Chapter Text
Utahime had never craved sweet things as much as she did at that very moment. She’d already eaten two servings of sugar-infused cereal from the breakfast bar in the cafeteria, and raided a pack of five jam donuts from the ‘secret’ snack drawer in Gojo’s office, and she was still thinking about what snacks she might eat to bide time until lunch. Maybe some chocolate? Ice cream or sugary pastries…? Both, definitely!
Even if Gojo was not currently occupying this body, his cravings remained. No wonder she always saw the guy stuffing his face - he seemed to have conditioned his physiology to live off refined sugar and processed junk food. It was a wonder he didn’t share an outline with a particularly sedentary hippo, though Utahime supposed this was the cost of his technique. While he famously didn’t expend much cursed energy, his physical energy was another matter. The guy burned calories like there was no tomorrow.
Slurping on her third energy drink of the day, she sat in Gojo’s office and idly examined her fingers. His fingers. They were long and blunt, with tidy nails and prominent veins that formed ridges along the back of his hands and his inner arms - so very unlike her own smooth and pale skin. They were strong too. She’d almost ripped the office door off its hinges when she’d opened it, expecting the usual faint resistance when she normally let herself into Gojo’s office.
Imagine living every day in a body built like a tank! There were muscles in parts of her body that she hadn’t even thought should have muscles. It was a wonder Gojo ever used a door when she felt like she could punch her way through any wall. But she was also vaguely aware that she was not… quite herself. This body was affecting her. She didn’t normally take much pleasure in thinking about the things she could punch and destroy - nor had she ever been this afflicted by thoughts of sex.
Seriously. Every ten or twenty minutes her thoughts would wander back to more carnal musings… her last somewhat disappointing match-up on a dating app, or idle fantasies she didn’t normally entertain during daylight hours, or certain people she might like to get to know better.
Utahime wasn’t exactly a stranger to days when she was a little preoccupied with sex, usually after a long dry spell that resulted in an excess of loneliness, frustration, and some poor decision making - the kind that had led her to falling into bed with Gojo once before. But being in Gojo’s body, with all the male hormones and blood chemistry that went along with that, was like being sent straight back to her most sexually frustrated days.
She also had another problem. With all the sugary and caffeinated drinks she’d been downing, she was starting to hear nature’s call. It had been easy to ignore at first, but now she was beginning to cross her legs and jiggle her foot to try and take her mind off the insistent pressure of an overly full bladder. Any hope that she could correct this body-swapping problem before needing to visit the men’s room was quickly disappearing - just like Gojo.
She had little trust that he was really out trying to solve their problem - he was more likely taking his clothes off and jiggling her tits in front of a mirror. Pervert. For that reason she shouldn’t feel bad about what she needed to do… and she would need to do it soon, unless she wanted to give Gojo the reputation of pants-wetter.
Burning with humiliation, Utahime left the office and sneaked in the direction of the restrooms. She nearly went into the ladies out of force of habit, before remembering it might not do for Satoru Gojo to be seen hanging out in the women’s restroom.
Inside was a whole new secret world that Utahime had never seen before. Well, it was quite like the women’s room really, if a little more heavily used, owing to how male sorcerers outnumbered female three-to-one. She was met with the sight of a row of urinals and paused in dread. Did men really line up like that, dicks out together? Utahime shuddered and made for a stall, but here was another problem: the toilet bowl was a whole lot further away than she was used to - presenting something of a smaller target than she’d expected, and Utahime was not confident enough with the mechanics of male anatomy that she didn’t trust herself not to pee all over Gojo’s shoes.
Utahime urgently unlocked Gojo’s phone and fired off a text message to her own number.
The ellipses of anticipation bounced as Gojo wrote his answer.
It seemed a safer bet, anyhow. She picked the cleanest looking urinal and hovered before it, nervously. She needed to gather her courage as she reached down to unzip the fly of Gojo’s uniform pants. But then she came to another problem… did she have to pull out the appendage through this hole, or undo the belt and push her clothes down? If the latter, how far? If the former, was Gojo wearing the correct sort of underwear?
Before she had time to realise she was desperately overthinking things, the door to the bathroom swung open and in walked Kento Nanami. Utahime froze, managing to feel guilty and panicked all at once. Nanami similarly paused upon laying eyes on her.
In her experience, Nanami was the perfect gentleman. Kind and considerate, he always treated women with a courtesy lacking in certain other sorcerers, and she got along with him rather well, given they shared a similarly serious outlook on life and a mutual contempt of Satoru Gojo. But Nanami looked at her now like he’d just found something disgusting on the bottom of his shoe. This might have been because of the depths of his irritation for Gojo, or it might have been because Utahime had parked herself in the middle of three urinals, forcing Nanami to come stand directly next to her.
Oh no.
Utahime couldn’t help but stare as her respected colleague began to unfasten his trousers right next to her. At any other time, this would be a complaint straight to their HR department (Yaga), but she was caught like a rabbit between her need to act natural and also her need to look to Nanami for some pointers on how to-
“Eyes up, Gojo!” Nanami barked at her.
“S-Sorry,” Utahime jerked her head up to stare dead ahead, but in her mortification, there was no way she could continue. She couldn’t pee in front of Nanami. She just couldn’t. Satoru Gojo’s bladder could pop like an over-inflated party balloon for all she cared, she was not doing it.
And so she stood there, awkwardly, waiting for Nanami to finish his business. It might have only been a matter of seconds, but time seemed to dilate, stretching on for a full day, before Nanami reached up and flushed the urinal - which startled Utahime from her silent meltdown. She hadn’t known there was a flush mechanism.
As Nanami went to wash his hands, he was still watching Utahime with cold suspicion, and as he threw the used hand towels in the bin, he grunted at her, “You should probably go see a doctor if you’re having problems.”
Utahime’s soul, poorly fitting as it was, shrivelled. “Yeah…”
The moment Nanami left, she sagged with such relief she had to brace a hand against the wall, not realising she’d been holding her breath. The only positive of that experience was that she was so overdosed on humiliation that it was suddenly a lot easier to reach through her fly and grab Gojo’s junk.
⇄
The phone in Gojo’s back pocket pinged. He didn’t really like keeping it in his back pocket, as he kept sitting on it, but the front pockets of women's jeans were abominably small. He slipped it out and clicked his tongue in irritation to see another message from Utahime.
Front to back? What did that even mean?
Then he slipped the phone away and turned back to the girl behind the make-up counter. “So you think I should go with the spring plum?”
“Oh, yes,” she said. “That lipstick suits your colour your colouring best. You’re a real autumn.”
Whatever that meant. “But which do you think will get men to buy me drinks?”
“The electric red, definitely.”
“It’s so slutty… I’ll take it!”
Utahime was completely wasted on herself, Gojo decided. With this bone structure, this glossy hair, and this killer cleavage, she would be knocking everyone dead if only she didn’t hide herself in her miko clothes which flattened and padded in all the wrong places and gave her the general shape of a red and white bowling pin. Who knew she had such a snatched waist anyway? Well, Gojo did, that’s who. He’d already had fond memories of wrapping his hands around it, although that felt a million years ago now. But it was one thing to touch Utahime, and a completely other thing to be Utahime, looking out at the world from her perspective.
And it was a very short perspective. Suddenly he was strutting down Tokyo streets realising that, for once, he couldn’t see over everyone’s heads. He was in a sea of arms and torsos, and people didn’t get out of his way. They often didn’t seem to see him at all, and he lost count of the times he’d been shoulder-checked by seemingly oblivious randos.
There had already been a few unexpected set-backs; he couldn’t warp, so he’d been forced to take public transport, but his first attempt at boarding the busy subway had resulted in him being brushed aside by a pack of salarymen and the train porter. When he’d finally gotten aboard the next train, it had been disgustingly cramped, and he’d had to put up with a very claustrophobic ride of people towered over him on all sides - and then that sneaky snakey hand had started petting his backside.
What he wouldn’t have given to shoot a hollow purple bolt the width of a needle between the pervert’s eyes. That was Utahime’s ass that snake was feeling up, after all. But no amount of yelling, “BRO! WHAT THE FUCK!” at the top of his lungs on a busy train had helped him identify which of the men around him had felt him up, and Utahime’s terrible senses were no help.
He’d occasionally heard Shoko and Utahime talk about public groping, but he’d always dismissed it as some overexaggerated thing. He ended up shoving and squirming his way over to the women-only carriage, to avoid any more grabby hands and get some more breathing room, though it felt weird that none of the other women seemed to take any notice of him.
Well, perhaps there were some annoyances to having a female body, but he was determined to enjoy the fun things more. After all, everyone knew that women got into the best clubs and bars for free, and if they looked good enough, they could get a steady flow of free drinks too. This body swap probably would be over soon, so he intended to make the most of both Utahime’s feminine whiles and Utahime’s legendary tolerance for alcohol. This was why he’d hit the town. This was why he’d gotten dolled up with a complimentary make-over at the department store. This was why he hadn’t bothered to put Utahime’s bra on.
His first stop was the Home club - one so exclusive even he had been turned away at the door before, but as predicted, now that he was armed with Utahime’s body, he only needed to sidle up the bouncers with some playful smiling, and they waved him through like a guest of honour. Inside, the music throbbed, though it was still early in the evening and the patrons were thin on the ground.
Gojo slunk up to the bar - and it was a fair bit higher than he was used to - and waited for one of the bartenders to notice him on the other side of the beer taps. It took a while. Gojo usually only had to arrive somewhere to get attention, but here he had to stand and wave several times before the bartender noticed him standing among the other, taller patrons.
Then, armed with his first pina colada, he sat back on a barstool and waited for the boys to come flocking to his yard for the milkshake.
And waited.
And waited.
Gojo sighed, looking around. There were plenty of men here, and more arriving all the time, and though some glanced his way, they all seemed to be keeping their distance. Was this Utahime’s natural resting bitch face at work? He’d tried to compensate for that with make-up and smiling encouragingly, but even that didn’t seem to be enough.
The phone in his back pocket buzzed and he rolled his eyes as he took another glance.
Why did she have to stress so much? She needed to unwind. Desperately. Gojo snapped a cute selfie with a flashed V sign and sent that to her as a reply. Instead of fussing she should have been using this precious time to go and enjoy herself. Being a man wasn’t so bad. She could open some pickle jars by herself or write her name in the snow. This would all be fixed soon enough.
Once he got his hands on that imp.
“Hi, are you all by yourself?”
Gojo looked up, feeling a tug on his proverbial fishing line. “Why, yes,” he smiled brightly at the man who had slid onto the barstool beside him. “I’m Sa- uh… Utahime.”
“Daisuke.”
“Daisuke, I like long island ice tea,” said Gojo. Well, he didn’t really know, he’d never had one before, but he was eager to try. Normally half a beer was enough to send him into a stupor that put him on the outs with his cursed technique.
“Is that right? I quite like a whisky on the rocks myself. You come here often?”
Gojo sighed inwardly. “Sometimes,” he said evasively, spinning around his empty glass pointedly.
“Utahime’s a really pretty name,” said Daisuke.
“No, it’s not, it’s a dumb name.” Gojo picked up the drinks menu and wafted it gently under his chin. “It’s really hot in here, huh? Makes you kinda thirsty, don’t it?”
“I suppose so… can… I get you something-”
“Long island ice tea,” said Gojo quickly.
“Right…”
Daisuke didn’t have to work too hard to get the bartender’s attention either, since he was almost as tall as Gojo was normally. As the drinks were put together by the bartender, he turned to Gojo once more. “So what do you do for a living?”
“Uh, I guess I’m a teacher.”
“Oh, that’s cool.”
“Yeah, but I’m not a great teacher. I’m all academic and stuff and my kids keep losing fights.”
“You teach kids… fighting?” Daisuke asked hesitantly.
“No, I told you, I teach them how to lose because I’m a freakin’ weakling.”
The drinks had arrived now and Gojo took a happy sip. “Blegh,” he said. This hadn’t been as nice as he’d been hoping.
“Something the matter?” Daisuke asked.
“Oh, no,” Gojo said vaguely, then turned away and began to browse his phone.
“Hey,” said Daisuke. “I just bought you a drink… you could show some gratitude.”
“Thanks,” said Gojo blithely.
Annoyed, Daisuke grabbed his shoulder. “Hey-”
“Heeeey-” Gojo said right back, twisting out of his grip. “Hands off, pal.”
“Oh, I get it, you’re just some cocktease after free drinks?” Daisuke was growing rather angry and red.
“Pretty much, yeah. You can go now.” Gojo flicked his fingers, indicating Daisuke could beat it.
“Hey,” Daisuke said sharply, grabbing Gojo’s arm, “I think you need to be paying for your own fucking drinks if you’re going to be a bitch about it.”
Gojo jerked his arm, but worryingly, it didn’t shake Daisuke’s grip away. Fuck. Utahime needed to work out more - her muscles were incredibly underdeveloped if a random normie could restrain her with one hand. Was he going to have to smash his new long island ice tea into this pervert’s face? It might have been better than drinking it.
“I can’t believe you!”
A new man had arrived, a tall one, who shoved Daisuke aside as if he weighed as much as polystyrene. Gojo’s face lit up. “It’s me!” he cried. “I mean - you!”
Utahime leaned on the bar, looking a little pale. “What the hell are you doing, Gojo? I thought you were supposed to be figuring out how to switch us back - not - getting drunk and trying to pick up men!”
“I’m not trying to pick up men!” Gojo argued. “Although maybe it would do you some good. Maybe you’d be in a better mood more often if you got laid occasionally.”
He saw his own face twist in disgust. “We’re getting out of here, come on.”
Utahime laid a hand on Gojo - not unlike Daisuke had. Gojo once again twisted away, growing annoyed and weary of the number of times men had grabbed him today. “No! Just join me! Have a drink and ease that stick out my tush!”
“Gojo!”
“Utahime!”
She sighed loudly.
“How did you even find me so fast?” Gojo asked, amused, as he sipped his tea.
“I think I warped,” said Utahime, stricken,
Gojo nearly spit up his drunk. “Fuck - what?” he gasped. “How?” No wait, he knew how. “I mean, how did you-”
“I don’t know!” she cried. “You sent me that stupid selfie and I saw the branded coaster, so I knew where you were, and I got so annoyed and wanted to ring your neck, and now I’m here.”
She dropped onto the bar stool beside his, head in hands. “Your body is so weird, Gojo, I feel like I’m going crazy. You see way too much. I’ve broken - like - two doors and a drawer and I think I knocked out a bouncer on my way in.”
“Nice.”
“Tell me we’re going back to our normal bodies soon.”
“Well, we’re going back to our normal bodies soon,” Gojo reassured her, patting her -his - arm. “I promise. I think I’ve got it figured out. I think all we need to do is go back to sleep on the couch in the break-room and tomorrow this little… prank… will be over.”
“Prank?” she repeated. “This is a prank? Did you do this?”
“No!” Gojo protested. “I promise you I didn’t do this.”
Which wasn’t to say he wasn’t to blame… but he’d leave that illumination until after they were back in their own bodies. “But for now, just relax a bit. That was always your problem. You could never relax.” He pressed a hand to the base of his throat. “Even now… I can feel how stressed you are. It’s like you can’t chill. I’ve been low-key angry ever since I woke up and everything annoys me. Is this how you live? It’s exhausting.”
Utahime lifted a hand to get the attention of the bartender. Predictably, she received immediate service and ordered a rum and coke. “Well,” she said to Gojo. “My period is due in a few days. You’re probably getting some PMT.”
“Your what.” Gojo stiffened.
“My period,” Utahime repeated slowly. “I always get crankly before my period. And I bet your breasts hurt too.”
“Yeah, I thought that was your bra,” Gojo complained, rolling his shoulders. “Well, this changes things. We absolutely need to swap back before you get your period.”
Utahime rolled her eyes. “That’s so typical. You can face down any manner of disgusting, horrific curses, but it's a period that freaks you out.”
“I don’t want bleeding genitals, ok?!” Gojo said loudly. “Urgh!”
“Fair enough. You could never handle it,” she said smugly, accepting the drink from the bartender.
“Speaking of,” began Gojo, staring hard at the drink. “You shouldn’t go too hard on the drinks. My metabolism can’t handle more than a unit.”
Utahime was already wincing as she took her first sip. “Ew, this does not taste like I remember!” she sighed. “I love rum and coke. Why does it taste so bad when I’m in your body?”
“We have different tastes,” said Gojo, shrugging. “Sometimes what makes us… us… is just as much about the body as the soul. You’ve got my sweet tooth right now and I’ve got all your horrible girly hormones in my blood making me grumpy.”
“Is that what’s happened? We’ve swapped souls?” she asked.
Gojo took a long slurp of his rather strong tea. He might have given away too much there. “It’s a theory, anyway.”
Utahime stared at him flatly. He knew she knew he knew more than he was admitting to. Seeing as how she was quite strong now, he decided to quickly change the subject in case she remembered that fact. “So! Get any more erections today?”
Her elbow slipped on the bar, and she looked away, fingers splayed over her blazing cheeks. Gojo laughed. How could she still be so cute, even when she was in his body? “I’ll take that as a yes then,” he said.
“Your body is so perverted,” she grouched, darting a look around as if to see if anyone was near enough to overhear them. “It can’t be normal to be so - so… preoccupied!”
“It’s perfectly normal,” Gojo said sharply. “It just seems odd to you because your body is so frigid.”
Utahime’s mouth dropped open slightly. “Excuse me?”
“I’ve barely had any dirty thoughts at all since being in your body. It’s quite liberating, but I’m not surprised.” Gojo slapped down his empty glass on the counter. Utahime’s stamina was quite remarkable. Two cocktails in and he only had a light, pleasant buzz. “Out of curiosity, what’s setting you off? Men or women?”
He already knew the answer because he’d found it for himself. Utahime’s brain and blood chemistry might have been as passionless as ice water, but he was a little tickled to find he was almost indifferent to the pretty women he’d passed on the street. Instead it was to the pretty men his gaze had been drawn, and maybe he was a bigger narcissist than he’d realised, but he was rather enjoying proximity to his own body. Judging by Utahime’s glance down at him that she quickly diverted elsewhere, she was experiencing something similar. Preferences did not, perhaps, transfer along with the soul. The desires of the body ruled the heart.
Utahime grabbed her drink once more. “I am not,” she said tightly, “frigid.”
Gojo allowed her one deep sip before pointedly removing the half-full glass from her hand. She’d be reaching the limits of his tolerance before she reached the bottom. “You don’t have to be ashamed,” he said. “I see now - it’s just how you were built. We can’t help the bodies we’re born into.”
Furious blue eyes turned on him. “You’re a piece of work,” she hissed. “I’m not frigid just because you couldn’t make me cum.”
The sting of embarrassment shot through him, but he strove not to show it as he flipped his hair over his shoulder and fought the hot irritation that always seemed to bubble away in Utahime’s veins. “I’ve never had as much trouble with any woman as I did with you,” he said snippily. “It’s not me who was the problem, it’s you.”
“Oh, please!” she said scornfully. “All that means is that other women were too polite to tell you how bad you were.”
Gojo was so outraged, he struggled to speak.
“Your problem is that you think you’re good at everything - and you just won’t hear that Satoru Gojo, greatest sorcerer of the age - sucks in bed!” she declared.
“No!” he protested. “You’re the deficient one! I tried to masturbate three times this morning and your body is as responsive as a half dead fish!”
“You-!” Utahime grabbed him by the front of his blouse. “You did what?!”
“Don’t act like you didn’t do the same!”
“I didn’t!”
“Such a bad liar!”
“For a man that doesn’t even know where the clitoris is - I shouldn’t be shocked you failed!” she snarled. The bar stool scraped aggressively as she suddenly stood and seized his wrist, pulling him to his feet too. “Come on.”
“What - where?” Gojo protested, though he was once again reminded that all his size and strength was now in Utahime’s hands. “I was going to have ‘sex on the beach’ next!”
“I’m going to teach you a lesson, Gojo, so you’d better pay attention!” she snapped. She pulled him across the bar area toward the sign for the restrooms, plunging them into the dim, narrow corridors where the music faded to a booming pulse like a distant migraine.
Gojo had a strong idea of where Utahime was taking him, and for what reason, but it was so unlike Utahime that he simply couldn’t believe it. His disbelief kept him silent all the way up the steps, past the long queues for the men and women’s bathrooms until they met the door for some kind of cleaning cupboard. It might have been locked, judging by the loud metallic snapping sound when Utahime shoved it open, but that was quickly just an intellectual curiosity once Utahime had pulled him into the dark closet and shoved him back up against the closed door.
“Um…” said Gojo, blinking in the darkness.
“You want to understand just how terrible you are at sex?” Utahime hissed above him. “Take off those jeans.”
“What - no! Are you crazy?” Gojo hissed back, but already fireworks were going off in his blood. “I mean, why? What are you going to do?”
Fingers plucked at the buttons at his waist, flicking them open with far more practised ease than he could have expected of his own hands, and at the faintest brush of knuckles against his lower belly, his whole body - Utahime’s body - flinched with awareness. She was pushing his jeans down to his knees, exposing the black thong he’d chosen (the smallest piece of underwear he could find in her drawers).
“Are you for real right now?” Gojo whispered, breath coming a little quickly.
His die-hard curiosity wouldn’t let him run away from this, but he was surprised at the strange, warm feelings colliding in his belly. It was his own body in front of him. His own hand that stroked down his stomach and plucked at the negligible bands of his panties, and his own voice he heard grunting in annoyance at his choice of underwear. It was his even own scent he could smell. It was absurd to be turned on by himself.
Am I really this much of a narcassist? he thought. Or was this more like masturbation?
Or was it because Utahime could always turn him on, no matter what form she took?
“No one knows this body like I do, Gojo. I dare you to call me frigid after this,” she said, and then her hand slipped down the front of his panties.
Gojo’s breath stopped for a second. When he felt up a woman like this, he knew the drill - start slow, get her used to one finger, then two, then three, and then she’d be ready for his cock. It was better to wait until she was mewling and begging for it before fucking her hard with his fingers to make sure she was properly wet. But being penetrated - whether by fingers or cock - was a concept Gojo was struggling with. And then there was the fact that he knew, from very awkward personal experience, that Utahime did not get off on being fingered.
So he felt a little smug when Utahime stroked a finger gently down the seam of his pussy and he felt nothing but a faint tingle. Practically little more than a tickle. A very dry tickle.
“Hmm,” he hummed pointedly, turning his face up to smirk at her. “Not exactly the Niagara Falls down there, are we?”
“Shut up,” she muttered.
There was just enough light coming between the gaps around the door that Gojo’s eyes - as inadequate as they were - finally began to adjust. He could see the array of buckets and mops and shelves stacked with cleaning fluids and paper towels. And he could see Utahime looking down at him, focusing intently on his face, their noses close. It was odd to gaze up into his own eyes, but there was no doubt that it was Utahime’s soul behind them.
Her fingers moved lightly, gently, almost completely ignoring his entrance to keep up that feather-like stroke - up and down, up and down. Each stroke went higher than he expected to go, teasing him open, drawing out the tingles, until she settled on one innocuous spot and began to press in a slow, tight circle.
Gojo released a sharp breath - and that tingling sensation intensified at once to something he recognised. “Hm… oh…” She wasn’t even inside him, and it felt good. Strange. But good and getting better. It was a little like the same sensation of having his cock stroked - but different. Almost the same place. Almost the same intensity. Almost, almost, not quite -
He gasped again. Why did he keep forgetting to breathe?
“Right?” Utahime whispered, changing her touch again to stroke down. Now each time she returned to that spot, the pleasure was there waiting, blooming intensely under every pass of her fingers, getting stronger. Gojo clenched his teeth, trying hard not to rock against her hand. He still had some pride.
The next time Utahime dipped her fingers down over his entrance, they came away slick with fluid.
“Shit,” Gojo bit out, annoyed.
“Still want to call me frigid?” she asked, lifting her hand free to examine the glistening moisture that formed a little string between her fingers.
“Getting a little ahead of yourself, Utahime?” Gojo huffed pettily. “I haven’t cum yet, and you only got me wet. We both know I could get you wet.”
“Despite your worst efforts, yes.”
Her hand moved again, with greater determination and purpose, and Gojo hated the pathetic, trembling moan that escaped his throat. It was insane how good it felt, how all it took were gentle, small movements to make his thighs tremble. Yes, he’d known about the clit, but he hadn’t known that it could be this sensitive, or that the soft swipes around its edges were all he needed to work up a sweat. An ache was beginning to curl between his legs, one he didn’t recognise. It made him want to spread his legs wider and cry out. If he was still in his own body, he’d be hard as hell right now, desperate to stick it in, but instead all this sensation was about melting. He felt soft and wet and - yes - he wanted those fingers that kept sliding down to gather the wetness - he wanted them to push in.
Every time her broad fingers brushed over his entrance, he felt a different kind of excitement. It wasn’t the white hot pleasure stirred up each time she stroked his clit, but it was, in a way, even more urgent.
WIth a needy sound, he grabbed Utahime’s wrist and bucked against her fingers, trying to push them where he needed relief. He heard Utahime laugh - low, breathy and masculine - and it was like a match to an oil cloth for how it made everything so much worse. And better. But truly confusing.
“Don’t stop,” Gojo pleaded, feeling like he might be on the cusp of the best orgasm of his life. With Utahime’s hand working ever so gently between his legs (even though it was his hand working between her legs) he could feel an overwhelming violent, knee-shaking, earth-shattering explosion of pleasure coming. If only she would push her fingers deep to hit that itchy kind of emptiness he felt - a thought that he would, once his thoughts cleared, be somewhat horrifying.
“Uta - hime!” he whined. It was happening. He was coming, and he was coming apart. He opened his mouth to moan, but Utahime seemed to already know what he was about to do, and slapped her hand over his mouth to muffle the sound.
Gojo was beyond caring. The orgasm crashed through him like a death, consuming and blissful. He felt it in his whole body. He could feel contractions, almost in the same place he normally felt them, but the urge to thrust was absent, and there was no splash of cum over Utahime’s hand to accompany each rhythmic pulse. And it seemed to go on and on, too long to be normal, and yet Utahime seemed to know precisely when to stop, when that intense rolling pleasure faded to a humming glow.
Her hand was motionless, one finger pressed just slightly inside his entrance. All the instinctive desire to be penetrated and filled came rushing back at the feel of that teasing pressure. Even when still coming down from orgasm, even when he was still feeling the electric twinges of overstimulation, the urge to push himself down on her hand was strong.
“... the fuck…?” he whispered.
Where he normally felt bone-deep satisfaction and an enormous sense of relaxation, he still felt… unfinished.
“You want to learn something else about me, Gojo?” Utahime whispered, stroking through the slick wetness that was beginning to trickle down his thighs. “I’m really good at multiple-orgasms.”
She thrust two fingers in, deep and steady.
“Ah!” Gojo felt himself melt all over again, The Orgasm stirring back to life like it hadn’t truly ended. She was avoiding his clit, but each time her hand bumped against it lightly, the searing shock of overstimulation made him writhe, but it was quickly turning tolerable. Better than tolerable. It was quickly turning back into the most insane pleasure.
“This is weird,” he panted. “Is it normally like this?”
“When someone knows what they’re doing,” Utahime replied. “But I’ve barely started, Gojo.”
“Yeah, well I think you’ve nearly finished me,” he said, half pleading.
“Man up, Gojo.”
She dropped to her knees and pushed her face between his legs.
Gojo couldn’t stop himself from crying out. Her mouth was on him. He’d gone down on women before - he’d even gone down on Utahime that one time - but he’d never moved his tongue the way Utahime did. She circled and lapped in alternating strokes, a firm, sucking caress one moment and then a flick the next.
It was too much. Something was happening deep in his pelvis that he didn’t understand and all he could think was - “Stop - I think I’m going to pee!”
“Yeah, it can feel like that sometimes,” she said, between kisses of his wet pussy.
“I mean it - I feel it!” he insisted.
“Don’t fight it,” she said, pistoning her fingers firmly inside him. She was hooking her fingers, dragging over a magical spot that made lights burst behind his eyelids, and coupled with the merciless stroke of her tongue, Gojo really couldn’t fight it anymore.
He let go.
An orgasm even sweeter and full bodied than the last swept him up. His inner muscles fluttered and squeezed and there was a noise, a little like some dunk might have spilled some of their drink on the floor.
He was dizzy in the aftermath, coming down like he’d been drugged. He looked down at Utahime - at his own face, and saw her jaw shining with wetness and dripping, with a stain of dampness spilling down the shoulder of her jacket.
“Holy shit, since when did you ever squirt?” he asked her. He hastily wiped her chin with his hand, as much to be helpful as he was just curious to touch that wetness to see what it was like. “Good thing there’s mops in here…”
But something was gone out of Utahime’s gaze. She straightened up, looking down her front in consternation. Gojo followed her gaze and smirked. Even in the dark closet he could see the impressive tenting that was straining the fly of her pants.
“It’s back, I see,” he teased, unable to resist reaching out to stroke a hand over her bulge, and give his old friend a cheeky squeeze. It was a marvel how much bigger it seemed, now that his hands were much smaller.
“It hurts,” she whispered.
“Ha?” Gojo’s slurred thoughts tried to catch up. “Oh. Yeah. You’re getting blueballs?”
“I think…” she whispered, sounding a little horrified. “I think I really need to fuck you.”
“No way,” Gojo said at once, snatching his hand back. “I am not getting fucked by a dude. That’s just gay.”
Her large hands landed on his shoulders, trying to ease him around. “Gojo, just for a minute? Turn around and-”
“Are you mad? In a closet with no protection! A minute is all it takes - are you trying to get yourself pregnant?” he hissed, resisting.
“It’s a safe time,” she said. “My period starts in two days.”
“Nope.”
“I’ll pull out.”
“You do not know the art of how to pull out! You don’t even know how to put it in!”
“It can’t be that hard-”
“Utahime - you’re thinking with the wrong brain right now! Believe me, I know it’s difficult, but this is just my dick talking. You can’t let it control you.”
Utahime paused, nose wrinkled and eyes closed, as if she really was fighting an inner battle with his penis.
A heavy knock sounded on the door, startling them both.
“Excuse me,” came a stern voice on the other side. “Whoever’s in there, can you come out please?”
“Oh great,” Gojo whispered, as Utahime’s grumpy hormones reasserted themselves. He jerked up his jeans to refasten them. “Now we’re both going on some kind of register.”
“Hold on, I think I know what to do,” said Utahime, and before Gojo could ask, she wrapped an arm around his waist and warped them.