Chapter Text
Shoko is always right.
It’s been a while since Geto decided to leave the Jujutsu society. He almost failed in saving Riko before the assimilation with Tengen, and almost lost Gojo in that mission. Absorbing curses has been killing him slowly, and all for what? To protect the hideous nature of human kind? To see the few people he cares about getting hurt? He doesn’t know what would happen if he reaches his limit, if there’s even one. He doesn’t want to find out.
But being a nobody from a shit village means he needs to pull his life together and find some stability before starting over in Tokyo. So when he brought that up with Shoko, she gave him the idea of setting up an OnlyFans account.
You’re a fairly nice-looking guy with a killer body, she had observed between cigarette puffs, and you’re into art, photography, and whatnot, so you could actually have a good time working this side gig, since our schedule barely allows time for us to find an actual second job. Apparently, a friend of a friend of a friend of hers had made some serious cash on the platform, so it could be worth a shot.
This is why Geto is in his room, on a Friday night, sitting on his bed, his camera on a tripod pointing at him, one hand holding down the waistband of his black joggers at his mid thigh while the other hand slopes up and down his dick. With the final erratic tugs, his deep groan is followed by spurts of sticky release spraying his stomach, fist and sweatpants.
With the mess properly taken care of, he gets behind the camera to check how the video looks. The angle was flattering, he caught a great loadshot this time, and the contrast needs a little fixing, but it should be ready to upload tomorrow.
Geto wasn’t planning a trip to the laundry this weekend, but his subscribers—or his cult disciples, as they call themselves—asked him (begged, really) to keep the sweatpants on a few videos ago. Geto finds the interaction the best part of this predicament, taking their comments to heart and preferences into consideration. It’s stupid, maybe, but he likes making them happy, engaged—maybe even comforted.
This approach from the very beginning has helped with the looming feeling at the pit of his stomach that he’s selling his body like a whore.
Knock knock knock knock knock.
Geto knows that only one loud and noisy person would bang five times on his door.
“Suguruuu…” Gojo trills at the top of his lungs. “I brought snacks and Star Wars Episode III!”
Balancing a full bag of his kombini haul in one arm and the special edition collector’s box of DVDs in the other, Gojo shifts his weight from side to side.
He finds it odd that Geto’s door is locked, because they do this every Friday. Or more like, every day. Isn’t that what friends do? Spending time together in each other’s room whenever they have the chance?
Especially now, when Geto’s been acting distant. It’s happened a few times before and Gojo is used to it. Sure, Gojo has been assigned to more solo missions, and he feels important, but he hates it at the same time. Then he comes back, and Geto is looking like shit, brushing it off, saying he’s fine, but Gojo knows his best friend has his ups and downs. He knows he needs to be there, close to him.
“Now is not a good time,” Geto mutters through the slightest crack of his door. “Give me five minutes, yeah? I, huh, was not feeling well.”
”Nah, cut the crap,” Gojo drawls, forcing the door with his feet. It takes him 0.1 seconds to notice Geto’s hair poorly tied up, the thin layer of sweat on his neck, his wrinkled shirt, his uneven breathing pattern and accelerated heart beat, and finally the dry stain on Geto’s pants. “Were you jerking off or something?” Gojo snorts, kicking the rest of the door open and inviting himself in.
Gojo throws the bags on Geto’s desk and removes his shades before taking a better look at the room.
Of all the things Gojo thought he might find in the secrecy of Geto’s dorm, a tripod with a camera and a ring light has to be the last on the list. Laughing, he grins and says, “If I knew your life was that interesting, Suguru, I’d have started using my Six Eyes to peek inside before knocking.”
”Satoru… Where are your manners?!” Geto rushes to stop Gojo from fiddling and prodding at the camera, but it’s too late. “It’s… This is not…”
“You were recording yourself?! Wait… you… You totally were!”
“It’s just… It’s like a job. It’s no big deal,” Geto shrugs. There’s no use in lying when Gojo, of all people, is the one who can see right through him. Literally, even.
Gojo slumps on the bed, genuinely fascinated like a child taking the subway for the first time. “So you what, just sit here… this exact spot…” he muses, finding the angle of the camera and bouncing up and down on the edge of the mattress, still warm from Geto having just released five minutes ago. “And people pay to see you naked?”
“Yeah.”
“But… why?” Gojo is baffled, not because there’s people out there willing to throw money at Geto of all people—which kinda makes sense when he thinks about it—it’s just that he never saw the appeal on seeing naked people on the internet or watching porn. He thought Geto, in all his collectedness, was like him—not really interested in these kinds of things when they are special grade sorcerers that need nothing but jujutsu (and each other) in their lives.
“It’s just… transactional,” Geto mumbles, hands shoved in his pockets as he calmly paces in the room. “There are people willing to pay, and I need the money.”
He’s not embarrassed, per se. Geto Suguru doesn’t care about what people think about him, he doesn’t expect anyone to understand the things he goes through, but, ultimately, it’s the frustration that gets the best of him.
If there’s someone who would never understand, it has to be the most entitled, arrogant, cocky, powerful brat he’s ever met, who also happens to be his best friend and his favourite person in the world.
How could Gojo Satoru—the untouchable heir of the clan, who never wanted for anything—possibly understand that some people, like Geto, have to work their asses off just to have a chance at making it? Yaga gave Geto a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity when he pulled him from the middle of nowhere, which makes it even harder to simply walk away and act on it without stability.
No, sir, he’s not willing to waste energy explaining. Geto offers a tight-lipped smile, letting his voice go back to his regular calm tone and says, “I’m done for today, anyway. Let me put the movie on. Which episode did you want to watch again?”
“Suguru, hold on…” Gojo sighs, scratching the back of his neck. He doesn’t need two, six, or a thousand eyes to see that Geto’s wearing his fake smile—the one he saves for people who aren’t Gojo, people beneath Gojo and their friendship.
So, Geto is upset and trying to hide it from him. Which makes sense, really, because once again Gojo failed to take him seriously. Deflecting, that’s the word Shoko used before. Or something like that. It’s something he does, because he likes laughing things off to make others comfortable. He never saw anything wrong with it, but if Geto needs him to be serious now, he will be serious now.
“If that’s about money, I could give you money,” He attempts a more serious tone. He hates it. he’s tempted to do a backflip and make Geto laugh instead. “It would be a better use than whatever those old geezers managing my assets are up to, anyway.”
“I don’t want your money, Satoru.” And that’s another reason why Geto never went to Gojo for help. Geto knew he’d offer money, which defeats the point of becoming independent and cutting ties with this rotten society. Oh, and he’s not telling Gojo he’s planning to leave. He would flip. Until he has everything figured out, it’s best not to bother.
“But I want to help!” Gojo whines. “How much do you need? What… What do you even need that for?”
“I’m doing pretty great on this on my own, actually. You don’t need to worry… Just drop it. Really.”
“I don’t believe you,” Gojo scoffs. “If that’s business, and markets generally thrive on novelty, then your plan is not even sustainable… I doubt that you’ll make it by just jerking off alone for strangers forever.”
Geto blinks rapidly, surprised that Gojo is discussing it like a strategy, as if they are not talking about his dick exposed online for money.
And the worst part is: Gojo is right. In fact, his ‘cult disciples’ have been asking for collabs and spicier content for a while. He’s received offers, even, but while recording himself has been harmless, he doesn’t have it in him to meet strangers and have sex with them. Slow and steady wins the race, he reminds himself daily.
“Slow and steady wins the race,” he says out loud, because every now and then he likes to drop wise and humbling words on Gojo.
“Blegh,” Gojo sticks his tongue out, rolling his eyes. “That’s such a weak way of thinking, Suguru! Just take my money! Chicks get bored easily, they will soon move on from just you and your dick.”
“Oh, actually…” Geto clears his throat, tilting his head down and looking away through his bangs. “Most of my audience is made up of guys…”
“Huh? Huh…” Gojo gasps and then smirks, leaning back against the desk and crossing his arms. “So… you… I didn’t know. I kinda see it, though…”
“What?!” Geto’s right eye twitches with the urge to kill Gojo, often mistaken for winking. “I’m not gay myself, I’m just giving them what they want, and they pay me. In no way that bothers me. I actually care about them.”
It’s not often that Gojo is rendered speechless. He feels bad for implying that about Geto, and, you see, Gojo’s not gay either, but he’s not boring. And it’s more important to him that Geto knows he’s not boring.
“I… see,” Gojo muses nonchalantly, scratching his chin. That terrifies Geto—Gojo thinking, that is. “So if you have dudes paying to see you because they like dicks… And I want to help, and I have a dick, and we’re not gay, yeah, but… wouldn’t you make a shitload more money if they get to see two dicks?! It’s not a big deal to me. Not at all.”
“What are you even…” There’s no way Gojo is suggesting what Geto is thinking. Geto refuses to believe it. His lips twitch, and twitch, and he bursts into laughter.
Gojo usually feels a weird warmth in his chest when he makes Geto laugh, except this time, he was not trying to make Geto laugh.
“I mean…“ A strange burning takes over Gojo’s face, but he wiggles his white eyebrows to shake off the pang of discomfort. He’s having cool ideas because he’s cool, just like Geto is cool. “You’re already filming yourself. We just stay side by side without touching, I guess? Is that a thing? Think about it. I’ve been told I’m gorgeous. Your followers will lose their minds!”
“And you’re okay with showing your dick just like that? Jerking off next to me?! That’s a hard pass, Satoru.” Geto wipes out the tears of laughter at the corner of his eyes, the kind that his body only produces upon hearing Gojo’s nonsense.
“Come on, let me do it! Suguruuu… please!” Gojo is slightly offended to be dismissed that easily. He just wants to be a helping friend, to be included, and spend time with Geto doing whatever he’s up to! Poking Geto’s cheek relentlessly, he pouts, “Aren’t we the best at everything? Stronger together?”
Gojo pouts a lot, like he can get anything he wants when he wants it, because he had it this way since the day he was born. It’s annoying and cute and revolting and Geto can’t believe people fall for it.
“Fine, Satoru,” Geto sighs, tugging his hair tie off and shaking his hair loose. This is so insane, he’s now invested in seeing how far Gojo is actually willing to go with this. Now that’s interesting. He starts setting up his equipment, hoping for the best.
Gojo is always purposefully pouting to get what he wants, because he knows Geto always falls for it. The pout stretches into a wide, excited grin and he yelps, “You won’t regret accepting my help, Suguru! Okay, what now?”
“Camera’s on. Pants off.”
“Huuuuh?!” Gojo drawls. “Like, right now?”
“Yes. Now,” Geto replies, taking his shirt off again. He just came not long ago, but if they don’t do it now, he will dwell too much and analyze too much and change his mind. There’s no need to overthink it—the fans are paying to see dicks and bodies, they don’t even need to interact like there’s something real. Besides, it’s just… Satoru.
Gojo doesn’t say anything back. He’s just surprised this is really happening. It’s not like he’s distracted by the sight of Geto’s sinewy pecs and abs. Nothing new to see there. They’ve seen each other shirtless many times. But then their eyes meet, and they are alone in the silent room, the agreement lingering in the air, and Gojo instinctively darts his gaze away, his cheeks instinctively flushing, because he’s instinctively weird in rare times like this.
“Oh,” Geto clears his throat, trying to ease the tension. “You can keep your t-shirt on, don’t worry. I mean, you have nice arms, Satoru… I think, eh, that might satisfy the audiences.” Then Geto feels stupid, having tried to make Gojo comfortable but his voice made it sound like a compliment.
“The shirt?! Ah,” So Geto thought that this was why Gojo was staring. “No, yeah, I’ll take it off, too.”
When the ring light flicks on and flashes on his face, Gojo winces. “Ugh. Is that necessary? I’ll never get hard with all the overstimulation.”
Geto clicks his tongue. “You’re right, sorry. I’ve tried recording in the dim room but it turns out like shit, and the brightness is really tricky to adjust when I’m editing… Eh. This is madness, Satoru. We don’t have to do this.”
Gojo won’t back down. He said he’d do it, so he’ll do it. Gojo is cool and he’s cool with doing cool things that cool people do. “No, no, you know what? It’s fine. Will it be weird if I have my shades on? Probably not, right? I look great with those.”
“Yeah, shades are fine, I always blur my face anyway. I’ll blur yours, of course.”
Gojo finds it interesting that people are paying to see Geto working himself without seeing his face, when his best feature is his eyes. At least this is Gojo’s opinion. And while he often voices his opinion unsolicited, for some reason, he doesn’t feel like sharing that one out loud.
Gojo is indeed overstimulated by the artificial light, Geto observes, watching the pale face flushing all pink all of a sudden.
Now they are both slumped on the mattress in their underwear, silent, staring at their feet, sitting at an arm’s distance, because if they sit too far apart, they won’t fit into the camera’s frame.
This was supposed to feel natural. Hanging out in Geto’s bed has never felt awkward before. On the contrary: they watch movies, play video games, even nap together sometimes. But they’ve always had their clothes on in all of those circumstances.
Well, except for that one time they exorcised an acid-spitting curse that burned holes through their uniforms, and they were so exhausted that, once they got back, a shirtless Gojo crashed and fell asleep on top of a shirtless Geto. Still, nothing weird about it, just regular stuff best friends do.
“Watcha doin’ there…” Gojo teases when he notices Geto massaging his package over the underwear. His voice comes out trembling a little and he hopes Geto doesn’t notice, and why are his hands so sweaty?
“I’m making myself hard to jerk off, Satoru. Isn’t it what we’re doing here?” Geto replies. Maybe if he puts it in explicit words, Gojo will come to his senses. “Do you want to watch the movie first? Would the sight of Queen Amidala help you get worked up?”
“The only thing that could make me hard is the Duel of the Fates, actually,” Gojo chuckles. Why on Earth would he get a boner from seeing Natalie Portman in a costume? The epic battle between Anakin Skywalker and Obi-Wan Kenobi is way more arousing.
Not as arousing as seeing Geto yank his underwear halfway down, it seems. No, not that Gojo is finding it arousing, it’s just… It’s the thrill of doing something unexpected on a Friday night, his dick seems to think. Unrelated to Geto giving his half exposed dick a few tugs under the fabric.
Gojo swallows hard. Geto is big, yeah, but that was expected. Not that he expected, or thought about Geto’s dick before, it’s just that if people are paying to see it, Gojo knew there had to be something special about it.
But Geto pulls his boxers even lower and… there’s more?
Gojo can’t explain how, but his dick starts feeling too strained inside his own garments. Maybe he should do something. He’s not scared. He’s never scared of anything, and all of this was his idea, anyway. He bites his lower lip and pulls his dick out like it’s no big deal.
This is really happening, Geto sighs. He’s glad he’s taken the lead, and just to make sure Gojo is fine, he sneaks a peek at him from the corner of his narrow eyes.
Good, Gojo is hard, which is great for the video, and it’s… it’s… flawless. Gojo has a perfect dick, to no one’s surprise. Objectively speaking, of course. Geto’s passion is sketching and drawing, so he has an eye for proportions, colours and aesthetics. And Gojo’s dick is the kind of aesthetically ideal and proportional dick he’d think of if he ever draws one.
Geto thought that, due to his earlier session, it would take him longer to get erect, but he’s fully hard now. No idea why. So he just gives into it and enjoys himself, closing his eyes and letting his body melt back into the pillows as he humps up to his fist.
Gojo, however, can’t focus when his Six Eyes insist on capturing every single bead of sweat forming on Geto’s skin, the way every muscle in his body flexes, his head falling back with a shy grunt, and how it makes his long hair sweep over his shoulder in slow motion.
That’s new to Gojo—the laziest of strokes on his own length is making him twitch and drool like he hasn’t in a long while. Maybe never. But he’s just acutely aware with his all his senses because, if Geto is the best in the room at recording porn, then Gojo wants to learn from the best.
Geto checks in on Gojo again. He’s squinting his eyes, barely able to concentrate on his own dick, convincing himself it’s just a peek, when he catches Gojo staring, his sparkly eyes half lidded behind the shades, his feather-light white hair clinging to his sweaty forehead, and his glossy lips slightly parted.
The air is confusing, suffocating, like they are in some sort of depraved innate domain, in which their struggle to breathe is the only sound to be heard.
Gojo doesn’t know how his brain and techniques missed the moment when both shifted on their sides, facing each other. But it feels oddly right.
Geto doesn’t know when and how his body scooted closer and made their knees brush, almost pressing against each other. But it feels oddly good.
Maybe it’s the room being too hot, or Gojo being too close, or the situation being too unreal, but Geto starts remembering similar videos from other creators—he’s not gay, he just watched those for research. Fans usually respond better to when the guys interact. And he wants his fans to enjoy this. And he feels crazy, dazed, horny—
“Turn off Infinity…” Geto blurts out and groans deeply, the noise born from the depths of his fluttering chest.
“Huh?” Gojo pants, his arm unconsciously prompted to move faster once Geto’s gaze falls upon him. “I always keep it off around you. Haven’t you noticed…?”
Gojo is offended that Geto’s never noticed it. He remembers the exact mission—one of the first they were assigned together—when exhaustion hit him so hard that, for once, he felt safe enough to let it down to rest. If there was any place or presence to let it down, it had to be around the person he trusts the most, his one and only best friend.
Not that Gojo needs to be protected, because he is invincible, but if anyone were to protect him, it had to be the second strongest sorcerer. His favourite one.
Geto is the only touch he knows, surely Geto’s hand on his dick would feel normal, right? Isn’t that why Geto asked? Isn’t that what good friends do to help the other raise money? This whole experiment was his idea, so he needs to be proactive about it.
Geto wasn’t expecting Gojo to move first. The pale and slender fingers slapped his hand away and curled around his shaft to give it a few gentle, slow tugs. Tentative, even—something he never expected from Gojo. Gojo isn’t the type to measure his actions and hesitate. Well, up until now.
Geto waits for a joke, for Gojo to tease or something, but he doesn’t. Gojo keeps pumping Geto’s dick, the bright blue eyes fixed on the action, almost entranced, and that makes Geto feel things.
But this is not about feeling things, like his balls coiling and his chest sizzling, so he does what he’s supposed to.
“Fuuuuck…” Gojo moans, electrified when the strong hand with thick fingers and black nails tugs his dick, unceremoniously sloping up and down. Geto’s hands are calloused and dry and feel amazing, maybe too amazing, so he focuses on the nails because they have nail polish on them, like a girl’s hand.
Geto is far gone, all the rationality exorcised and thrown out the window. His bangs drapes down his eyes, and through the strands of hair, he can’t take his eyes off Gojo’s shiny pink tip, begging to be touched.
Gojo fails in picturing a girl because his body recognizes Geto’s touch even with all Six Eyes shut, and when the rough pad of Geto’s thumb sweeps over the leaking slit, he can’t help it. It simply spills out of his lips, “Yes, Suguru…”
That’s all Geto needs to hear to pump Gojo faster and tighter. Gojo never said his name like that—it’s not the usual drawled joking one, it’s not the dragged bored one. It was a full-on erotic moan. It’s confusing and he doesn’t know why, but this will haunt him in the afterlife.
But then, he remembers there’s a camera recording.
With his free hand, Geto grabs Gojo’s chin and sticks his thumb in his mouth, tilting Gojo’s head to the side so he can speak in his ear, “It’s a pain to edit out parts of the audio. Don’t say my name out loud.”
Gojo doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know why he’s instantly burning up alive. He doesn’t know why his dick is throbbing harder. He doesn’t know why his balls are coiling tighter. He forgot how to breathe. So he does the first thing that comes to mind: closes his lips around Geto’s thumb and sucks it.
“F-fuck…” Geto’s breath catches against Gojo’s ear, and he drags his face along Gojo’s to let their foreheads rest against each other. He slips his thumb off slowly, sweeping over the ever glossy bottom lip, playing with the soft flesh while his other hand jerks Gojo’s dick furiously.
Gojo is frustrated because having their hands on each other’s bodies isn’t enough. He hooks a leg over Geto’s, locking them closer until they are nearly on top of each other, bodies quivering with how voraciously they are beating each other off. He can’t stop thinking about Geto’s thick finger in his mouth, and this is all just for a video, and it’s strictly to help Geto make money, and he’s not gay, but Geto’s mouth is so close, too close, and… what if he just…?
Geto can’t hold it much longer. His weight is entirely propelled against Gojo’s body, their heads pressed together to hold them up, so close he can peek over the rim of his shades and see the sweep of white, thick eyelashes fluttering against Gojo’s pink cheeks, and he can’t stop thinking about those lips around his finger, and this is all just for a video, and it’s strictly for money, and he’s not gay, but Gojo’s mouth is so close, too close, and… what if he just…?
What if?
Neither of them knows whose first string of hot cum spurting belongs to, because they come at the same time, arms and legs spasming, fists knocking together erratically, mouths breathing and tasting each other’s moans in the air until their torsos and fists get coated in their combined sticky release.
Their hips keep moving until they ride it out, dicks shooting and pulsing until they are fully emptied to conclude the stupidest, craziest video Geto would ever dream of recording. The hottest mistake of his life so far.
A trembling Gojo tumbles back on his side, and after a deep, shuddering breath, he croaks, “That was fun! Hope it helped! Bye!”
Gojo gets on his feet and puts his pants back on almost at the same time, stumbling away and then waving a glazed hand before disappearing behind the bang of a door.
Now, Geto is alone, covered in both his and Gojo’s thick fluids, with a promising video to edit, and approximately 4,461 questions popping inside his head, the first one being:
What the fuck has just happened?