Gojo returns in the small hours of the night for the next three nights. Asabé, not wanting to face the frigidness and distance they've suddenly found between them, is sure to be in her room and asleep by the time he warps into the penthouse. Some nights, though, she finds herself staying up much later, and she wonders if he will comment on her unsealing herself.
He does eventually comment, just not in a way she expects.
Gojo has been observing her, of course. He can't help it. After a long day, and most of the night, having to wear a blindfold to prevent migraines, he warps into his penthouse to find himself bombarded with Asabé's deep blue cursed energy. It's seeping into everything like someone spilled over a heavy bottle of strong perfume. Everything in the penthouse is touched by it, shimmering in his vision. He speaks a word of power to dispel it, and registers her surprised gasp in her bedroom.
She comes out, looking alert and on guard. When she sees Satoru, watching her as if she had just paraded out naked, she comes up short.
"Oh," she says. "It's you. I thought…"
"I told you no one would come here even if you took the seal off," Satoru says a little acerbically, with just a tad bit of condescension for added spice. He watches it hit her nerves like well-placed throwing knives. Why he is enjoying hurting her in these little ways he doesn't know. The way her eyes water just a little, her lip quivers, and she sucks in that shaky little inhale to keep her composure?
Satoru loves that.
"Yes," she says, her voice regaining its confidence. "I see that, now."
"Did I wake you?" He asks, his tone a tad sharp. Asabé shakes her head.
"You're not the only one who has been keeping late hours, Satoru," she tells him. Gojo ignores how his name from her mouth—that pretty mouth he kissed until it was love-swollen and beestung just a few nights prior—makes his stomach leap. She shapes it with a strange inflection, a taste of her mother tongue on his given name.
It's surprisingly more intimate than spreading her legs and torturing her cunt with open-mouthed kisses until she doesn't remember how to beg.
It's only been a few days but he's been hoping their avoidance of one another would cool his blood. But the sight of her like this: casual, as if she has always lived here like some sort of domesticated girlfriend [or a housewife, he thinks with bitter irony]. His dick is hard and he doesn't know why.
Fuck her.
He wants to—badly—but also fuck her.
"Yeah? Well, try not to stay up too late. I may need you sharp." He makes his way toward his bedroom, pausing next to her to add, "We're down to three curse users, now. You're welcome."
Asabé doesn't see so much as a fleck of blood on his uniform, or his hair. He's pristine as he was when he left this morning. Not only that, but as he stands next to her, she can finally feel his cursed energy, and it sends a chill down her spine.
She has never felt anything so limitless.
It's like a bottomless well, neverending, steady and precisely controlled…overwhelming. She can feel the electric thrum of energy between them as she strays too close but never seems to be quite close enough: infinity.
Why does he have it on in the house?
Why does it bother her that he has it on?
Because it was only a few nights ago that she was trying to see how much closer than skin they could get. The memory of her panting and moaning in his ear, of the sweet, delicious stretch of his cock inside of her, and his deep voice talking her through her climax again and again. She can still taste the salt of his clean sweat on her tongue. She can still remember how delightful his muscles felt gliding under her clutching hands, her nails carving stripes into his back, her lips claiming the elegant column of his throat. She can still feel the ache in her muscles days later, and every time she looks at the couch she sees herself leaned back, her legs in the air, thighs pushed back, black lace panties dangling from her foot, and Satoru, on his fucking knees, his thumbs spreading her pussy open before he spit in it and got to work, and made her watch the entire time, those galactic eyes holding her gaze captive, his mouth and nose buried in her folds.
Don't you dare look away. I want you to watch me ruin you.
And she had. And he did. She'd never felt more electrified in her entire life. Nor would she ever again.
She can't even stay in the kitchen for long without thinking of how he had her on the counter, balancing her on his shoulders while he teased her swollen and wet cunt through her panties before finally sliding them to the side to taste her in full. Every single shared space is shouting their tryst to the fucking world, and anyone with eyes can walk in and see it, and it's driving her insane.
The only place she can exist without these damned memories is in her bedroom. And she'll drag her pussy across broken glass before she admits that her hand strays between her thighs, replaying those lurid memories of the best sex she's ever had in her life as she brings herself to a quiet, shameful, quaking climax. And then feels a delicious pleasure in thinking she's gotten away with something under Satoru's nose. The Six Eyes can see everything, but if she's quiet, he won't know this about her.
You can take it. I know you can. You're so strong for me, so wet for me, so goddamn ready.
Asabé shifts uncomfortably, trying to squeeze her thighs shut. Her pussy lips slide together she's so damn wet already. If he doesn't grab her and fuck her on the nearest surface she's going to explode.
Satoru smirks down at her knowingly, and walks away, leaving her with an ache she feels down to her marrow. He knows. He fucking knows. Shame and embarrassment make her skin hot from her chest to her ears.
Fuck him. God she wants to, but fuck him.
She doesn't see how painfully hard he is when he retreats to his room, or that he can not only see but smell her arousal before fleeing. She doesn't see him retreat to the bathroom, leaning against the wall in his shower, pumping his fat cock in his unyielding fist to the thought of fucking her again. She doesn't see how he fantasizes about that couch, only it's her on her knees, not him. He pumps his cock harder and faster, imagining those plump lips wrapped around his shaft, the bulge of his cock in her throat. God and those gorgeous eyes, the color of sunshot honey, looking up at him, wet with tears, silently begging him to flood her throat and mou—
He comes with a guttural and primal growl to the sound of her voice in his head, moaning his name, begging him to come inside of her, to fill her up until his seed spills from her cunt like someone tipped over a bottle of honey. Then he thinks about lapping it all up, tasting them both on his tongue, kissing her so she can taste them too. Fuck, he's never come so much to a mere fantasy, but knowing the woman of his fantasies is just down the hall just hits different.
In the end, he is left panting, leaning against the tiled wall, steaming water streaming over his body while his cock goes stoft in his hand. He takes deep, shuddering breaths, and for a moment his awareness expands and he sees her in the guest room, a figure wrapped in the oceanic blue of her own cursed energy, and then the seals on the windows flaring to contain both of them. Gojo decides that if they don't ever fuck again he's going to kill every single person in this country and then himself.
She doesn't see any of that, though, and she doesn't need to, because he fully intends to fuck her again as soon as he figures out how to thaw the ice between them.
Satoru decides on a whim to test just how desperate clan Ruhín is by suggesting he and Asabé go out with her unsealed. Of course, Asabé balks at the notion of setting foot outside of the penthouse without her seal, but Gojo insists, and he is adamant about it. In fact, there's no levity in his voice at all when he tells her they're going out.
"Satoru, what will you do if they come for me?" She asks, trying not to be nervous, but her power soaks her voice and it bumps against the edgres of his infinity, forcing him to pour more power into it. Asabé flinches when she feels it.
"Control your cursed energy, for starters," he chides. "The more your power pushes against mine, the stronger I have to maintain it. If you keep doing that, I will eventually kill you."
That sobers her, and she glances up at him wide eyed, but he is deadly serious, even with the blindfold.
When she speaks, her voice is measured and careful, and he sees the irritated flits of her cursed energy have been wrangled. He understands she's nervous, but this plan he has can't work if she is not in exacting control of the one thing she can control. And so with her energy once more unleashed, Satoru takes his "wife" out of the penthouse and into the world beyond.
Kimura, the concierge, does a double take when he sees them. Gojo knows what it is. Kimura cannot see cursed energy, but Asabé's is unmistakable. She glows with it, like a star fallen to earth and given human shape. Her eyes seem brighter, her skin seems shinier, and she is quicker to smile. It's as if something in her has been set free, and Gojo is silently smug that he was right. He'll have to call and rub it in Nanami's face later.
As they step out into the sunlight, Asabé does a little twirl, sending her white sundress spinning around her legs. Gojo can't help but smile. He cannot imagine ever shackling his power, let alone for nearly a decade. Without thinking he reaches for her hand, without thinking she surrenders hers. Their fingers lace, and they walk through the park together, for all appearances a happy couple.
At one point, Gojo suddenly pulls Asabé into an embrace, leaning down to kiss her. Asabé is shocked at how easily she responds. For a moment, the park is forgotten. There is no one else in the world but them. Gojo lifts one part of his blindfold to peer at her with one beautiful, cerulean eye.
"I believe they've taken the bait," he whispers against her lips between kisses. "Look like I fuck you on the regular and spoil you often, baby."
Asabé has no idea what that would entail but if the other night is anything to go by, she'd argue that perhaps she should look a little more composed than that. Still, it's not hard to spot the representative of clan Ruhín, especially as she turns, smiling and holding Satoru's hand, trying not to forget it's all an act, and comes face to face with her past.
All at once, the ruse feels hollow and fragile, shattered by the force of her shock. She squeezes Satoru's hand hard, eyes wide, pupils shrunk to points, her lips parted in a small sound of surprise.
The man representing clan Ruhín is striking. Not in the same way as Asabé, but in a sinister and dangerous way.. He is tall, like himself, and wears his hair in neatly-kempt locs adorned with golden clasps. His face is stern, his nose aquiline, his lips full and framed by a neatly-kept mustache and beard. His eyes are dark, but there is no warmth in them. He is devastatingly handsome and that bothers Gojo more than the fact that this man is probably as ruthless as he is.
"Ɗanjuma?" Her voice is soaked with her energy and both Satoru and this stranger, now named, feel her shock like the wet prickle of static electricity over their skin. The tall man smiles warmly, but Satoru notices that warmth never reaches his coal-black eyes. This is the face of a man who has taken many lives with his hands. There is no way for him to express genuine warmth or compassion. He subtly envelops Asabé in his infinity, and sees the man's nostrils flare in surprise as he takes a step back.
"Asabé," he finally says, his voice a deep and gravelly baritone. "It has been too long since I last saw you. How have you been?"
"Better than I was," Asabé says without missing a beat. Ɗanjuma's smile never falters, and those dark eyes watch Asabé like a predator would its potential prey. Gojo decides he dislikes this man.
"So I see," he says, sparing Gojo a glance. "You seem to have moved on from…what was his name? Jem?"
"Jin," Asabé corrects, and Ɗanjuma finds himself flinching as his nerves are assaulted with pins and needles. He laughs, holding up his hands.
"Peace," he says. "Please, I don't want any trouble. I'm merely here to see how you're faring in the midst of being a new, young widow. But it seems my worry was a bit premature. You are…?"
Gojo wants to sneer. Cheeky bastard. Any sorcerer with two brain cells to rub together recognizes Gojo Satoru, be it by appearance or cursed energy. Ɗanjuma is being petty, and when it comes to sorcery, Gojo considers pettiness a province of the weak.
"Gojo Satoru," the strongest sorcerer introduces himself smoothly, his tone sickeningly saccharine. One does not grow up as rich and powerful as him without learning how to play politics, and malicious compliance is one of the key tenets of the society he inhabits that he wields with consummate skill. Ɗanjuma will need to do more than this petty bullshit to get under his skin. Asabé's gaze darts between both men and she shuts her eyes briefly.
"Why are you really here?" She asks tersely, squaring her shoulders. Ɗanjuma raises his brows slightly, and Gojo is beginning to wonder why he isn't more afraid of him and seems determined to rattle Asabé. He's getting irritated.
"You know why I'm here," Ɗanjuma says, wasting no time. "We let you have the space you needed, and more's the better: being a wife and widow has likely taught you all you need know. Come home, we'll seal the alliance between our families and you can be done with this cursed country."
Asabé's cursed energy flares in irritation, and Gojo's infinity increases. Now Ɗanjuma looks concerned. Good.
"This is home," Asabé says in a low and deadly calm voice. Gojo's eyes see her cursed energy spilling into her words like fog, gaining pressure and power as the sound hit its intended target: Ɗanjuma.
"Asabé," Gojo warns affectionately. "Baby, remember what I said about controlling your cursed energy?"
Asabé's eyes cut to his like a blade and it's the first time he's seen such fearlessness. Normally his eyes are the ones stopping people in their tracks, but hers is…he wants to take her home right now and fuck her while she looks at him like that.
"You can't be serious," Ɗanjuma says. "You'll join the Six Eyes? You won't last the year." He catches Gojo's glare. Gojo wants to smile. There's the fear. He's realizing he's in over his head. He isn't kin, so Asabé can use her power as she sees fit, and Gojo? Ah, he has been frustrated and he'd love to sink his teeth into an untried curse user. Already he can see everything. He can even predict the pattern of blood spray. He wonders if Asabé will mind a bit of a mess.
"Satoru and I are getting married," Asabé says. "It's already been decided. And let's face it: this is a better match, Ɗanjuma." Gojo does smile at this, smug and superior. The venom in her voice almost sounds genuine. With his limitless shield slightly stronger, its pressure much more pronounced than usual, Ɗanjuma has no recourse. So he begins to retreat. Gojo's grin is much too malicious to be considered pleased.
"If this is truly your choice and not some ruse, I will respect it and report back to the family," Ɗanjuma says slowly, and Gojo's eyes tell him he's lying. Every word comes out like he's biting them and tearing them in order to process them better. Poor man probably thought he could scare Asabé back into the fold. Gojo loves freeing worthy sorcerers from the curse of banal anonymity and misery.
"It is my choice," Asabé says firmly, no trace of her cursed energy in her words, only simple, obstinate determination. "Call off your lackeys—whoever is left—and go home, Ɗanjuma. I will not be going back. Ever."
For a tense moment, Gojo wants Ɗanjuma to be stupid and make a move, but the other sorcerer is smart. He concedes with a duelist's nod.
"As you wish," he says. He looks Gojo up and down with scarce-concealed contempt. "Keep her safe, Six Eyes."
Gojo's grin becomes an easy and arrogant smile. It goes without saying that he will do that and more. He thinks about how good Asabé looked in his arms, pressing lazy kisses against her lips. Safe. Right.
Ɗanjuma takes his leave, and Gojo notes that several other curse users also withdraw, though they are never seen. Nothing escapes his notice, but even though Ɗanjuma promised to withdraw, Gojo does not release his technique around himself or Asabé. His arm goes around her, watching her face as her gaze lingers on the path Ɗanjuma took to leave. The wheels of her mind are turning and Gojo wants to know what she's thinking.
"So, I take it that was the guy you were betrothed to before you ran off to come here, huh?" He asks. Sometimes the least amount of tact yields the best results. Asabé blinks slowly before he sees the sleek line of her jaw set in pensive silence.
"It's more complicated than that," is all she gives him. Gojo shrugs.
"If we want to sell our marriage we're going to have to be transparent, Asabé," he says. "Tell me about Ɗanjuma."
Asabé inhales slowly, and then exhales.
"Not here," she says. "Take us somewhere private. And let's get food. And dessert. And possibly alcohol."
"That bad, huh?" Gojo asks with a laugh. Asabé glances up at him sidelong, but she says nothing. Gojo slips an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close.
"Hang onto me, baby, I know a place," he says, wrapping her in his embrace and the world blinks away. Asabé doesn't see it, burying her face in Gojo's chest and shutting her eyes. For a blink, there is only the two of them, wrapped up in each other. For a blink, there is only the clean scent of his cologne and him. For a blink her heartbeat races from the warmth of him so close.
For a blink, everything feels just right.