Work Text:
and I never wanted anything from you
except everything you had
and what was left after that too
(Florence and the Machine - Dog Days Are Over)
“shoko? can I try it?”
she looks at him, surprised really, but mostly curious, and notices the way his eyes are fixed on her mouth and the cigarette that’s lazily trapped between her lips, observes the way satoru is studying her, like he studies an opponent before a battle, like he finds it fascinating and funny and a bit challenging - but not really because nothing is ever really a challenge for the great gojo satoru.
she just stays silent and takes the bud between two of her pale fingers, breathes in a long drag, holds it in while it feels nice and then also while it doesn’t, takes the cigarette out of her mouth and exhales slowly, like she did not just put up a show for the boy sitting next to her.
satoru contemplates the scene like he’s seeing it for the first time (he’s not), and scrutinizes her every single move, eyes never leaving shoko and her hand, her fingers, and now her face, her mouth. he studies everything, absorbs anything he can, anything shoko is willing to offer him.
she never likes it when satoru does that - looking - because he does it a way only he is able to. it’s demanding, invasive, pushy, almost overbearing. it makes her feel a sense of uneasiness, no matter who or what he’s doing it to.
but it especially annoys her on the few occasions he does it to her. it’s like satoru can see every single cell of her body and set it on fire with a single gaze, like he's taking her apart with just his eyes, analyzing her to the core.
it makes shoko shy away from it and feel exposed, seen. yet, for some reason, she always finds herself craving for more.
“can I?” he repeats, determination glowing in his eyes.
“no. this was my last one”
as if.
“then give it to me?”
shoko scoffs, annoyed. why, why is satoru so persistent? what does he want from her? why is he looking at her like that? why why why why-
“don’t ignore me”
at that, he gets closer, puts himself in front of her, knees touching, eyes fixed on her face. in this position, shoko can feel the warmth coming from satoru’s body reach her own skin from where their bodies are touching, and thinks, making sure it doesn’t show on her face, that it’s actually nice to be so close to someone who’s warm and alive for once - which is not as usual for her as being in contact with cold, dead, scarred bodies of deceased sorcerers.
instead, satoru is alive, warm. satoru is there, present, a constant in an existence of loss and fatigue. satoru is persistent, provoking, exciting. shoko has been trying to understand him for such a long time, has been studying him like she does with the human body, meticulously. she tried to dissect him, to see through the image everyone has of him that he wears like a disguise, an image that is so strongly intertwined with his person that, sometimes, shoko wonders if satoru knows where he ends and the mask begins, or if they’ve merged completely at this point.
and still, after all the time they spent together - and all the missions, all the injuries, all the afternoons spent in each other’s company doing nothing and everything, all the lingering touches they’d always find a cheap excuse for - she still feels like she has just scratched the surface.
and shoko, like the true scientist she is, can’t be satisfied with just that. she wants to know everything, wants to understand every single expression and glint in the eye of the boy sitting in front of her.
“I said stop ignoring me. come on.”
how could I, satoru? - she wants to reply - how could I ever do that? even if I wanted, I couldn’t. you’re captivating, you demand my attention, you tickle my curiosity, you urge my recognition. you want and want and want and want and take all there is to take. and what a fucking joke we are, what exquisite combination. because I will give everything, I will-
“can I have the cigarette?”
she looks at him once again, into his eyes, into those weapons of his that had opponents tremble and freeze in fear, but that look so incredibly kind and perky and alive right now that it makes shoko wonder what she did in her past life to deserve the honor to witness this side of satoru, to experience his affection firsthand. how many people were ever lucky enough to see these particular shades of blue, the warm, caring ones?
a thrill of excitement runs down her spine - I alone am the honored one to see him like this, in this moment. no one but me - and the selfish feeling of wanting to keep this moment deeply engraved into her memory, just for herself and for no one else to see, makes her feel delirious, almost feverish.
she’s high on desire - it weighs on her head, fills her lungs alongside the smoke, clouds her mind - and she can’t take her eyes off satoru, who’s still looking at her like he does whenever he thinks she doesn’t notice.
what do you really want, satoru? she wants to ask, but doesn’t dare to, afraid to break the moment. because satoru’s warmth is still crawling up her legs and she still hasn’t backed away from the contact, and he’s still staring at her with such intensity that shoko feels she might burst into a million pieces, burn from the inside out.
she knows what she wants his answer to be - “you” - and that’s why she can’t bring herself to ask, too afraid of a different answer and at the same time dreading the one she craves.
“why?” she asks instead.
“because I want to taste the smoke,” - his gaze shifts to the cigarette in her hand, then back again up to her face - “see what it feels like,” - satoru leans forward, a playful smile plastered on his face, one of his hands drops on shoko’s thighs (it burns it burns it burns) - “understand why you like it so much.”
they’re close. too close for this to be just a casual conversation about cigarettes, and yet too far for shoko’s own liking.
and satoru still hasn’t moved his hand.
and he’s still looking at her, his gaze flickering with something shoko refuses to acknowledge.
and he’s smiling. his face lit up with that playful expression of his, like this is the funniest thing that happened this week, like teasing shoko is some kind of joke.
fuck this. - she thinks - two can play a game.
shoko takes in one last, deep drag, and fills her lungs and mouth as much as she can with the smoke. then, with one swift motion, she tosses the cigarette away, to be forgotten, and with the other hand she takes hold of satoru’s chin, hard, hoping it'll leave a mark, and brings their faces impossibly close. the boy in question doesn’t even look surprised - the fucker - and just meets shoko halfway.
when their lips touch, a bit too hard than necessary, shoko feels all her cursed energy vibrate and spin and scream, trying to get away from satoru, while her body, stubborn as ever, moves to get even closer. and it’s warm all over, like she’s on fire, and there are no sounds around them. (weird) maybe satoru turned on infinity and she’s going to die soon, because, really, how could there be anything other than death that could make her feel like this? her heart is going to explode soon from the pressure, she’s sure of it, she can already feel all her nerves and veins shatter one by one
the feeling of satoru’s lips on hers is intoxicating, to say at least. they’re warm, soft yet firm, a steading presence among the chaos that reverberate in shoko’s head and chest. they're also a little pulled, like satoru is smiling in the kiss, and maybe he is - god I hope he is - because shoko ears a soft noise coming from him that sounds too much like a pleased hum.
she moves her lips then, parting her mouth just enough for the smoke to get out, and pushes it along with her breath, sharing it with satoru who, a little surprised, lets it all in, welcomes whatever it is that shoko is offering him, and even takes a bit more - he slides his hands to her hips, one stops there as the other makes its way up her back, finding its place at the nape of her neck, grabbing its base greedily. and shoko is going insane just by having satoru roaming his hands on her back but it’s not enough. because, as much as satoru is demanding, he’s also incredibly caring and attentive, to the point he’s leaving all the power to shoko right now - the power to choose, to make the next move, to go at her pace, to give whatever she wants, as he, so uncharacteristically obedient and pliant, receives.
as they kiss, smoke escapes from their lips, twirls around them and skyward, as if it’s taking their souls to some other place, far far away from this hellish life they conduct, like incense, like a prayer.
it’s satoru who breaks the kiss. he has to, because the smoke fills his lungs and his nostrils start to burn. he coughs and blinks rapidly as shoko watches him and chuckles, their hands still on each other’s body.
“this is disgusting! it tastes horrible! how can you smoke this shit every day?”
“I guess one gets used to it at one point.”
he looks at her. the intensity of his gaze feels almost grounding.
“you think so?”
“yeah.”
a shift in the air. the hand at the base of her neck grips her skin tighter, the one on her hip trembles slightly, almost imperceptibly.
“think you could get used to this too?” he asks her.
she smirks and slides a hand on satoru’s chest - right above his heart - and feels it beat erratically under her fingertips, like it is trying to get out.
“what’s this?” she asks in return.
satoru doesn’t reply. instead, he leans in and kisses her again, slowly, softly, almost too gently. just a light press of lips. it’s gone before shoko can even react, but it still leaves her feeling dizzy.
“this.”
oh.
“yeah. I think so.”
he smiles. beautiful and radiant and genuine.
“good.”
“good.”
they kiss again, and again, and as they do, energy and attraction swirl between them as invisible ropes, tying them together, and the smoke is now too high in the sky, its smell still filling the air around them, its taste still present on their lips, to be washed away.