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Satoru grinned, and immediately you felt a laugh bubbling out of you, but you bit your lip and waited for him to speak.
What is it now, you manchild?
You sipped the coffee in your hand. No sugar, and strong enough to make your head vibrate. You trained your eyes at the man beside you, a comical grin stretching his (handsome, but certainly not attractive, at least not to you) face. His pitch-black retro shades gave away nothing, so instead you watched his mouth. He bit his lips into a smile, as if the funniest joke in the world was right on the tip of his tongue.
He dipped his head and laughed slightly, turning away from you to look at the road, hands light on the steering wheel as he took a right. You indulge yourself in a bit of staring, noting how good his light olive skin looked on the smooth black leather, resting on the bottom of the wheel. His other hand was on the gear shift. You watched, amused, as he gripped the head of the shift fully, as opposed to the way his long fingers seemed to ghost over the steering wheel.
You jumped slightly when he spoke up. “Don’t look at me like that, I won’t crash your precious car.”
That made you smile. “You better not, Gojo, this car is worth at least twelve of you.”
“Is that so?” He said, the smirk heavy in his voice. “You know I can buy you a Wrangler for every day of the year, sweetheart, and the parking space to match.” So could you, if he was being honest with himself. You spent your money as he did, like it was going out of style, albeit a little smarter in your purchases than him.
You laughed, the sound ringing pleasantly in his ears. He was in a good mood today. He didn’t know if it was because of this beautiful day in Tokyo, the air cool and crisp, the sun bright. Maybe it was the frappuccino in his cup holder, with enough sugar to give him diabetes six times over. Or maybe it was you, big sunglasses perched on your high ponytail, dressed in a pretty white sundress, a tiny handbag in your lap, your too-bitter-too-strong coffee warm in your hand. An upbeat song was playing on the radio, IV Of Spades, he recalled, a band from your country and one of your many, many favorites.
Gojo wasn’t crazy for music. He liked it of course, he didn’t live under a rock. But he never understood your obsession with having it play constantly in your ear. Even now he knew you kept two pairs of earphones in your car at all times, another one in your handbag, your elaborate dashboard ready to play all 6,403 songs in your Spotify library.
Hell, he had a pair of earbuds in his pocket right now, ready for you. And one in his own car, one in his desk, one beside his bed...
But he paid no mind to this. Paid no mind to the way he would catch himself singing the songs you did sometimes. Paid no mind to the bluetooth speaker in his room that he absently purchased one night out in Tokyo, the tiny metal box he would compulsively switch on and play whenever he thought of you.
Unable to help himself, he laughed again. His previous thoughts coming up to the forefront of his mind. He could almost see it, the way you’d react if he said them out loud. After all, what he had in mind was fucking scandalous.
He knew you would love it.
You were watching him closely now, as he rolled to a stop at a red light. Your eyes were narrowed at him, turning your head to the side as you wondered, what the fuck is it this time, Satoru?
“Hey,” he started, stomach flipping, “Wanna pull over and fuck?”
You were in a good mood today. You didn’t know if it was this beautiful day in Tokyo, the air cool and crisp, the sun bright. Maybe it was the half-full coffee cup in your hand, the other half of it warming you up inside, the caffeine coursing through your veins. Or maybe it was Gojo Satoru looking positively gorgeous in your car, in a loose white shirt, dark jeans hugging his legs just right, smiling like he was anyone else but him. IV Of Spades was playing on your radio, one of the many things you loved most in this world.
“Sure.” you said, smiling at him, eyebrows cocked up.
For a moment, Satoru’s eyebrows shot up on his face, mouth hanging open. Then he laughed for real this time, his pretty lips (almost as pretty as yours, you acknowledged with a grudge, but only almost) parting as he threw his head back. He was driving for real this time, speeding up a little, sparks of something running up his legs, and down his arms. Suddenly he felt like his clothes were too heavy on him, the press of the leather seat behind him uncomfortable, the steering wheel unwieldy in his hands. He avoided looking at you, because if he did he might just crash the car for an excuse to stop and pull you close to him.
You saw it, the flashes of something under his skin. He wasn’t the only all-seeing sorcerer in this car. And since you were just as much of a shameless bastard as he was, you decided to goad him, just a little.
“Can you drive any slower?” You griped, feigning annoyance.
“Do you know what they say about delayed gratification, sweetheart?” He said in a lazy drawl, syrupy sweet. You pursed your lips, and Satoru tensed, waiting, dreading, for what would come next.
“I haven’t got all day—” you paused, watching him hold his breath, “Sweetheart.”
Well shit, Satoru thought, his heart pushing against his sternum, if you insist.
He made a haphazard right into some sort of building (fuck if he knew what building it was), spotting an underground parking space. Perfect. He threw the car sideways into a corner, occupying two parking spaces like the asshole he is. He had barely put the brakes up and turned the key when you ripped your seatbelt off and he pulled you towards him. Before he knew it, you were heavy and hot and perfect in his lap, hands grabbing the sides of his neck to kiss him like you were starved. You pushed his sunglasses off his face, not caring where it went. His fingers fumbled over your head, reaching your silk scrunchie (how cute, he thought) and pulling, your hair falling down your back. The smell of your shampoo filled his nose, and Satoru groaned loud, forgetting himself.
“Wow, Satoru,” You whispered into his mouth, “Didn’t think we’d need the tissues this early.”
He barked a laugh at that, short and breathless. This is why I’m so fucking obsessed with you, he thought. You and that bitch of a mouth. He gave you a bruising kiss and pushed you back with a hand to your throat, pulling a lever on the side of his seat to move it back and recline it. He pulled you down with him, your forearms on his chest, hands clutching his shoulders. He ignored the heat in his gut to really kiss you this time, slow and indulgent.
Time has never been Gojo Satoru’s friend, and he had long since accepted that it never will be. He realized that right here and right now with you was one of the (very) few golden moments in his life where everything was right. Like a page from someone else’s story that he could borrow for a (too) short while. So he took his time, opening your mouth with his, running his sweet tongue over yours, tasting your coffee (which could use some sugar) and you. He pressed soft kisses to your lips, like he was afraid to break you. It offset the way he was palming your ass, the way his pulse stuttered in your palm.
He would have been content to just make out with you, but he noticed that your mouth was moving lower, pressing insistent kisses on his neck, bobbing down to suck at his Adam’s apple. He groaned, feeling your soft mouth and sharp teeth. You pulled at his shirt and he threw it off, hissing as you started unbuttoning his jeans.
He took a second to look, transfixed, as your hand deftly pushed down his clothing to reveal his aching cock, hot against his stomach. With undisguised hunger you took him in your hand and squeezed, stroking up and down. Satoru’s mind, unmatched as it was, might have glitched for a second, because the sensation came to him late. One second, he was looking at you seated above him, and the next he was fucking up into your hand, desperate, as your hand drove electricity up his spine and down his thighs.
And that was all well and good, except for when you bobbed your head down to swallow his cock. Satoru felt like he was going to faint. He keened, long and low, looking up at the ceiling of your car to hold on to whatever fucking scrap of dignity he had left in him. You pushed down even lower (Where did you learn how to do that?) until your nose pressed into coarse white hair. He gritted his teeth at the feeling of your warm throat against him, tongue rolling, tearful eyes looking up at him as if seeking his approval.
Out of all the things that could have taken him out of this world, Satoru never thought a blowjob would be the one to do the deed. Unthinking, he pulled your head back with your hair, painfully, muttering apologies as he gripped the base of his cock and prayed to every god out there to not make him cum yet shit she’d never shut up about it if I—
You started bobbing your head up and down, and Satoru let out a filthy moan. He let you (as if he had a choice), running his hands around your face to hold himself steady, finally gripping your hair and fucking up into you roughly, cheeks red and pupils blown.
He was a sight, muttering how good you felt, how good you were for him. He sounded like he was speaking mostly to himself, but you didn’t mind; your own fingers were already working your cunt under your dress while you let Satoru use your mouth as a fleshlight. That was all well and good, if only the feeling of his hard (huge) cock in your mouth wasn’t dangerously close to how he’d feel inside your pussy. He wouldn’t have to hold back there, you thought, he could ravage you and rut into you as hard as he wanted, moaning into your ear—
Suddenly you came all over your fingers, pinching your own clit, your moan vibrating around his cock. But it wasn’t enough, you thought as you choked around Satoru. It wasn’t enough, you needed him to—
“Fuck," you heard Satoru say, his hips slowing. “Fuck, c’mere sweetheart, need to be inside you, need your little pussy around me c’mere—”
Your insolence, a match for his, tempted you to just ruin him with your mouth (you knew you could do it) but you moved before you could think, until you were in Satoru’s arms and he was pulling your dress off you, running his wide palms all over your skin, squeezing your breasts, scratching your back. His hands were smooth, unblemished despite a lifetime of violence, and you liked that about him. He wasn’t the only one that liked to pretend you lead different lives. He tugged at your underwear, groaning in annoyance and just ripping it off like the little shit he was.
You gasped, and began to whine in protest if only he didn’t put his lips on one hard nipple. He pressed his tongue flat on you, and you buried your face in his soft hair, moaning quiet little mmm Satoru pleases into his scalp as he explored your body with his hands.
However, you were feeling impatient, needing another release now. When his fingers grazed your pussy, you pushed him away. “No need for that, Satoru please just fuck me already—”
He started to protest. He was raised by the finest clan in Japan after all. He liked to think that he was quite the gentleman (sometimes). But you huffed angrily “It’s fine, I already—”
“You were fucking yourself while sucking me off?” Gojo exhaled, pupils dilating even wider as it clicked in his mind.
You rolled your eyes, not a hint of shame in you. “Yes, dumbass, now hurry up and—”
“You're a real filthy one, aren’t you?” He said, a cheeky grin on his perfect mouth, looking predatory and just a little insane. “So fucking filthy—” His words melted into a drawn-out moan as you gripped the base of his cock, sinking yourself down on him. You sighed in relief, his hard (How can he be this hard?) cock soothing the aching throb in your cunt. You grinded against him, back and forth, holding Satoru down as the insatiable bastard tried to take matters into his own hands. Finally, fucking finally, he bottomed out, twisting your face with pleasure. The whole time, Satoru fought to keep his eyes open as he watched you, lips pressed into your neck as he tilted your head up. You hooked your arms around his neck and angled yourself back until his dick hit that spot, feeling so good that you started fucking him in earnest. He sat up, an arm around your back, leaning down to you and bracing himself on the wheel.
Your hips moved at an unforgiving pace, and Satoru found himself holding on to you for dear life. Your pussy squelched around him, the car filled with the sounds of skin slapping on skin, breathy moans, and the wet sound that came from where you were joined.
It felt so good, too good , as Satoru realized with a hint of panic that no, he wasn’t going to last after all. His balls squeezed, and he groaned. “Fuck, sweetheart, ‘m gonna cum I’m sorry I—”
“No,” you sobbed in his mouth, “Fucking wait for me, Satoru. I’m close I’m so close.” Your hips were stuttering now, grinding down on him, pussy fluttering as you teetered over the edge. Maybe there were perks to your job after all, being strong enough to keep your harsh pace. Tears slipped out of your eyes and Satoru obliged, holding his breath, holding his cum, because who was he to deny you ? Who was he to deny you when you looked at him like that, and you looked like a fucking vision as you bounced on his cock? Satoru grit his teeth and ran his hands all over you, cooling him down and pushing you closer to your climax, whispering filthy words into your mouth.
“Look at you, sweetheart,” he whispered, “Cum for me now, give it to me, be a good girl and cum all over my cock.”
Maybe it was the way he looked at you like you were his world, or the way his cock rubbed you everywhere you needed him to. Maybe it was the words he pressed into your ear, because the moment he spoke you came, body shivering against him, a scream leaving your mouth. Your hips didn’t stop, pussy clenching around him.
Satoru forgot himself for a moment, watching you, and he would have loved to freeze this moment in time.
He couldn’t, because at that moment he let go, balls clenching and cock spurting out cum so much cum god I’m gonna be five pounds lighter after this. He felt his mouth move and words come out his raw throat, but he had no clue what he said. He could have been telling you how good it felt, how good your pussy was milking him. Hell, he could have been commenting on the weather or something. Who knows? Certainly not him, as he sat there with his mind going blank in glorious limbo and his body ascending to heaven seven times over.
Who knows? He might have even told you that he loved you.
It felt like forever before you both came down to Earth. His hands were languidly pushing your hips back and forth, riding out the final waves of your shared orgasm. Boneless, you let him, pressing kisses into his handsome, sweaty face. He grinned lazily up at you when you pulled his chin up and kissed him, breathing in his whispered thank yous and your holy fucking shits. He scanned over you, asking if you were alright, an apology ready on his tongue.
You smiled at him and nodded, your eyes soft. You watched him relax. You liked seeing Satoru like this, when he was really, truly, happy. When his eyes were crinkled at the sides, his entire being soft and malleable. You pulled your arms behind you and stretched, breasts pointing enticingly up in the air. Satoru smiled softly, seeing that you were okay. Tough cookie I have here.
Finally you pulled away from him, coughing wetly. The post-orgasm bliss rendered you both silent, peaceful even. You cleaned each other with a wad of tissues, handed each other your clothes. You perched his sunglasses back on his nose. He smirked up at you, the Satoru that everyone knew coming back to settle on his face like a silken curtain. One last time, unable to resist, he pressed another kiss on your mouth before he helped you back into his seat.
Running a hand through his hair, he took a deep breath and cleared his throat. He took a sip from his still-cool frappuccino and swished it around his dry mouth. He offered it to you, holding it to your mouth as you checked your reflection in a little compact mirror.
You cringed as you swallowed straight liquid sugar, feeling even thirstier than before you drank it. He laughed at you. You pushed his arm away, opting instead for one of the water bottles you stashed in your car. He watched you drink deeply for a while, before turning the key and starting the car. Cool air blasted you both, and you sighed.
Without a word, he pulled out of the parking lot. The both of you didn’t give a flying fuck if anyone saw you anyway. You reached over, pressing play on the radio. You closed your eyes and turned your face to the sun shining through the window, smiling slightly.
Satoru looked at you, and his hand moved on its own, pulling his phone from the caddy next to his seat. He snapped a quick picture of you, briefly looking at it before putting it back in his pocket, lest you catch him and chew him out for his “irresponsible driving.”
He liked it, a good angle of you reclining in your seat without a care in the world. A soft blush on your cheek, your white dress resting softly on your thighs. He wished he was brave enough to take a photo of you while you were awake. He wished for a lot of things.
Later that day, when you were in your room and he was in his, he would print out the photo, admiring it in his hand. He couldn’t wait to tuck it into his wallet. He couldn't wait to show it to you, one day, when he was finally ready to drop his heart at your feet. His good mood seeped into those last few hours, making him laugh at his own sentimentality. He was only 28 years old, but his years were enough to teach him to hold on to all the bright things in the world. Smiling, he turned the photo over, grabbing a pen and writing the date on the back.
October 30, 2018.