’s certain she trusts him while in this state.
“Hey,” Gojo says, gripping her shoulders. “You wanna go to the bedroom?”
“Yes, please,” she answers excitedly, turning and flouncing down the hall. He follows her, closing the bedroom door behind them as Utahime tugs her dress over her head and sits on the edge of the bed, now clad in only a scalloped white bra and a pair of white panties with a little bow on the front.
Gojo kneels in front of her, sliding his palms over her knees and up her soft thighs, feeling arousal course through his bloodstream. “You want my mouth, baby?”
She nods eagerly, biting her lip in anticipation. Gojo slips his fingers into the sides of her underwear, tugging them down, spreading her legs so she’s laid bare before him. Utahime leans up on her elbows to watch him, her face flushed with stark want.
She’s gleaming wet, thoroughly ready for him. Gojo doesn’t waste any time, leaning down to lick a stripe up the center of her pussy, parting her folds with his fingers so he can lap at her wetness. Utahime moans, her head falling back as he sucks and licks her. When his lips seal over her clit, she squeals, her hips bucking upwards.
He slides two fingers into her, her pussy sucking them in greedily. She’s whimpering his name, her hands fisted in the sheets beneath her as he eats her out. She always has her most intense orgasms when he goes down on her, so he’s made sure to learn her sweet spots over the course of the months they’ve been secretly seeing each other.
He can feel her slick dripping down his chin, mixed with a bit of his own drool. Sober Utahime is usually a little mortified at how messy things get when he uses his mouth on her, but Drunk Utahime doesn’t seem to care in the slightest, wantonly grinding herself against him as he drags his tongue over her.
“You’re so good at this,” she whines. “Ah—Satoru, please, ’m gonna cum—”
He hums against her, and the vibrations have her gasping, her back arching. “Oh, fuck, I—I’m—”
“Good baby,” he coos encouragingly, pumping his fingers in and out of her. “Go on.”
She shudders through her orgasm, reaching down to twist her fingers in his hair as she lets go. Gojo keeps fingering her, keeps stroking his tongue over her, until she eventually settles back onto the bed, breathing heavily.
“Your mouth is amazing,” she sighs contently as he slides his fingers out of her, giving her inner thigh a parting kiss. “I love it. I love you.”
Gojo freezes, hovering above her body, staring down at her red, beautiful face in shock. Utahime doesn’t even seem to register what she’s just said, her eyes fluttering shut. She’s fast asleep within seconds, her chest rising and falling evenly.
Gojo swallows, not knowing what to do with himself for a moment. Woodenly, he gets up, wincing a little at how painful his erection is. He washes his hands, grabs a towel, and returns to carefully wipe Utahime clean. Then he gently lifts her up so he can pull one of his shirts over her head. After repositioning her on the side of his bed she usually claims and drawing the blankets up over her body, he takes a cold shower to calm himself down, her voice ringing over and over in his head like clanging bells.
I love you I love you I love you I love you.
Utahime’s wrapped around him when Gojo wakes, blinking the sleep out of his eyes.
He looks at her, brushing some of her dark hair out of her face. As if sensing his attention, she groggily cracks an eye open, the sunlight filtering through his window turning her iris a brilliant gold.
“Head hurts,” she mumbles, burrowing her face into his shirt to escape the light.
“I’ve got painkillers,” he offers, voice raspy with sleep.
“No, don’t move,” she clings to his waist to stop him from reaching for the glass of water and pill bottle he’d placed on the nightstand last night. “Just stay here with me.”
Gojo complies, stroking a hand through her hair. After a moment of silence, she asks, “How embarrassing was I last night?”
“On a scale of one to ten?” he questions, and at her nod he declares, “Eleven.”
“Ugh,” she grimaces. “How could you let me humiliate myself?”
“It wasn’t humiliating,” he grins. “It was cute.”
“You are such a jerk.”
“That’s not what you were saying last night. In fact, you couldn’t shut up about how much you like me.”
“Oh, gods,” she groans. “I’m never drinking again. It makes me so sappy.”
“I like Sappy Utahime.”
“Of course you do,” she grumbles. “You love it when people stroke your ego.”
“I love it when people stroke other things of mine too,” he waggles his brows at her, and she smacks his shoulder. Gojo pauses, takes a deep breath. Then he says, “That’s not the only thing I love, you know.”
Utahime tenses against him, and he knows then that she remembers what she said. He should probably pretend not to recall her slip-up, but he thinks again about how Nanami touched Mei’s hair, how Suguru put his arm around Shoko with all the ease in the world. He considers that maybe love isn’t easy to hide for a reason, and that perhaps he’d jumped the gun, thinking Utahime would want to hide theirs.
He looks at her now, at her amber eyes, the bow of her top lip, the jagged scar he’s traced his fingers over a million times. What a ridiculous notion, that love can be kept in the dark. He’s only ever felt full of light when he’s with her—how could their love be anything but that?
“Did you mean it?” he asks quietly, touching his forehead to hers.
She sighs, tracing a hand down the line of his spine. “Yeah.”
“I love you back,” he murmurs. “You know that?”
“I know, idiot.”
He cracks a smile at that, bumping his nose against hers. She allows him to kiss her, wrapping her arms around his neck to draw him closer.
“Hey,” he says against her mouth. “Do you think the others know?”
“I was an eleven last night, right?”
“Veering into twelve territory, if I’m being honest.”
“Then yeah, Satoru. They know.”
He laughs, kissing her again. They hold each other in the peaceful quietude of his bedroom, the morning light bathing them in gold, and their love comes easy, hardly hidden in the first place.