Chapter Text
Every day, without fail, Gojo Satoru visited the stables.
The tall wooden doors would creak as they swung open, his silhouette framing the dim light of the lanterns within. Inside, the horses shifted restlessly, their ears flicking toward the sound of his footsteps. But Gojo’s attention was always on one thing: Geto Suguru.
Geto, ever the picture of discipline, moved through the stables with a kind of effortless grace. His veiny hands were sure and steady, grooming the horses, adjusting their tack, ensuring they were comfortable before they would be ridden again. He worked silently, a quiet figure amid the bustle of the horses.
Gojo, on the other hand, made no attempt to be subtle. He wasn’t one to sneak around or hide his intentions. When he arrived, he made sure his presence was known—both by the horses and by Geto.
“Well, well,” Gojo's voice rang out as he leaned casually against the stable door. His eyes, always gleaming with mischief, followed Geto’s every movement. “You’re looking especially good today, Suguru. Though I’d expect nothing less, given the way you handle those horses. It’s almost... too perfect.”
Geto didn’t look up immediately, but Gojo could see the brief flicker of his eyes, a slight tightening of his jaw. Geto wasn’t a man to indulge in games, not like Gojo. But that was part of the charm—Gojo liked to see how Geto would respond to his provocations.
With a soft, controlled sigh, Geto continued his work, brushing down one of the horses, his motions fluid and practiced. “I’m simply doing my job, Lord Gojo,” he said, his voice calm, but there was a subtle edge to it. He wasn’t fooled by Gojo’s playful tone, but it was clear he wasn’t quite sure how to handle the constant attention.
“You know, Suguru,” Gojo stepped closer, his boots barely making a sound on the hay-covered floor, “you’re really good with those horses. Maybe I should let you handle more than just them. I’m sure you’d find ways to... discipline me, too.” His grin stretched across his face, as wicked as ever.
Geto’s hands paused for a moment, though his eyes never left the horse. A soft breath escaped him, but he didn’t acknowledge Gojo’s comment. The silence stretched between them, thick with tension. Gojo could feel it, the way Geto was trying to maintain control, trying to keep his focus on the task at hand.
“Lord Gojo, I’m here to care for the horses,” Geto said evenly, though there was a certain sharpness in his tone now. “I don’t have time for games.”
“Games? I’m not playing.” Gojo said with a smirk, leaning closer. He could see Geto’s jaw tightening, his bulging muscles coiling as though he was resisting the urge to react, to say something cutting back. And Gojo loved it. He loved that Geto never gave him the easy responses that most men did.
“I’m just saying,” Gojo continued, his voice lowering in a playful whisper, “if you ever need a... second job, you know where to find me. I’m sure we could come to some kind of... arrangement.” His tone was light, teasing, but there was an undercurrent of something deeper, something more sincere hidden behind the playful words.
For a moment, Geto paused again, his hands faltering. His eyes met Gojo’s—finally, an acknowledgment. The look was sharp, calculating. The air between them shifted, the faintest crackle of tension rising as their gazes locked.
“I don’t take bribes,” Geto said, his voice smooth but his eyes burning with something that Gojo couldn’t quite place—anger? Frustration? Or was it something else entirely?
Gojo’s smirk only deepened. “Bribes? No, no. I’m not offering you money, Geto. I’m offering you something far more... interesting.” He let the words linger, savoring the way Geto’s composure seemed to fray, just the tiniest bit.
It was clear that Geto wasn’t the type to be easily flustered, but Gojo knew he was testing the limits. The man was so composed, so calm—Gojo couldn’t help but want to see what would happen if he pushed him a little more.
The sound of a horse stomping its hooves brought Gojo’s attention back to the stables. He turned toward the horse, then back to Geto. “You know,” he said, his voice lighter now, but still edged with mischief, “there’s something about the way you handle those animals... I think I might have found my new favorite pastime. Watching you work.”
Geto exhaled through his nose, his gaze flickering briefly to Gojo. The smallest of smiles played at the corner of his lips, but it was gone as quickly as it appeared. “I’m glad I amuse you, my lord,” he said, his tone a mixture of dry humor and the hint of something more serious.
Gojo leaned back against the stable wall, folding his arms, admiring the quiet strength in Geto. He could see the way Geto carried himself—never reactive, never too eager to engage in the games Gojo played. It was a rare quality, and one that made Gojo more intrigued with every passing day.
“I don’t think you quite understand, Suguru.” Gojo said, his grin softening for a moment, just a hint of something genuine in his voice. “I don’t get bored easily, but you... you keep things interesting. Keep it up, and you might just become the most entertaining thing in this whole estate.”
Geto didn’t respond. Instead, he turned back to the horse, finishing the grooming task with calm efficiency. But Gojo could see the flicker of something in his eyes—the challenge, the intrigue, the tension between them. And for the first time, Gojo wasn’t entirely sure how things would play out.
But he was certain of one thing: he wouldn’t stop visiting.
The following days passed much the same way. Gojo’s visits to the stables became routine—almost expected. He made a point to arrive at different times of the day, making sure that Geto would always be in the midst of some task. And each time, his presence seemed to disrupt the otherwise peaceful rhythm of Geto’s work.
Today was no different. The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm golden hue through the cracks in the stable’s wooden walls. The horses were quieter now, used to the strange man who came daily to watch them. Gojo walked in with his usual swagger, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as he surveyed Geto from across the stable.
Geto was tending to a black stallion, brushing its coat with practiced ease. His back was to Gojo as usual, and yet, Gojo could see the subtle shift in Geto’s posture as he sensed him approach. There was no turning to greet him, no sign of acknowledgment beyond the way Geto’s fingers tightened slightly around the brush.
"Ah, another day, another horse," Gojo said, his voice carrying a playful lilt. "You must really be getting attached to them by now, Geto. Careful, don’t fall in love with the beasts. They may not return your affections."
Geto’s hand didn’t falter, but his response was dry, laced with subtle irritation. “I’m not here to form bonds with the horses, Lord Gojo,” he replied without looking over his shoulder. “I’m here to do my job.”
Gojo chuckled, moving closer, his gaze fixed on Geto’s muscular back. He could almost feel the man’s silent annoyance, but it only made the game more interesting. "Why so serious?" he asked, a mock pout curling his lips. "Can’t you at least indulge me a little, Suguru? Maybe a smile, just for me?" He took another step forward, now standing just behind Geto. He could hear the rhythmic motion of the brush and the soft snorts of the horses, but he was focused on Geto—on the way his shoulders remained rigid, like he was always bracing for something, something Gojo might say next.
Geto’s eyes flickered briefly, just long enough for Gojo to notice. It was the faintest hesitation, as though Geto were considering his response. Then, just as Gojo was about to speak again, Geto’s voice cut through the air, quiet but firm.
“I’m not here to entertain you, Lord Gojo.” There was no malice in his words—only a steady resolve. But Gojo could hear the subtle tension in Geto’s tone, and it intrigued him more than anything.
Gojo moved a little closer, now standing directly behind Geto. He could almost feel the quiet storm of restraint in the other man, the battle to remain unaffected. Gojo wasn’t one to back down easily. He leaned forward, his breath warm against Geto’s ear as he spoke in a low, teasing murmur, “Ah, but I think you are. I think you’re exactly what I’ve been... needing these past few weeks, Suguru.”
The words were playful, but there was something underlying them, something that made the air crackle with energy. Gojo had pushed many men to the edge, but Geto was different. He wasn’t like the others who folded under pressure, who might laugh it off or shy away. No, Geto stood firm, his gaze now directed at the horse in front of him as if it were the only thing that mattered.
But Gojo saw the way Geto’s jaw tightened. The briefest flash of something—was it frustration? Or maybe... lust?
“Is that so?” Geto finally replied, his voice still cool but tinged with a quiet defiance. “And what exactly is it that you need from me, Lord Gojo?” His words were pointed, his tone more sharp than before.
Gojo smiled wider, finally stepping back to give Geto a little breathing room. He hadn’t expected Geto to snap back at him like that, but the fact that he did only made Gojo more intrigued. There was something about Geto’s restraint, the way he always kept his emotions in check, that made Gojo want to push harder, to see just how far he could go without breaking him.
“Don’t act so innocent,” Gojo said with a laugh, his gaze sweeping over Geto’s form. “I think you know exactly what I mean. You’ve been under my watch long enough to understand how this game works.”
Geto exhaled sharply, but his movements remained precise, unyielding. “I’m not playing your games, my lord,” he said, his voice steady, though Gojo could feel the shift in the air. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t submission. It was something in between—something that told Gojo he was slowly, but surely, wearing away at Geto’s patience.
Gojo leaned against the nearest stall, watching him with a half-smirk. “So serious. Always so serious.” He didn’t know why he enjoyed it so much, but there was something utterly fascinating about Geto’s composure—something that made Gojo want to strip away that calmness, piece by piece.
“Tell me, Geto,” Gojo said after a long pause, his tone now softer but still filled with teasing. “Do you ever get tired of being so... perfect?” He said the last word with a slow emphasis, as though it was a challenge, as if he were daring Geto to break, even just a little.
For a moment, the stable was silent except for the gentle rustling of hay and the occasional low whinny of a horse. Then, Geto turned, finally facing Gojo directly. His expression was unreadable, his eyes dark, but there was something dangerous in the way his gaze met Gojo’s.
“No,” Geto replied, his voice low but steady. “I never tire of doing what’s right.” He let the words hang in the air between them, firm and unyielding.
Gojo took a step closer, his grin slipping into something more genuine for a brief moment. "You’re an interesting man, Suguru," Gojo murmured, his voice dropping just a touch. "Most men would be annoyed by me by now. But you... you never break. I find that fascinating." His eyes searched Geto’s face for a flicker of emotion—something, anything—but Geto’s expression remained neutral, though his posture had subtly shifted.
Gojo knew that Geto was a man of strength, but he also realized that there was something else in Geto—a quiet resolve, an inner fire that he was carefully controlling. And for the first time, Gojo felt a hint of respect for the man. But it was more than that. It was an unspoken recognition that, perhaps, Geto was someone worth understanding beyond the games he played.
“You’ve got it all figured out, don’t you?” Gojo said softly, watching Geto closely. The stallion in front of them pawed at the ground, but the tension in the air was palpable.
“I don’t need to figure you out, my lord,” Geto replied, his voice low but firm, his eyes locking onto Gojo’s with a steady intensity. “You’re predictable.”
Gojo laughed, low and amused. “Predictable, huh?” He leaned back, a knowing look in his eyes. “We’ll see about that, Suguru. We’ll see about that.”