Chapter Text
Being a teenager, and doing stereotypical teenage things, is not all it is hyped up to be.
At least that’s what Suguru thinks.
To him, it’s not at all about the activities you do or the rules you break in the name of some harmless fun. To him, it’s entirely about the people you do those activities with.
Suguru could be invited to a massive house party, full of drinking and drugs and warm bodies, and yet the mere concept of that is enough to put him in a dull mood. Suguru could be dragged on a week-long mission, made to consume countless curses and none of that would matter if Satoru was there with him.
That’s not to say Suguru doesn’t do pretty generic teenage things; he plays video games, has the occasional wet dream, and smokes a fair amount.
He’s not basic. He simply just does what he likes rather than doing things for the sake of it or just to check boxes off a list.
Or that’s the regular outlook he has on these sorts of things. Exceptions do, in fact, exist for him.
Normally, he wouldn’t be spending a Friday night drinking with his closest friends as they engage in a game of truth or dare. Yet, that’s his exact status currently.
Shoko’s eyes narrow, scanning back and forth between the two boys opposite her.
For a moment, her eyes land on Suguru. Quickly, he tallies up what the safest option is, not ready to reveal so much of himself lest he present himself in a way that would push away the minimal friends he has away. It’s a pointless tally, though, because just as her mouth opens, her gaze flicks over to Satoru.
“Gojo, truth or—”
“Dare,” is the answer, no hesitation, a smug smirk. While Satoru is nowhere near being a regular generic teenager, he certainly has the same arrogant attitude as one. Suguru briefly considers dumping his drink on Satoru’s stupid white hair. It’s practically a blank canvas, after all.
Shoko, unsurprised at his answer, holds out her cigarette to him.
“Three drags,” she instructs, holding three fingers up for emphasis.
It’s beautiful, the way Satoru’s face falls; it humanises him. There’s little anybody could do to unsettle Gojo Satoru, but he’s weaker at this moment. For someone breaching divinity the way Satoru does, he is refreshingly human and so, so real.
Suguru knows how this is going to go. But he’s trying to act with grace. After all, how could he pretend to be better than Satoru if he doesn’t let the man embarrass himself first before having his own fun? He finds himself biting the inside of his cheek, fighting an incoming smirk, his innocent moral superiority at stake from it. Downing half of his drink seems like a perfectly reasonable option, it’ll distract him.
When he swallows the drink down, it burns his throat and his face goes to automatically scrunch up in disgust. Too much vodka in the ratio. Opening his eyes, he checks on Satoru. Who is currently staring at him as if he gave him the dare.
Stupidly, Suguru falls right into Satoru’s trap. The moment his smirk becomes evident and the slightest indication of him challenging Satoru comes out, he’s already lost. Now he’s given him motivation. Just so that bastard can rub it in his face.
Not even five seconds later, Satoru begins to choke.
“Ack! That’s disgusting! Gross, heinous, despicable and fucking gross!”
Shoko smirks, dropping one finger down. Two to go, she mouths.
Satoru looks at her, then at the cigarette still in his grasp. Then, of course, he looks at Suguru with a help me look.
Suguru will do nothing of the sort.
“There’s two more left, Satoru!” He encourages, nodding his head supportively, channeling his inner cheerleader..
“Double it and pass it to Suguru.” Satoru announces before he, quite rudely, forces the cigarette into Suguru’s hand.
“Huh? Hey, you can’t do that!” Suguru exclaims. “That dare was for you.”
Satoru waves him off, “I’m sure you’ll return the favor eventually.”
Pathetically, Suguru looks at Shoko, waiting for her to scold Satoru so both of them can go back to laughing at Satoru’s losing battle against cigarettes. However, Shoko doesn’t step in at all to object. Damn traitor, Suguru thinks.
“Strongest, huh?” Suguru taunts, lifting the cigarette up to his lips. “Jujutsu society has been fed lies about you.”
“Smoking isn’t a requirement to be the strongest.” He counters, huffing as he crosses his arms. “It makes you weaker and you are a bad doctor for being so addicted.” He points at Shoko who looks like she could literally not care less.
“I’m not a bad doctor, just a tad hypocritical.” She states, not sounding at all remorseful of her hypocrisy, though. Suguru’s come to admire her a lot for her blunt honesty, never framing her words in a way that shows more grace to either him or Satoru or even to herself. “Getou understands it, don’t you? It feels nice.”
Suguru does understand it. He may not be addicted like Shoko is, and he definitely joins Satoru to tease her about her over-reliance on cigarettes, but he never passes up on the offer from her. It’s this weird middle stage where he doesn’t care enough to go out and fund a smoking habit but he’s interested enough to take up the opportunity whenever it arises.
“Mm,” Suguru hums, putting his drink away, then takes a long drag. He closes his eyes, tilts his head back and forms a small circle with his mouth as he exhales the air out. “Again?”
Satoru doesn’t answer. Instead, he’s staring at Suguru. It’s not something Suguru will ever get used to, having Satoru’s full attention on him, it’ll forever feel overwhelming. He passes the cigarette back to Shoko, who is doing her absolute best to not engage at all.
“Please,” Satoru says unexpectedly, voice cracking, “how do you not…why does it make you look like that.” It’s not a question, just a rather strange way of complimenting someone for not embarrassing themselves while smoking.
“Heh,” Suguru laughs, “not all of us are like you, Satoru.”
“Addicts,” Satoru scoffs, attempting to offend his total of two friends.
“If you weren’t such a puritan, you wouldn’t look like a five year old choking over secondhand smoke.”
“I am not a puritan!”
Suguru lets out an uncharacteristic giggle, blaming it on all the illicit substances getting to him. He drops one side of his head onto his palm, resting on it as he glances at Satoru who looks like he’s one more joke made at his expense away from literal steam coming out of his ears.
“Yeah?” It’s definitely the illicit substances when he reaches out for the cigarette again, when he takes another drag for himself and when he reaches to cup Satoru’s face with his free hand.
“Dude, you’re kind of, uh, grabbing me?” Satoru laughs, eyes locked on Suguru’s fingers holding his chin.
“Can you,” he tugs on Satoru’s jaw, “open, please.”
“Uh, is this some weird kink?” It’s not. Unless you see it that way. Then maybe.
“Depends.”
“Do I need to leave?” Shoko asks cautiously, looking mildly disgusted.
“No,” Suguru answers, “unless Satoru is shy.”
That fires him up. “I’m not! I just don’t know the protocol for when you start getting touched up by your best friend.”
“Touched up,” Suguru repeats. “Wow, you’re touch starved. Now, c’mon, open.”
“Maybe I don’t consent.”
“I won’t stick anything phallic shaped into your mouth.”
“Aw, now I definitely won’t open my mouth for you.” Suguru rolls his eyes, about to take the smart option and just forget about his idea but instead Satoru does, in fact, open his mouth.
Hm.
Before Suguru can stammer out an excuse that whatever he wanted to do doesn’t matter, Satoru gives him an expectant look.
Alright, then.
Suguru stares right back at Satoru, enjoying the glow in his eyes. Without taking his glance elsewhere, he takes another drag. In his peripheral vision, he sees realisation plaster itself over Shoko’s face.
Instead of blowing out, he traps the smoke within his mouth as he grips Satoru’s chin again, moving in closer. It’s not the most pleasant feeling, holding the smoke there. But it’s so worth it when Satoru’s eyes widen as he brings his locked lips a mere inch or so away from Satoru’s open mouth.
Suguru’s eyes flick upwards, wanting to watch every frame of Satoru’s reaction as he blows the smoke into his mouth.
It’s a bit of a waste, because Satoru exhales the smoke back immediately and heavily. The warm air bounces back on Suguru’s face, it should feel gross, maybe, probably. It doesn’t, though.
“Taste any better?” Suguru asks, retreating backwards, noticing Satoru’s eyes are closed.
“Hm?” His eyes open, eyelashes fluttering ridiculously.
“Taste,” Suguru repeats.
“Oh,” he registers, “nah, your breath stinks.”
Suguru takes some offence in the accusation, but he opts to file that away for a later outburst, more so remembering his gratitude that his impulsive action didn’t appear to have any negative effect on Satoru. Or maybe he shouldn’t be too grateful about that, since it appears he had no effect on him at all.
And his breath is lovely, thank you very much.
“If you say so,” he responds calmly, decidingly not falling for the bait to strike up an argument. Instead, he takes the high ground, the mature one. Which is ignoring Satoru entirely. “Shoko, you wanna,” he mimics the smoke and blow action, “you’ll be more fun than Satoru.”
There’s a lot more ease when he’s approaching smoking with Shoko as compared to Satoru, far more serenity, far less world-ending visions. Suguru does briefly wonder if it’s weird of the three of them to act like this with each other before he remembers how deprived of normal teenage activities they are. Their lives don’t have time for much of this careless fun. Hell, they’re only all here doing this because Satoru wanted to try alcohol for the first time and they found an opportunity to do so in their busy schedules. Suguru is inclined to eventually agree to essentially everything Satoru suggests and Shoko would never turn down an occasion to drink and smoke. So here they are.There was an instance earlier in the night where Satoru told him and Shoko that if they were dating he’d ensure they break up, then kill them both. As if that was something that would ever happen. He’s close to Shoko, closer than she is to Satoru, but not like how he is with Satoru. Besides, he has a working theory on Shoko that he’s roughly ninety percent sure about that disproves that particular fear of Satoru.
“Another time, I’m gonna…” she trails off, looking uneasy, “have a bucket in here by any chance?” She gives him a weak smile and Suguru almost breaks out into a sob. He knew he shouldn’t have offered his room to be the one they all drink in.
“Shoko, I swear, if you—”
“Mm, I’ll be back. Maybe.” And she runs out, stumbling with a hand covering her mouth.
“And you thought I’d be the lightweight.” Satoru says to break the silence.
“I guess we’ll never know since you diluted your drink so much that there’s probably a maximum of one percent vodka in that coke.”
“It’s to balance out the flavour!” He argues. He can argue all he wants, but Suguru saw nothing more than a singular drop of vodka be poured into his cup. “You’re drinking coke too!”
“Yeah? Wanna try mine?” He dares, threatening to pick his cup back up, knowing his vodka-coke ratio might just cause Satoru to disintegrate.
“And get your germs? What if you transmit some curses to me?”
“We literally just shared a cigarette which was your decision, by the way.”
“Details, details,” He waves him off. He’s rolling around on the bed now, resembling a restless toddler.
Suguru watches him closely. He probably wouldn’t say this or even think of it in his inebriated state, but Satoru’s his best friend. He has to be, right? They spend practically every moment together, have countless inside jokes, tell each other everything. Or maybe they don’t exactly tell each other everything, but the amount at which they talk makes it feel as if they do. Neither of them had a best friend before, with Satoru being extremely deprived of social interactions and Suguru mostly keeping to himself. He might’ve stayed that way had Satoru not broken every social cue imaginable upon first meeting him. Your bangs are ugly, if we fought you would lose, are you always so boring and grumpy. Annoying as it might’ve been, the frustration from each quip thrown Suguru’s way built up enough for him to be retaliating. And here they are now.
Satoru lets out an exaggeratedly loud yawn, stretching all six feet of himself along the bed. The action exposes a sliver of pale skin on his abdomen, sticking out so intensely it’s as if a spotlight was shone on the area. Suguru very much does not let his gaze linger.
“I want to get high.” Satoru announces.
“Okay,”
Satoru kicks him, “I want to get high.”
“Okay,” another kick, “fucking do it then.”
“I don’t want to.”
Oh, Gojo Satoru is just impossible.
“Go to bed, dude.” Suguru resigns, too tired for this.
“But I want to get high.”
Fucking hell.
“Great! Knock yourself out. No, I’m not saying that literally, Satoru, don’t start. Shoko has a stash of weed somewhere, just raid that. But I want to sleep. So, out.” The initial plan for the night was to basically just sit around all night to see what they’re all like drunk, but Suguru vastly overestimated his ability to keep his sanity around Satoru.
Satoru raises an eyebrow, “can’t I just,” he rolls over to the nightstand where Shoko left her cigarette pack, picks one up and her lighter, “use this?”
“That’s just nicotine.”
“Just nicotine.”
Suguru sighs. “For normal people, cigarettes don’t do anything that crazy, you get high from things like weed.”
“Oh,”
“Cigarettes just give you, like, a buzz.”
“A…buzz?”
Suguru kicks him lightly, “don’t judge, it feels nice.”
“Yeah?” He’s fiddling with the lighter, deep in thought about something.
“Mm,”
“I want that,” Satoru says, sitting up straight, “the buzz, I want to feel it.”
“Do you, now?” Suguru questions. “Don’t you find it disgusting, gross, heinous and every synonym under those words.”
Everybody thinks Satoru is some mystery, with his ridiculous strength, his character and his existence itself. But he’s very simple, at least to Suguru. Mainly because he makes his stance on everything so abundantly clear. He likes sweets, hates bright lights, likes playing video games, hates cigarettes. That’s not to say that sometimes the boy makes absolutely no sense, though. Because that is also very true.
“I find smoking to be all those things.” Which is basically Suguru’s point, but anyway. “But I want to feel, it’s nice, that’s what you both keep saying. I want that. To feel nice.”
“You can’t have both.”
Satoru furrows his brows, looking slightly frustrated now. Maybe Suguru’s not picking up on something.
“Yeah, I can. Idiot.” Next thing Suguru knows, there’s a cigarette held to his lips.
He hums out a confused sound, unsure why he is now part of the Satoru getting high or buzzed discussion.
“You can do it. That—what you did earlier. It’ll make me feel it.”
What the fuck, what the fuck, Suguru has to kill himself. That’s the only way out of this.
“Uh,” Suguru panics, trying to think of ways to avert himself out of the situation, tilting his head so the cigarette is no longer directly above his lips.
“C’mon, Suguru, please,” he pleads, shifting his hips so he’s closer.
Suguru can’t do anything except stare uselessly at Satoru, who just keeps getting closer.
“Blow,” Satoru instructs, tapping his unoccupied index finger on Suguru’s chest, then bringing it to his own, “me,” he cringes immediately, must’ve realised what he said. “Not…fuck, into me, I mean, oh, just give it to me.”
The fucking words on this boy.
Suguru doesn’t have it in him to answer, too weak to do so, but he does bring his fingers to rest atop Satoru’s on the cigarette. The response is immediate, a toothy grin from Satoru, ridiculously reminiscent of how he’d look when given his favorite sweets.
“You’re gonna…” Satoru says to clarify.
“Mm,” Suguru hums back, agreeing.
“Oh, fuck yeah, it was good, before. Uh, light, let me just light it.” He fumbles with the lighter in his haste to use it. Suguru smiles as he looks at the lighter, it’s plain black but covered in cat stickers, courtesy of Satoru’s artistic vision.
He lights the end of it and Suguru inhales it in, shrinking in on himself from the way Satoru is looking at him. His eyes are locked on Suguru’s mouth the cigarette and his jaw opens automatically when Suguru pulls the cigarette away from his lips.
It feels awkward holding the smoke in his mouth, but if Satoru wants to feel then he shouldn’t have any qualms with Suguru snaking a hand behind his head, letting it get lost among white locks of hair as he pushes Satoru forward.
There’s a sharp intake of breath from Satoru at the action, he’s ever so still and so, so vulnerable. There’s no real reason for him to, but Suguru closes his eyes anyway when he exhales it out, not stopping until he feels as though he’s about to tap into the residual volume in his lungs. In the second or so before he pulls away, he opens his eyes again to see Satoru’s are also shut.
“There,” he says, goosebumps all over, “how’d it feel?”
Satoru doesn’t exhale it right back out this time, doesn’t choke on the air either unfortunately fortunately.
“Again,” Satoru says in lieu of an answer, “again, again, again, until I’m fucking buzzed up everywhere.”
Lord give him strength.
When he doesn’t immediately do it again, Satoru hands land on both of Suguru’s shoulders, shaking earnestly to rush him.
“Can you just—ugh, come on, I want it, so please…”
“Want, want, want,” Suguru says, “where’s the concern for my lungs after being used as a vector for your pleasure.” Oh, that sounds wrong.
“I’ll answer that when I feel fucking pleased.”
So Suguru works to give it to him, the pleasure, the feeling, the buzz, whatever he wants, really.
This time, he keeps his eyes open and forces the air out much faster. And he’ll spend the rest of his life feeling grateful for keeping his eyes open because only then was he able to catch the thrilling way in which Satoru’s eyelashes fluttered. Oh he should’ve never done this in the first place, then he wouldn’t be here right now and he wouldn’t be climbing up the metaphorical scale of perversion.
“So warm,” Satoru comments after, “feels like…I don’t know, here, feel it.”
And he sticks two of Suguru’s fingers in his mouth.
Well, it is warm. As mouths usually are.
But what is he meant to say, yes Satoru your mouth is so warm because, remember, I breathed the warm air in mine into yours so if one plus one equals two then the logic adds up.
“It’s warm.” Suguru agrees before awkwardly taking his fingers back out. He rubs them on Satoru’s thighs to get rid of the saliva, because he sure as hell isn’t using his own clothes for that.
“Feels full, too.”
What the hell.
“Weirdo,” Suguru shoots at him.
“S’not, it’s physics. Pressure is directly proportional to absolute temperature at a fixed volume.”
Suguru hates physics.
“If I blew into you, does that not increase volume?”
“Stop talking, more blowing.”
So he does just that.
Again and again and again.
It feels more and more filthy each time they do it. It’s all awkward grabbing, heavy breaths and absolute bliss.
Then Satoru moans. Or maybe it’s more akin to a whimper. Whatever, it doesn’t matter. Neither of them really pause to acknowledge it when it’s much easier to just gloss over it and ignore any further implications.
But it does slow Suguru down.
Instead of reaching for a new cigarette, he takes the opportunity to pause.
“I think I’m…”
“Buzzed up?” Suguru asks, amused.
“What does it feel like for you? Normally, when you do this.”
“I don’t know, relaxed and energetic at the same time, kinda.”
Satoru looks down awkwardly, “not uh, anything else?”
Suguru furrows his brows, trying to puzzle together what Satoru means, what he’s really asking for.
“Maybe for other people, different experiences and all. I might just be basic.”
“Are you feeling it? You buzzed right now?”
Suguru shrugs. “Kind of, think it’s more the vodka affecting me than anything else, though. You?”
Satoru points to himself. “Me? Yeah no, that’s all from you.”
“So…”
“Yup, I’m buzzed, fucking everywhere, Suguru.” Suguru chooses not to dwell too long on Satoru’s words. “Feels nice. So, so nice.”
Be calm, be calm, be calm.
“Yeah, don’t get addicted now. Shoko’s bad enough.”
“Won’t. Only feels like this if you do it for me. Can’t get addicted that way.” Satoru says, as if he’s saying anything normal. “Do you want me to blow? Into you?”
Suguru stops breathing, does his very best to keep himself collected.
“Shotgunning, that’s what it’s called,” He says, unable to listen to this constant talk of blowing any longer, “you want to shotgun it? Do it to me?”
Satoru nods. “Returning the favor.”
“You don’t like cigarettes.”
“Hate them,” Satoru corrects, not dwelling on it. “You want it?”
It’s a stupid question, really. You want it, yes he fucking does. The real dilemma is whether or not he should take it.
“I want,” Suguru starts, unable to finish his sentence,
“Yeah?” Satoru grins. “I’ll do it, just let me get another one.” With that, he reaches out for the box of cigarettes, fumbling to get another.
Suguru snaps out of it.
“Wait,” he says, grabbing hold of Satoru’s shoulders to hold him in place, “I think that,” he can’t say it, can’t refuse this closeness with him.
“Stop thinking so much, it’s hurting my brain.” Satoru huffs in frustration, awkwardly tackling the lighter for it to actually light. “C’mon, let me blow you.”
“You’re so fucking weird, Satoru.”
“Yeah, yeah, don’t pitch a tent over it.”
Just to be even more ridiculous, Satoru pokes at Suguru’s trousers, right between his legs with the unlit cigarette.
“Eugh, get off,” he pushes him, shoving him to the other side of the bed, “don’t even think of lighting that now after poking it on my trousers.”
Satoru looks confused. “I didn’t know your clothes were that unsanitary, Suguru. Maybe wash them more often.”
“Oh my god, just get out.”
“But the night is still young! So many illicit substances we have yet to do.”
“The minimal illicit substances you had so far was more than enough.”
“But—”
The door opens, showing a yawning Shoko on the other side, her eyes closed.
“Are you guys decent?” She asks cautiously.
“We’re always decent, Shoko.” Satoru answers, perplexed at the question.
“Like…fully clothed and not fucking?” She elaborates.
“Oh, no we’re really going at it right now. You should probably go.” Satoru answers proudly.
“Shut up,” Suguru whacks his head, “yes we are decent.”
Shoko opens her eyes.
“Alright, scoot over, I wanna sleep.” She instructs, diving for the bed and rolling Satoru over so she can take the side of the bed.
“Here? With us?” Satoru asks. “But you’re a girl. And we’re both guys. Isn’t that, like, not right.”
“I didn’t know you were such a heterophobe, Satoru.” Shoko grins, snuggling herself under the covers.
“Eh?”
“You’re both not my type,” Shoko states instead of elaborating on her previous point, “and I think it goes both ways.”
“Huh?”
“Just go to bed,” Suguru encourages, feeling a headache coming on.
“Fine,” Satoru sighs, tossing away the cigarette and lighter, “but you have to switch with me, I’m not sleeping in the middle.”
“Why?”
“Too much contact,” he explains, “overwhelming.”
So Suguru switches with him, finding himself sleeping in the smallest possible bed space in his own bed.
“Goodnight!” Satoru exclaims, tugging half of the duvet for himself. “I’ll blow you later, Suguru, don’t worry.” He whispers, quiet enough so Shoko can’t hear.
Suguru chooses not to respond to that.
The next morning he wakes up to Satoru shaking him urgently, stating that he’s about to throw up. And instead of going to the bathroom, the genius is wasting time trying to wake Suguru up.
They just about manage to get to the bathroom when Satoru is crouched over, emptying what looks like his past three meals into the toilet.
“You had like five drops of alcohol.”
“And I’m never doing that again.”