Satoru hates the hallways at Tokyo Jujutsu High because they were probably designed by people who have never had eardrums. They're— what do you call it, silence-proof? Sound- unproof? An impressive level of auditory transmission that acousticians would die for? Whatever the opposite of soundproof is, it's that.
"Ergo," says Suguru, the wet blanket, "we can never have sex in the classroom, no matter how much of a fantasy of yours that is."
"Well, screw you," says Satoru.
And that is why, after they've learned about the soundproof seal in class one day, Satoru blurts out the suggestion again in 0.00274 seconds.
"No," says Suguru.
"Suguruuu," says Satoru, gesturing around the empty classroom. "Think about it! It's hot. It's sexy. It's forbidden. We'll only be students for another year; no better time to break a few rules while there's no risk of being sacked."
"This," says Suguru, "is why you should not become a teacher."
"Spoilsports," says Satoru. "Look, it'll be fun! Think about it." He holds up one finger. "We've been having amazing, loud, athletic sex." Two fingers. "We haven't had sex in the classroom yet because of its amazingness, loudness, and athletic-ness." Three fingers. "Yaga has just taught us this protection seal that lets absolutely no sound into the room that it's protecting. And so." He groups his fingers together, then pops them apart. Boom. Universally accepted gesture for a moment of enlightenment. Or an explosion. "We can now have sex in the classroom!"
"No," says Suguru. "Suguruuu," says Satoru.
"I am not risking this," says Suguru, even though his face is doing that thing where he's trying not to smile, which basically translates to I am purposely torturing you because sadism is my love language. "There's a chance the seal isn't perfect, and someone might hear us from outside."
"Nooooo," says Satoru. "Okay, look, here, I can prove you wrong right now." Suguru arches an eyebrow.
"Trial and error," says Satoru, as he scribbles the newly-taught symbols onto a piece of paper. "I can prove to you that I can't hear anything from outside and you can hear everything from inside." He stands up, walks towards the door, slaps the protection seal onto its surface, then exits the classroom.
"All right," he says, once the door has closed behind him. "Can you hear me right now?" Silence.
"Suguru," says Satoru impatiently, "the protection seal is working, so you have to communicate some other way, idiot."
The phone in his pocket dings. He fishes it out.
I can hear you, is the text.
"Good," says Satoru cheerfully, and then backs three steps away. "Can you hear me now?"
Yup.
Another three steps. "What about now?"
Yup.
"Now?"
Yup.
"Now."
How long will this go on for?
"Until you trust me that the seal works properly," says Satoru. "How about now?"
Yup.
He's currently at the end of the hallway, one foot on the stairs. Satoru lowers his voice to a near-whisper. "Now?"
Nothing.
He raises his voice slightly. "Okay, now." Yup.
"Ah-hah!" he says triumphantly. Normal speaking volume, then. My god, this capacity for sound waves transmission should be illegal. "There. I think this is enough to reassure you that we'll be able to bang without worrying that anyone will barge in before we can hear them."
"You two are officially idiots," comes Shoko's voice from one floor below, which makes Satoru yelp in surprise, which is further proof that anybody can hear anybody in here if it's spoken above a whisper, and therefore the protection seal is a more-than-perfect solution to their venereal adventures.
Yup, comes Suguru's text, and Satoru can practically sense him laughing. _
"Still a no," says Suguru.
"Oh, come on," whines Satoru. "Is this about getting caught? Is that what this is?"
"The best way to not get caught is to not have done anything wrong in the first place," says Suguru.
"That doesn't sound like the Getou Suguru I know," says Satoru. "What happened to your 'let's ask this liquor store owner to give us some alcohol as thanks for ridding her of the curse that's plagued her business' morality?"
"That was cheap alcohol," says Suguru. "This is indecent sexual exposure." "Not if we're good with the seals." Satoru waggles his eyebrows.
Suguru snorts. "Still no."
"I mean," says Shoko, "what other answer do you expect from him?"
"'Yes'?" says Satoru. "Or 'hell yes'? Or 'that's such a hot idea, Satoru, I can't wait to bend you over your own desk and have my wicked way with you'?"
"You disgust me," says Shoko. "I should start wearing headphones around you to protect my own sanity."
"Just slap a sound-protection seal on him and you're good to go," says Suguru from where he's sitting at his table, smiling infuriatingly with a book in hand.
"Nobody appreciates my originality," mumbles Satoru. "Life here would be boring with just the two of you. Nobody wants to try new things."
"That's because we have some self-preservation instinct," says Shoko.
"And the inability to teleport," adds Suguru.
"I wouldn't just disappear if someone walks in on us!" says Satoru. "That's worse than cheating."
"The possibility is there," says Suguru, his eyes fucking twinkling. Despite his obvious amusement though, he's not looking at Satoru; his attention is focused on his book, fingers brushing over the pages. Even Shoko isn't paying attention from where she's lounging at her desk, bored, with a lollipop in her mouth.
"Ngaugh," is the best word for Satoru to say to express himself. Suguru flips a page. "Forget about it, Satoru."
And so Satoru, in his classic goldfish-grade fashion when it comes to problems he can't solve, does forget about it.
It's nothing new. Satoru suggests an idea, Suguru shoots it down, Shoko gives them both majestically murderous side-eyes, and the topic gets dropped within the week. Satoru has had lots of practice with rejection around these two — something his clan has never managed to train into him, try as hard as they might — and it's all good humour in the end. A playful routine that exemplifies most of their banter. All in all, it's kinda disappointing, it's kinda sad, Satoru will have to cross it off his list of exciting places to fuck in before you die, but that's fine. Whatever. He forgets about it within ten days.
That is, until he pisses Suguru off.
This is also nothing new, actually. Satoru doing things to aggravate Suguru happens twice on the daily — it's more or less a quotidian marvel of the latter's endless patience — but this time, regrettably, the cost is higher than their usual bickering, because the cost comes from the form of Kyoto Jujutsu High's principal.
"I," says Gakuganji, his voice as calm as simmering hellfire, "am going to throttle you if you don't shut up and pay attention in class, Gojo."
In his defense, who is he kidding, he has no defense. Gakuganji was invited to give a guest lecture at the school today, and three minutes into an interaction with the man has Satoru concocting a plan to inflict high amounts of aggravation to his blood pressure. He's very proud of his infant stages of genius.
And sure, one day Satoru will look back and consider the collateral damage that comes with his own tongue. But today is not that day. Today, he tips his chair back on its hind legs and says, "But I have a point, don't I?" because it's hard to think of the big picture past the glee of seeing Gakuganji develop new facial tics.
"No," seethes Gakuganji, "you don't get to attend class and disrespect—"
"But it makes sense, doesn't it?" says Satoru. "I don't understand why you come here to teach inter-relations between clans and don't elaborate on the history of past conflicts. It's politics, isn't it? Is it because you're afraid the clans will persecute you for it, sensei? Is it to protect the higher-ups? Those who can't accept history are condemned to repeat it—"
"Am I teaching," growls Gakuganji, "or are you?"
"—and if we're not gonna learn about why there's bad blood between the Three Great Families, then we're not gonna get anywhere," says Satoru. "Come on, Suguru, you agree with me, don't you?"
"Er," says Suguru, from where he's sending Satoru BE POLITE AND DON'T INVOLVE ME IN THIS stares. They're capitalized.
"He agrees with me," decides Satoru, turning back to Gakuganji. "See, even the teenagers you're trying to preach to know that's wrong. You can't pretend like nothing happened and paint a pretty picture just like our country has—"
"All right, that's it," yells Gakuganji. "I've had enough!"
Satoru has a brief moment of triumph — dousing in the smirk Shoko sends his way and the sigh Suguru's trying so hard to repress — until Gakuganji points a furious finger at him.
"You," says Gakuganji, his voice low, and Satoru is suddenly reminded of what it must've taken for the man to obtain this high a status. "I will have a word with your clan. But until then, you will stay in this room, write a 30-page essay on the defects of insubordination and disrespect, and you won't leave this room until you finish it."
"What?!" yelps Satoru. "Sensei—" begins Suguru.
"And you," says Gakuganji, pivoting the finger towards him, "boy with the curse manipulation, you will sit here and keep an eye on him the entire time, else you will be subject to the same punishment."
"WHAT?!" says Satoru. "What the— you can't do this!"
"Can't I," says Gakuganji, eyes blazing. "You, Ieiri, with me."
"We just spent six hours in a classroom!" shouts Satoru at Gakuganji's retreating back. The old fuck doesn't even look back at him; he's stepping like he needs to murder the floor. The amused tilt to Shoko's lip as she waves goodbye to them doesn't help Satoru's bewilderment. "We have dinner! You can't expect me to write thirty pages when I don't even finish my mission report— SENSEI! This is unfair! I'm never going to—"
The rest of his sentence is cut off by a resounding bang as the door slams closed.
"—Asshole," says Satoru, huffing. "Everything I said was right and he knows it." He crosses his arms, his indignance and earlier excitement giving way to annoyance now, and he looks over at the other boy. "Suguru, you do agree, right? Everything I said was—"
His words, once again, die on his lips at the expression on Suguru's face. "Oh," says Satoru, blinking. "You're pissed."
"I'm pissed," echoes Suguru. He slowly turns to face Satoru, one elbow on the desk and the other on the back of his chair. "Why, yes. Yes, I'm pissed, Satoru, very much, because you never know when to shut your mouth when the situation doesn't call for it, and now we have to spend god-knows-how-long working on a task so insurmountable that we'll probably have to skip tomorrow's dinner."
"Hey, I can write," says Satoru defensively. "It's not insurmountable." "Your mission reports are full of drawings," Suguru points out.
"Gakuganji didn't mention a word count," says Satoru. "It's doable. I can bend the rules a little bit."
"The 'bending' of which got you in trouble in the first place?" says Suguru. At the feigned innocent look on Satoru's face, he rolls his eyes, places a hand on his forehead, and heaves a sigh. "God, why do you have to be such an ass to a guest lecturer? The man traveled all the way here."
"You didn't like him, either," mutters Satoru. "Not the point."
"I asked about a perfectly reasonable flaw in his education," protests Satoru— although most of his fight leaves him at the irritated glare Suguru sends his way. His shoulders deflate. "Fine. All right. My fault you're stuck here with me." He reaches for a piece of paper, considers the brief and environment-unfriendly fantasy of drawing dicks on the next thirty pages, considers it some more, and then decides that he'd rather be verbally annoying instead. He turns towards Suguru, his eyelashes batting the way he knows the other boy hates. "But you'll keep me in line, won't you, Suguru?"
(It's an unconscious move. Flirting with Suguru has become a thing of reflex, and so Satoru doesn't register what's come out of his mouth until he says it, and even then he mostly expects a harder glare his way.)
But Suguru only blinks at him.
Satoru stills. Suguru's expression is unchanged, but there's a considering look to his gaze, a sort of slow creep of an idea that shifts his entire stance where he sits. Satoru knows that look. His heart jackrabbits in his chest.
"...Suguru?"
His chin lifted slightly and his body leaned back, Suguru hums, forehead resting against his knuckles. Satoru thinks it's on purpose, the way Suguru's legs are spread are distracting him from the amused glint in his eyes. Every other sound somewhat fades into a whisper, curling around them, filling the air almost thick enough to touch.
"Keep you in line?" Suguru says, voice low and quiet. "Now why would I ever do that?"
Satoru's first thought is that they're in the classroom, oh god, is he dreaming and is this a figment of his backed up subconscious? His second thought mostly consists of exclamation marks.
"Um," he says intelligently.
A smirk crosses Suguru's face. "Write a paragraph." He nods to the blank page. "And I'll see what I can do about it."
"Is this happening?" Satoru blurts out. "Really? In the classroom? I get sex here? Sex now?"
"That's your pick-up line? 'Sex now'?" Suguru's mouth twitches. "What are you, a caveman?"
Satoru raises his fist in the air and shakes it. "SEX YES!" Suguru laughs. "Write the paragraph, Satoru."
Satoru doesn't need to be told thrice. He picks up his pen, hunches over, and begins scribbling the first things that come to mind. Which, granted, aren't very coherent for the current situation. The thrumming excitement of Suguru's words makes his body warm all over, hot and anticipative, and as a result he loses track of cogent thoughts and loses track of decorum and doesn't think twice about the words he puts down. As another result, he's hyper-aware of what Suguru is doing, and thus whips his head over to him with embarrassing speed when he hears Suguru stand up.
He watches, uncomprehending at first, as Suguru makes his way towards the classroom entrance. Then his stomach flips as Suguru places a seal on the door.
"Are you going to protest this, too?" says Suguru, with a sultry smile over his shoulder. "I don't plan on letting anyone hear you."
Satoru's brain doesn't short-circuit. "Um," he says.
Suguru's smile unfurls. He walks back towards Satoru, his steps slow like glazed honey, and glances at the empty paper. "You haven't gotten very far, I see," he says, and god, Satoru will die if he continues using that voice. It's a prelude to nothing proper.
"I can't believe you were so against this before," says Satoru, the words spilling out of him without forethought. He turns back down to the page. "All it took was disobedience towards another school's principal and getting you roped into my bullshit punishment? You've got weird turn-ons, you know. If I had known this earlier I wouldn't have tried so hard to convince you knowing that it would've been so much more time-saving to—"
And the rest of his words cut off, suddenly, as Suguru slaps a seal over his mouth.
Shocked, Satoru whips his head around and glares at Suguru. The other boy only stares back at him, faux-innocently. "You talk too much." The arch of his eyebrows lowers into something amused. "Besides, like I said. I don't plan on letting anyone hear you."
And then, before Satoru manages to respond, he feels himself being roughly lifted and yanked forward, thrown off footing until he feels his hands and legs hitting something solid beneath him. He struggles, surprised, and realizes that he's been manhandled over to the teacher's desk. Right on top of it— his knees and palms on the wooden surface.
What the fuck, he tries to say. It comes out inaudible.
"You've just sworn, haven't you?" says Suguru, when Satoru cranes his neck to glare at him. "I can tell."
Satoru flips him off.
Sugurus smiles. "Awfully rude for someone in your position," he says, and Satoru barely manages to respond before he feels his own belt unbuckling, his pants pulled down to his ankles in one swift motion. The hit of cool air jolts him a little. His legs tense— and then every single coherent thought is pulled from his brain at the first touch of Suguru's tongue at his entrance.
Satoru makes a sound. His mind is so addled with lust that he can't tell if Suguru is able to hear it or not, but his fingers involuntarily clutch at the edge of the table, the wood digging into his skin. Suguru doesn't seem to notice or doesn't react; he continues circling Satoru's entrance with his tongue, lapping against it, and then — when Satoru turns to look back in impatience — slowly pushes a finger in.
Satoru's legs jerk. It's not until after the first few seconds that he realizes, with a blink, that Suguru has brought lube. This asshole. And here the jerk was, denying that he wants anything to do with Satoru's ideas. Satoru makes a sound at the back of his throat as he turns back to stare the other boy down, but Suguru's hands make a motion then, his fingers stroking across Satoru's hole, and Satoru's whole body shivers, his head involuntarily slumping as a wretched sound doesn't make it past the seal over his mouth.
"Hey," Suguru says in a light voice, "I didn't plan this," like a liar. He teases Satoru slowly, languidly, making sure to drag out every single touch and brush and lap that Satoru soon finds himself shaking despite fighting hard not to, trembling despite his own fingers clutching deep at the table edge. He tries to focus on the windows to their left, where the sun is beginning to set and the dust motes are floating in the slants of sunlight— but it doesn't take much longer to feel his own climax building up, higher and higher and higher, and just when it's beginning to crest he suddenly feels something wrap around his own cock, tight and
firm.
Suguru couldn't have heard the noise Satoru makes then, but he definitely hears Satoru's fist colliding with the table.
"Oh, don't worry," Suguru says, with a smirk in his voice. Satoru's body goes taut. "Wouldn't want this to end so quickly, would you? Seeing how you've been so eager for this."
Satoru turns to glare at him. Suguru's smile is almost smug, the hint of delight so familiar on his face.
And then, without warning, Satoru feels hands grasp at his hips as he's pulled backwards, down until his knees are no longer on the table. His feet hit the floor, bracing himself against the ground. There's a brief moment of confusion — mixed in with the sound of rustling behind him — and then Satoru feels the head of Suguru's cock pressing against his entrance, thick and slicked with lube.
Satoru inhales sharply. I haven't been prepped enough yet, he realizes. Only stretched wide enough for this to burn. And so, of course, there are a couple seconds of hesitation where nothing happens, where it's long enough that Satoru knows Suguru is waiting for him to protest, to turn back and kick him in the chest if this isn't what Satoru wants— but Satoru doesn't move. He stays still, hands at the edge of the table, and glances back only briefly to catch the flush rising on Suguru's face.
"...You're impossible," Suguru says quietly, a slight strain to his voice.
Then he grips Satoru's hips and finally presses in, sliding into him agonizingly slow until his own hips are pressed against Satoru's ass.
And oh god. Fuck, it hurts. Satoru doesn't even know what kind of sound he must be making, and he's infinitely glad there's a seal over his mouth because it must be embarrassing, the way his throat feels scraped raw and his breath stutters with every inch he takes. The pressure comes immediately and stays, not just in but apart. He tries to relax around the length of Suguru's cock, but there's so much stretch that it feels like relaxing is impossible.
"Breathe," says Suguru.
Satoru tries. He's pulled so wide open, god, and the fill of Suguru's cock is familiar enough that Satoru is able to take steady breaths through his nose, but it's big enough that his legs are beginning to tremble again.
Slow down, Satoru tries to say, shaking. Slow down, wait—
"Fuck, you're always so tight," Suguru grunts, but it's dimly registered in Satoru's brain. Distantly, he thinks he can hear Suguru clicking open the bottle of lube behind him and drizzling it down the crack of his ass, and then presumably along his own cock again— but Satoru doesn't have enough wits left in his head because the next thing he knows, Suguru's hand is reaching near his face, ripping apart the seal on his mouth, and there is another hand on the back of his neck pressing him into the table—
And then Suguru starts to move.
"Oh god," Satoru chokes out, ragged, and that's the last coherent thing he says for a while. Suguru pulling out burns as much as him pushing in, but it gets easier with every thrust, and it doesn't take long before Suguru begins to fuck him so hard it's almost mean. He shoves Satoru into the table with every roll of his hips, so rough that Satoru knows he's going to have bruises tomorrow, fuck, he can already feel them forming. He braces himself on his elbows, trying to ease it, biting his lips just to keep from crying out—
And then Suguru's hand threads into his hair. He yanks hard, dragging Satoru upwards. "Ah," Satoru gasps, feeling pained and yet so good at the same time, blinking tears out of his eyes. "Fuck—"
"You don't know how hard it was to turn you down every time," Suguru says, breathless and hoarse as he fucks Satoru with relentless mercy. "Not when I know you could look like this." He leans down until his chest is pressed against Satoru's back, his breath warm against Satoru's ear, all while still keeping a brutal pace inside him. His words are murmured, low. "This was a good way to shut you up, Satoru. Fuck you so hard you can't say a word."
"—Asshole," Satoru stutters out, although he doesn't know if he can manage anything else, no clue what to follow up with. He can't think properly. All he knows is that he needs to come, oh god, he needs to come, but the seal around his cock is preventing him from doing so, pulling him towards the edge over and over again without letting him climax, keeping him at the precipice. He feels pushed open, pinned apart, and then Suguru shifts his hips slightly and the whole length of his cock drags along Satoru's prostate, and Satoru can't hold back the wretched moan that tears out of his throat.
It's too much, it's too much. Before he can register what he's doing, Satoru pulls his arm backwards, grabs at Suguru's collar, and yanks him down until Satoru can crane his neck enough to shoot the other boy a glare.
"Suguru," he whispers, with enough annoyance to get his point across. Suguru smiles.
Hands grasp at Satoru's hips, and then he feels himself being lifted up, pulled backwards, until he finds himself seated in Suguru's lap with his back to Suguru's chest, a student desk in front of him and Suguru sitting in his own chair behind him— all the while keeping Suguru inside.
"There." Suguru's voice holds amusement now. "At your own pace, then."
Satoru's going to kill him. "That's not— not what I—" "For that," says Suguru, "you'll have to beg."
"I'm not, ah, not fucking begging—" And Satoru's words are punched out of him with a roll of Suguru's hips. He can feel Suguru's silent laugh behind him.
"Try again," says Suguru.
Fine. Fine, if that's what he wants. Satoru's not going to stoop down to begging, he has more dignity than that, but if this is how the bastard is going to drag it out, he's going to fucking get back at him. Suguru's cock is still thick inside him, hot and hard. Satoru lifts himself upwards, up until the tip of Suguru's cock is nearly out, and then drags himself down again all the way to the hilt. The angle is different this time, deeper and full, and neither of them is able to contain the open-throated moans they make.
Keeping up the same pace Suguru had earlier is damn near impossible. He can't do it. But Satoru places his hands on the table before him for balance and does his best, ramming himself on Suguru's cock over and over again. The burn is enormous, but the constant shriek of pleasure across his prostate is so incredibly good that he can hardly see, his thoughts going unmoored, and he doesn't even bother to blink away the tears this time. He can hear Suguru's harsh breathing behind him, strained and choppy, and there's a hand on the back of Satoru's neck, the other hand on his waist, fingernails digging painfully into his skin.
"God, Satoru," says Suguru, fraught. "Look at you." Satoru holds back a groan.
"You want to come?" asks Suguru, moving his hand on the back of Satoru's neck and putting it over his collarbone, dragging him backwards. "Not yet," he mutters against Satoru's ear, and Satoru groans louder, tears dripping down his face. He has half a mind to reach down and wrench the seal away from his own cock, except he doesn't know what that would mean, because Suguru's holding him up now, Suguru's the one hammering Satoru's prostate on every thrust, and Satoru doesn't have the energy in him to move and it's too much, it's too much—
"No, it's not," says Suguru in his ear, and Satoru suddenly realizes that he's babbling all of this to him. "You can take this."
"Can't," whimpers Satoru.
"Yes, you can," says Suguru, almost soothingly. "I know you can, because you'll listen to me. You've always been so good for me."
Satoru would like to think he makes an indignant sound, but all that comes out of him is a sob. His fingernails dig hard into the wood, there's a white buzz in his head, and he's too far gone now to argue and so he nods frantically, too roughed out for words.
Suguru lets out a low groan. "That's it." His thrusts are getting more erratic, more brutal. "Fuck— Satoru."
He shoves himself forward one last time, hand tightening around Satoru's neck. He bites at Satoru's shoulder but Satoru barely registers it amidst the haze of everything else; he trembles in Suguru's grasp, tightening and clenching around Suguru's cock. "Let me—" he moans, shameless to admit it this time. "Fuck, Suguru, I need to—"
Suguru's breaths are ragged behind him. "Say it again," he says, his voice hoarse, and even though it's less of an order and more of a request, Satoru finds himself breaking.
"Suguru," he groans, "please, okay, fuck, let me come, I—"
Suguru's other hand reaches around him. "Yeah," he murmurs, ragged, "god, yes, you can come," and releases the seal.
Satoru's vision goes white. He can't hear the noise he's making, but he's shouting, he must be shouting, and he can't even breathe properly as the orgasm slams into him with such an intensity that his body is a roar of muted sensation. Suguru fucks him through it, small thrusts in the loose-limbed aftermath even though they're both oversensitized; does it until Satoru is shaking and squeezing around him, and only then does Suguru sigh out in pleasure and tug a hand through Satoru's hair, carding his fingers softly through it.
"Christ," Suguru mutters.
"God," Satoru agrees, finally managing to drag in a breath. "Unngh." "You all right there?" asks Suguru.
"I think I died," says Satoru. He leans into the touch, letting Suguru's gentle caress carry him. There's a vague awareness that Suguru is growing soft inside him, but his limbs are too jellied to move now, his legs threatening to give out at any moment. Coming down from the highs of an orgasm like this always leaves him weak. "I— fuck, are you sure this was impromptu and not part of your devious plans?"
Suguru rolls his eyes. "Yes, I planned on you being so annoying that you got us both into writing a 30-page essay in the classroom. What do you take me for?"
"To be honest, that sounds like something you would do," says Satoru.
"Maybe," admits Suguru.
"You brought lube," Satoru points out. "There has to be some deliberation on that part."
"Satoru, I bring lube everywhere," says Suguru. "Unfortunately, being in a relationship with you means there's zero predictability in how the day goes. I have to be prepared for the worst."
"Or the best," says Satoru cheerily.
"Or the best," allows Suguru, and laughs when Satoru jabs him lightly in the side. "But seriously," says Satoru, slumping back against him. "Wow. That was... wow."
Suguru's lips tilt up into a smirk, even as his cheeks flush a little. "All that stammering is going to get to my head, you know."
"I would make a joke about 'which head?'" says Satoru. "But I think I'm too fucked out right now to be coherent."
"Yeah, finally," says Suguru, but his tone is fond.
"You have to admit." Satoru groans as he finally pushes himself off. The movement causes him to wince, and oh, yep, his legs are definitely giving out, goodbye. It's only Suguru's arms around his middle that keeps him from falling flat towards the floor. "That was one of the best ideas I've ever had."
"Eh." Suguru makes a see-saw motion with his hand. "Arguable. It's definitely one of your most unproductive though."
"Oh, I don't know," says Satoru, turning back with a grin. "You'd call cardio unproductive?"
"I'd call it stupid, in this circumstance." Suguru plants a kiss on his temple, tender and chaste. Satoru has the urge to knock him over the head and go for round two, but that urge is interrupted when Suguru nods towards the scattered sheets of paper on the desk. "You haven't written a single word, have you?"
"Oh," says Satoru, blinking at the papers. "Huh. Right, I haven't." "Gakuganji's gonna kill you."
"Relaaax," says Satoru. An idea pops into his head. He perks up, cheerfully grabbing the pen and twirling it around his fingers, once, twice, and then begins to scribble what he considers to be the second most brilliant concoction of thoughts he's had all day long. "Trust me. I know exactly what to say about insubordination and disrespect to complete that old geezer's task."
"Hmm," says Suguru, and gives him a look that says he very much thinks that is an impossible feat at least.
"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?" shrieks Gakuganji, roughly an hour later.
"I told you, sensei," says Satoru. "I wrote a 30-page essay on the defects of insubordination and disrespect."
"You," Gakuganji chokes out, seemingly speechless. A vein pops in his head. Satoru wonders how many of those are required to completely stop the flow of oxygen to his heart. "You— this is not about the defects of— WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?"
"If you read it, you might agree with me," says Satoru.
Gakuganji grabs at the stack of papers and shoves it in his face. The title, written in Satoru's messy handwriting, reads: The Refusal to Teach Correct History: An Example of Misconduct and Disrespect. The entire essay consists of everything he hadn't managed to verbally express earlier, all from the pretense of the higher-ups to the cover-ups to the politics that he honestly doesn't have the patience for. Sure, the 30-page essay took him fifty minutes to write, but it's worth it for the look on Gakuganji's face. He'll take this as 1-1-0 for Gojo Satoru's libido, Gojo Satoru's intellect, and Gakuganji's blood pressure.
Satoru grins. "See? I followed your instructions to a tee."
"THAT IS ENOUGH," Gakuganji screams. "YOU TWO!" He points angrily at Satoru, and then at Suguru, who is leaning against his chair with his arms crossed, trying his hardest to remain pacifying. "I AM GOING TO MAKE YOU REWRITE THIS! SIXTY PAGES THIS TIME! NO— ONE HUNDRED, NEVER IN MY LIFE HAVE I EXPERIENCED SUCH IMPUDENCE—"
"Oh, but you wouldn't wanna do that, sensei," says Satoru, amidst the shouting attempts of Yaga trying to placate the old man. "We'll just find a better way to spend our time." He looks at the other boy playfully. "Right, Suguru?"
Suguru doesn't do anything more than give Gakuganji a helpless shrug and a rueful smile, but five seconds later Satoru hears his own phone ding with a message notification.
Yup, reads Suguru's text.
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