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every so often, nanami wonders just how many have had the privilege of being in his exact position, and as much as he wonders, he has less interest in having an actual answer than he does in hearing that it doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things. it doesn't matter because none of them did it the way he does; none of them turn the strongest into a brainless, thoughtless whore beneath them, begging for cock like it's the only set of words he's ever known. gojo satoru isn't exactly difficult -- what with his vice-like, hypersentive cunt and the zero self control -- but nanami kento is no slouch either. he always puts in the work.

"easy now," he warns with low rumble, watching how the older man squirms, humping into the air, trying to catch nanami's cock back into his pussy. "do you have any idea how desperate you look, satoru?"

"don't care," gojo breathily retorts, lifting his hips up again and whining when nanami's cock drags against his clit. he has one foot on the floor for leverage, the other propped on the edge of the bed, his puffy, pretty cunt spread fully in open invitation. "nanami, please. please, keep fucking me. please."

nanami sighs at the inevitable throb of his cock, struggling not to pick up the pace of his leisurely strokes. he keeps trying to do something different for them, something drawn out and intense and collected, but thus far he's had little success. he keeps conceding, he keeps plunging right back in, and letting gojo ensare him between his legs and fill his ear with filthy, needy things, and maybe nanami is not exactly difficult either.

he thrusts tentatively against the gojo's swollen clit, and the older man whimpers, hands twisting helplessly against the bed as the wrists are bound tight in nanami's leopard tie. maybe next time he'll tie up gojo's whole body, he thinks. maybe he'll put a gag in his mouth so he's finally forced to shut the fuck up.

he pins back gojo's restless thighs and fucks back inside without warning. it's all tight, slick, addictive heat, and nanami grunts as he bottoms out, feeling gojo's cunt spasm around him, undeterred as always in his attempts to milk his cock. "fuck. you're so hopeless," he spits, rocking into a quick, heady pace, and he grits his teeth when gojo only nods, brows knit tight beneath the black, luxe blindfold, glossy lips parted with what can only be described as relief to finally be full again. "look at you, satoru. made for this, aren't you? made for my cock."

he's not even sure what he's saying but the words keep pouring out, nasty and dark and possessive, and he's almost unsure about whether they're appropiate until he feels gojo whimper into his mouth. "nanami," he pants. "yes, yes. made for you, made for your cock n'nothing else. wanna be perfect for you. keep fucking me."

and he knows, he knows it's just words, knows they're just on the verge of orgasm and drunk on lust, but it fills him with nearly embarrassing conceit. and he's privileged, that way -- that gojo opens himself up to him like this, in a way he's sure he's done very few times before with other people. it's what makes it so hard to control himself and not breed him stupid every single time.

"oh, fuck-" the sorcerer groans, nanami's pace leaving him little room to do anything other than spread his legs and spread for it, but his voice keeps slipping out regardless. "fuck- ken, don't stop. please, baby-"

he's cut off, slurred into mindless noises as nanami kisses him heavy and hard, tongue parting gojo's lips with the same timely thrusts of his cock splitting gojo's cunt, and it's always somehow too much when they go at it like this. maybe it's the curse of his six eyes, or maybe it's just gojo's seemingly insatiable hunger for the blond stretching him open, but he can never seem to keep his head on straight. he thought the binds might help; something to keep him distracted and distant, something to keep nanami from flexing under his hands and moving like broad, coiled muscle as he worked into the older man, but it failed, only succeeding in leaving gojo nothing short of desperate.

arching into nanami's weight atop him, mouthing at his throat and jaw. feeling as much of the other as possible.

a lack of touch, an absence of one sensation leaving room for more of another. he shakes suddenly, grounded back into his stupor as the blond's cock momentarily stills in him, pressed so deep gojo can feel his abdomen shift at it. he chokes out a gasp, thighs trembling, and tries to roll around the thick stretch. nanami pants against the sorcerer's mouth.

"there?" he asks, adjusting gojo's legs higher, hooking behind his knees. gojo answers with a wet whine. he can't stop squirming, can't stop throbbing between them, clit swollen with the subtle taps of nanami's pelvis each time he seats himself in the older man. it's maddening. gojo curses again, feels the blond move, and clenches so tight he thinks he might've forced nanami out.

"god, oh god, don't stop-" not that he has to say as such, not with the former salaryman already lining himself back into a tight push between gojo's folds, but- "please, ken. gonna keep making me cum."

"good," nanami grunts, hips snapping. "maybe you'll behave next time if you're still sore."

and gojo drops his head back with a moan, wrists tugging uselessly at the tie wrapped snug around them. the blond's everywhere; all over him, in him, around him. on top and beneath and within and gojo can't think, can only really keep himself conscious enough to feel. he knows he's making noises, maybe talking. knows it's all mindless. he tests his wrists again, feels nanami bite sharp into his thigh for it.

"so deep," gojo whimpers, earning another bite, a tentative release of one leg to fill the older man's mouth with fingers. he sucks, earnestly, and it's only with the silence of his own voice that he can hear how wet the blond has gotten him. he can feel the slick cool against his own skin, spread between his legs. every thrust is a lewd slap and gojo grinds his weight into it.

deep is more or less an understatement, but anything more precise and the sorcerer would be venturing into boring, overly descriptive details. deep, filling him to the brim, drilling closer to another orgasm, or every orgasm, or something gojo thinks he might know but is learning still; he sobs around nanami's fingers, milks him hard, shivering with it, and nanami grunts as his cock slaps out onto gojo's clit.

he goes, "easy, satoru," and holds himself there with his thumb, cock heavy and hot as it grinds across the older man's cunt, but easy is a cruel word to say when gojo is cumming so hard he feels tears bite his eyes. the abrupt emptiness only adds to his fervor, pussy cramping without something to tighten around and nurse, so he bites, as hard as he feels he's allowed. nanami winces, withdraws his fingers.

"be nice-"

"i told you not to stop," gojo begs, louder and breathless. "fuck, ken, if you don't fill me up-"

and then a shuddering cry, thighs shaking again, as nanami fucks himself back inside, steady and rough. he leans one leg over gojo's own, holds the older man's other flush to his chest and snakes his hips in full, dragging pumps.

what words could be for this, really... gojo feels his cunt mould for nanami's cock; swallowing every inch as it's stretched, sucking him back in with each torturous retract. the blond leans further, pins gojo's knee above his shoulder, presses their lips together in messy, loud pecks.

the older man can hardly move but he thinks it's a good thing; thinks he might break if he goes on like this much longer.

each thrust takes on an edge of delirium, nanami grunting into gojo's mouth as the sorcerer pleads - it must be pleading, he can hardly hear his own words - and spreads wider. there's an itching ache in his hips at the stretch but he can't find it in himself to care. the blond's cock keeps kissing into him, nudging the older man's womb; he can feel each slight swell between their stomachs, can feel himself hollow and need - immediately - more.

"there we go," gojo hears, "just like that, sweetheart. you're gonna take it-"

"-oh, oh my-"

"easy, satoru. take it-"

"ken-"

and nanami traps him close, pumps gojo into the bed as his hips still, moving only in time with each spill of his cock, heady heat branding into the sorcerer's core. cunt spasming, sheathing nanami's length. it's deep, spiced pain; liquid fever crashing through him; a break somewhere behind his eyes and a silent, infinite bliss.

until his breathing comes back, the first sensation aside from nanami's own, and piece by piece gojo collects himself to feel the blond humming softly, working his fingers in small circles between gojo's back and the sheets. the sorcerer hugs him loosely in return, still boneless but responding.

"honey," he hears.

"here," gojo whispers. "here, sorry."

"it's alright. you can stay quiet as long as you like."

so he does, for a few minutes. long enough for nanami to sit up with a warm sigh, pull out. gojo can feel the mess it makes, knows he's soaking the bed, but nanami merely ducks to kiss him there softly, lips featherlight and breath tickling as he soothes the tender ache in gojo's cunt with a few sweet laps of his tongue. it's merely for display, as the blond stands soon after and returns with a towel to wipe the older man off with. rougher than tongue but warm, and damp, and soon the only mess is the sweat between them both, and even then it's drying, seeping into their cooling skin.

nanami tucks himself back into bed, slots their bodies together. gojo kisses him, tasting, and nanami smiles into it.

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transparent version of this post

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What is the difference between a cathedral and a physics lab? Are they not both saying: Hello?

Paolo Giordano, “The Solitude of Prime Numbers” / Antonio Tonelli / Laura Giplin, “A Toast to the Alchemists” / Dennis Overbye, “Music of the Heavens Turns Out to Sound a Lot Like a B Flat” / Carina Nebula / Marie Howe, “Singularity” / Alan Bean, “Is Anyone Out There?” / Bill Bryson, “A Short History of Nearly Everything” / Garrett Lee, “Canyon” / Whit Bronaugh, “The Trees That Miss The Mammoths”

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the man's back makes for an oddly suitable resting place, nanami surmises. half his body lays on top of it, the other half buried in the plush covers of gojo satoru's bed. his lips move blindly to trace the nape of the man's neck, voice rumbling from effort as languid muscles extend and recoil. it's hard to move when you're content, he surmises. when you do not want to do much more than close your eyes again and let consciousness fade. nanami has little evidence to make a proper hypothesis, but this factual sentiment in his bones must be capable of approximating a compelling argument.

"morning," he mumbles into the special grade's hair, taking in the rich blend of pineapple shampoo and dried sweat. he kisses it a few times before sympathetically removing his weight from the man's body to let it cool, let it breathe. there's a mark and a tenderness left on pale skin from the pressure of a ring on gojo's shoulder blade, and nanami thumbs it softly. "i didn't mean to let us fall asleep like this." without proper clean up, he doesn't say. it would be redundant.

a long, low groan seeps from the depth of a pillow. gojo rubs his face further into it, warm with sleep and sensitive to comfort because of it, but he's trying to focus on nanami's words as well...

's fine, he wants to say. his lips feel heavy, and his eyes wont blink open longer than a second, and he's so puddled and piled he can hardly think of anything other than dozing off again... and yet his hands move. he runs one between the mattress and the duvet, finds it curling around the slim density of nanami's waist. gojo squeezes, drags his face across the pillow towards it.

"don't worry about it," he sighs, though it's more a yawn than anything. "i doubt i would've been able to stay awake long enough either way."

his words slur and blur together, his eyes still fluttering to stay open. the sorcerer squeezes again, harder, and runs his hand up nanami's side.

"come here."

it's too early for me goes unsaid.

i'm half-asleep.

i need you.

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"for someone who's meant to be good at everything, you did an awful job," he chides lightly, hastily loosening the half-assed knot around the older man's neck and tugging him closer by the fabric. gojo, in turn, allows himself to get pulled into orbit; it isn't like he ever refuses proximity to the blond. in fact, he seems overjoyed by their sudden intimacy, if the smile and candid stare are anything to go by.

it makes nanami's eyes narrow, honing into that sky blue stare. "of course this would be amusing to you." he continues to loop the black silk into the perfect finish of a half-windsor, which he adjusts almost too tightly around gojo throat.

gojo swallows at the pressure, feels the tie nudge his bobbing throat just enough to feel snug. "why should i ever try to dress myself if you're here to do it for me? and much neater, might i add..." his smile widens, a flashing grin amidst his inky suit. it's too easy to egg nanami on... he lets gojo get away with too much. the sorcerer drags his teeth over his lip, suddenly an inch too on edge; nanami smells like black currants, like amber, like something expensive but somehow humble, like gojo can't stand the brushings of his fingers over the taller man's chest- "wish we could show up late," he mumbles. pouts, even. and then he whispers, "your hair always looks better after i mess it up."

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from "Our Heartbeats synchronize"

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8-gatsu no Symphony: Shibuya 2002-2003 - Movie

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Curse Technique Max Output: Blue Jujutsu Kaisen S02E03 - "Hidden Inventory, Part 3" Episode Director: Naoki Miyajima (宮島 直樹)

@sattosugu

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Today I learned that the term "sugarloaf" is not figurative; until the late 19th Century, sugar was most commonly sold in enormous cone-shaped masses, some up to three feet in length and thirty pounds in weight, and in order to use it you had to break off a piece of the desired size using a specialised pair of iron pliers called "sugar nips".

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Evolution of the Apple iPod (2001-2008)

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