gojo satoru makes use of the heatwave.
genre: smut / light fluff
satoru returned from the store. his self-control did not make the trip.
a tub of premium, vanilla bean ice cream.
the plastic bag rustled as satoru set it down on the kitchen counter. it was the good kind, the one that was more cream than air, because satoru was not a heathen.
he picked up the bottle of thick, gooey chocolate syrup next. the kind that was refrigerated and came in a squeeze bottle, for... precision, yes.
he gave it a little shake, smirking at himself in the reflection of the microwave door.
last item now. a bag of colorful, chewy frozen mochi bites, in flavors of strawberry, mango and matcha. because obviously he needed a texture contrast, and a backup plan if the ice cream melted too fast.
which, he knew it would.
after all it was a sweltering sunday afternoon, one where the mugginess of the air made the very act of breathing feel oppressive.
the AC in the apartment had been wheezing valiantly, albeit in a losing battle, and satoru had decided it was too little too late, peeling himself off the couch fifteen minutes ago to declare he was ‘literally evaporating, like, gone, bye-bye’ as he had shuffled out the door.
naturally, you had waved him off from your spot on the couch, too hot to offer any parting words.
and now, he was back.
barefoot, satoru padded into the living room and stood in front of the couch, effectively blocking out the pathetic breeze of a lifeline from the fan. you cracked one eye open.
“what.”
“don't you ‘what’ me,” satoru pouted, offense all mock. “i went on a quest. a perilous journey. have you any idea? i almost melted into a puddle on the sidewalk. is this the thanks i get?”
you squinted at him. his t-shirt had become practically see through at the chest, clinging damply at the collar. his hair was slightly less gravity-defying than usual, wilted in the humidity akin to a golden retriever that just ran through a sprinkler.
“you bought snacks,” you observed.
“i bought solutions,” satoru corrected, holding up the bag with a flourish. “solutions to the heat. solutions to your grumpy face. solutions to—”
“your face is grumpy.”
“my face IS grumpy.” satoru nodded. “like yours.” he dropped to his knees. “and i’m going to fix it.”
you propped yourself up on your elbows, acutely aware of your own wet dishrag-ish state as you shifted—sticky with sweat under your shorts and thin tank top, hair sticking to your neck.
satoru trailed the movement, eyes unhurried, like you were his second lunch.
“i got the good ice cream,” he said pulling the tub out, a veil of cold still clinging to the outer layer. “not the cheap stuff. the good stuff.”
“wow,” you exhaled. “a prince among men.”
“i know!” satoru popped the lid, a puff of cold air kissing his face. he sighed, dramatic and pleased. “ugh, that’s the spot. feel that.” he waved the tub toward you. “put your face in it.”
“i’m not putting my face in—”
“fine. be that way.” satoru dropped the tub on the coffee table. the bag crinkled as he pulled out the chocolate syrup next, setting it beside the tub with a deliberate clunk.
he surveyed his haul like a general reviewing his troops.
“okay,” he said. “here’s the thing.”
you raised an eyebrow.
“see, i was out there. in the heat. just... suffering. existentially.” he gestured vaguely. “and then i start thinking. i’m thinking. i’m thinking about you. and i’m thinking about how much i want something sweet. and then.” he paused, smug smile widening. “it hit me.”
“what hit you?”
“you!” satoru leaned in, close enough that you could feel the residual warmth radiating off his skin. “i want something sweet. and. well, you’re sweet, too.” he tapped the lid of the ice cream. “why not combine them?”
you blinked at him. then looked at the ice cream. then back at him.
“satoru.”
“yes, my love?”
“you want to put ice cream on me.”
“i want to put ice cream and chocolate syrup and maybe a mochi or two on you,” he corrected, utterly unrepentant. “and then i want to lick it all off. slowly. thoroughly.”
you opened your mouth.
“that's—” you stopped, considering. “that's going to be a mess.”
“oh, absolutely,” satoru agreed, already brightening. “a huge mess. a catastrophic mess. we’re going to need like... three showers. minimum. maybe four.” his eyes gleamed. “but don’t worry! i know a way we can save on water, too.”
you groaned.
satoru picked up the chocolate syrup, giving it a playful waggle. “so. whaddya say, you in?”
you looked at him—the ridiculous, impossible, insatiable man he was. hair a mess, sweat beading on his temples. t-shirt stained, glowing in anticipation.
“fine,” you said, the word left your mouth before you could stop it. “but if you get chocolate on the couch—”
“i will get chocolate on the couch,” he blurted cheerfully. “probably on the floor too. maybe the ceiling. i’m very ambitious.”
“satoru.”
“what? no points for honesty?” he was already moving, twisting to grab the ice cream tub and settling it between his knees. “okay. okay. here’s the plan.”
“there’s a plan?”
“oh there’s always a plan.” he scooped out a perfect, creamy mound with his fingers, holding it up to your lips before you could protest. “open.”
you did.
the cold hit your tongue, rich and velvety, the vanilla spreading across your taste buds. you made a small sound of surprise—it was good.
satoru watched you swallow, his gaze sharpening as he tracked the movement of your throat. “how is it? yummy?”
“yeah,” you admitted. “it’s good.”
“told you.” he dipped his finger back into the tub, but this time he didn't offer it to you. instead, he dragged the cold, creamy stripe along your collarbone.
you sucked in a breath.
“cold?”
“yes, you ass—”
“sorry, sorry,” satoru murmured, not sounding sorry at all as he leaned down. his tongue chased the melting trail, hot against your chilled skin.
you shivered.
satoru hummed against your throat. “mm, tastes better on you,” he added, muffled. “way better even.”
“you didn’t—you only tasted it off me. you don’t actually know if—”
“i know.” his lips shined, a little pink from the cold. “i prefer it like this. hmm, but...”
he dipped his fingers back into the tub, scooping out another mound. this time he brought it to his own mouth, tongue darting out to catch the melting edge.
you followed the movement, ready to blame the heat.
“oh,” he said, eyes widening slightly. “okay. no, that’s actually good. i see why people like this stuff.”
“you’ve never had vanilla bean ice cream before?”
“i’ve had ice cream,” he said dismissively. “but this is the good kind. the expensive kind. different.” he scooped up another bite, holding it out to you. “here. taste it again.”
you leaned forward, and he—the bastard—pulled his hand back just before you could reach it, popping the ice cream into his own mouth instead.
“hey!”
“what?” he said, stifled around the cold sweetness. “i’m sharing.”
“that’s not sharing, you’re—”
satoru leaned down and kissed you.
his mouth moved against yours, chilled and mellow, vanilla flooding your senses as his tongue slid against yours in a slow and deliberate pace. you made a noise—surprise, maybe, or something hungrier—and he captured the sound like he’d been waiting for it.
you didn't let him pull back far. your fingers tightened in his hair, keeping him close. his mouth was cold and then hot and then cold again, and you stopped trying to keep up. satoru's breath came in shorter bursts, and when you finally let him go, he looked almost dazed, lips breaking away from yours in a content sigh.
“oh,” he said, voice thin. “okay.”
“now..” satoru made no attempt to break out of the spell you'd put on him, his hand already finding the chocolate syrup. you heard the click of the cap opening.
“where to next?” he mused, more to himself than to you. the cold tip of the bottle traced a path down your sternum, dipping up into the hollow of your throat.
“you know,” you started, voice a little hoarse, “i’m kind of—” you gestured at yourself. “sweaty. it’s gross.”
satoru blinked at you. then he laughed—genuine amusement in his tenor.
“baby.” he said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “i just licked ice cream off your collarbone. you think i care about a little sweat?”
“even so, sato—”
“shh.” he squeezed, thick chocolate ribboning down your chest, pooling in the dip between your breasts.
“a little salt never hurt nobody,” satoru added.
he put the bottle aside and went after it with his tongue—in broad strokes that left nothing behind but a slick, warm patch—rapidly escalating your heartbeat.
“such a nice flavor,” he breathed against your skin, following the glaze with his mouth before it could drip onto the couch. “so fucking sweet. needed that.”
satoru’s hands found the hem of your tank top, pushing it up just enough to expose your stomach.
the ice cream had started to melt in the tub, a shallow puddle of cream pooling at the bottom. “good,” he said, dipping his fingers in. “perfect.”
he painted a cold stripe down your abdomen, going after it again with a drag of his tongue, the contrast of temperatures making you arch into him.
“you know what i thought about,” he started, like he wasn't currently licking ice cream off your stomach. “when i was walking back. in the heat.”
“what?” your voice came out breathier than you intended.
“i thought about how you’d taste.” he pressed a kiss just below your navel. “and i thought about how you’d sound.” another kiss, lower. “and then i thought about how you'd look.”
he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, a smear of chocolate on his lower lip.
you stared at him, your chest heaving. satoru looked entirely in his element—a little messy, unbothered, all while being consumed by you.
then he glanced sideways, a boyish laugh huffing out of his nose.
“wow,” satoru murmured. his thumb traced the line of your hip. “there is... actually so much left.”
“satoru,” you warned, your voice a breathless thread. “if you think you’re painting my entire body with ice—”
“i mean, i was going to,” he interrupted, his fingers dipping into the plastic bag to pull out the small container of mochi bites.
he popped one into his mouth—matcha, green and sweet—and chewed thoughtfully while his eyes locked back onto yours. “but honestly? it’s melting too fast for my liking. plus i’m getting impatient.”
his fingers hooked into the fabric of your shorts, pulling.
“satoru—”
“yeah?” he looked up at you. “tell me to stop.”
you didn’t.
“didn’t think so.”
but before satoru could go further, his hands found your waist—pulling, not rough but insistent, tugging you off the couch and onto the floor with him.
you landed in his lap, caught easily by one hand steadying your hip.
“floor’s better,” he murmured, eyes raking your lips. “more room.”
then he dipped you, guiding you down onto your back and settling between your thighs like he'd found his rightful place.
“there you go,” he breathed. “that’s it.”
satoru dipped his head lower, his lips pressing hot against the jut of your hip bone. his fingers tugged at your panties, pulling them down your thighs with an efficiency that made your breath catch. you lifted your hips to help him, and he made a low sound of approval.
“good, good,” he murmured. “so good for me.”
the undergarment landed somewhere, you didn’t care where—and satoru’s hands settled on your thighs, pushing them apart with a slowness that felt like torture.
“sa—”
“shh,” his lips brushed the inside of your thigh. “i’ve got you.”
he imprinted a kiss. then another, higher. whatever you were going to say dissolved into a sound you barely recognized as your own.
satoru hummed against you, satisfied when the vibration of it made your hips jerk. his hand pressed down, holding you in place.
“patience,” he breathed, and you could hear the smile in his voice. “i told you. slow. thorough.”
true to his word, satoru’s tongue lapped at you in a languid manner, savoring as if he had nowhere else to be, nothing else to do, nothing else in the world to pay attention to but you.
you shuddered, starting to get louder.
“there,” satoru murmured, his fingers dug into the soft flesh of your thighs. “that’s the sound.”
you made it again, just to hear him approve.
satoru worked you open with his mouth, relentlessly, until your thighs were shaking and you couldn't remember your surroundings, twisting fingers in his hair, trying to chase the pressure with your hips. he let you for a moment—let you rut against his mouth—before pulling back just enough to make you sob.
“what?” he asked. “want something?”
“i, ah—” you gasped. “satoru, you know what—”
“i do.” he pressed a kiss to your inner thigh. “wanna tell me anyway?”
you glared down at him, breathless and wrecked. “i hate you.”
“you love me.” he said, a sly smile. “say it.”
“please—” the word broke out of your lips. “just—”
“just what?”
“just more—”
satoru gave it to you. his mouth returned, open tongue nudging into that perfect spot, and he didn't let up until you were arching off the ground, a broken syllable tearing out of you as the pleasure crested.
he worked you through it, gentler now, panting as your body went limp. he pressed a softer kiss to your inner thigh, almost reverent, before pulling back with that insufferable grin, chin slick.
you stared at him, unable to form words, watching as satoru through heavy-lidded eyes wiped his jaw with the back of his hand, licking off your release.
“now... where were we? hm..”
satoru stretched his arm towards the coffee table, dipping his fingers into the puddle of cream. they came up glossy and dripping. “want some?” he asked, holding them out to you.
without overthinking it, you leaned forward and took his fingers into your mouth.
satoru’s breath caught, jaw slacking as your tongue traced the length of his fingers, holding his gaze.
“oh,” he breathed in. “okay. that’s—”
you pulled off with a soft pop, leaving his fingers glistening. “what?”
he stared at you for a long moment, something hungrier passing through his eyes, darkening them. then he laughed— a little incredulous and unhinged.
satoru reached for the melting tub again, dipping his fingers in and bringing them to your lips. you opened for him without hesitation, letting him feed you.
“taste good?” he asked, voice rougher.
“mm.” you sucked his fingers clean. “better the second time.”
“is that so,” his hand drifted to the squeeze bottle, eyes glinting as he picked it up, thumb finding the cap.
“wanna try the chocolate?”
he didn’t wait for an answer.
he pressed the tip against your lower lip—not pushing, just resting there, cool plastic way closer than it needed to be. he tapped it on your cheek, once. twice.
satoru firmed his grip and the syrup released thick, sliding across your lip down the corner of your mouth. you caught it with your tongue instinctively.
satoru watched, easing off the pressure. the bottle stayed where it was, tip still grazing your lip.
“delicious?”
you licked the syrup off your lip, holding his gaze. “yeah.”
he dragged the bottle down—slow—from your mouth to your chin, leaving a glossy trail behind.
“glad,” he breathed. “cause i get to clean that up.”
satoru dropped the bottle. his mouth found your throat, tongue dragging up the trail of syrup.
“mm—”
he got about halfway up before his hips rolled, his next words dissolving into a groan.
“fuck.” his forehead dropped to your chest. “okay. i’ll get the rest later.”
satoru stayed there for a moment—breath hot against your skin, hands still gripping your hips. you could feel him, hard and impatient, pressed against your thigh.
then he lifted his head, and whatever daze he'd been in was gone, replaced by a starved look.
“you know what i want now?” he asked, pulling his hand back. his voice had dropped an octave, playfulness bleeding into something heavier.
“i wonder?”
“you.” his hand found your hip. “on top of me. right now.”
“satoru, we’re both—”
“that’s the point.” he grinned, pulling his shirt off in one fluid motion and tossing it somewhere with the rest of the clothes, his chest damp with sweat.
“c’mon,” he said, reaching for you. “let me feel you.”
you let him pull you up, let him guide you onto his lap—his back against the couch, your knees on the floor, straddling his thighs. his hands found your hips with a firm grip, thumbs pressing into your sides.
“there,” he breathed. “that’s better.”
you could feel him against you, poking through his shorts—hard and warm. he rolled his hips up, just once, and you gasped at the pressure.
“yeah?” he asked, voice low. “you want that?”
you answered by kissing him, messy and desperate, and he laughed against your mouth. “that’s my baby.”
satoru’s hands slid up your back, pulling you closer. you rubbed against him—the heat of his skin meeting the sticky residue of the chocolate smeared across your body, the tight hold of his palms against your hips.
“ride me,” he said, breath ghosting your ear. “i wanna watch you fall apart on top of me.”
satoru lifted his hips, ready to shove the shorts down his thighs in a quick motion before you stopped him, your hands finding the waistband before he could act. “let me.”
satoru went still beneath you, watching with something like wonder as you pushed the fabric down his thighs. “right,” he breathed. “yeah. okay. this is—this is good.”
he sprung, bare below you, hard and ready and waiting. you reached down between you, guiding him to your entrance. satoru hissed at the contact.
you sank down onto him, and whatever he was going to say dissolved into a strangled groan.
“fu—” his fingers pressed harder into your skin. “yes—so fucking good—”
you did it again, faster this time, moaning as satoru’s hands flew to your thighs, gripping like you were the only thing keeping him tethered onto life itself.
“yeah,” he gasped. “fuck yeah, just like that—”
you found a rhythm, slow and deep, and his hands roamed your body like he was taking inventory.
you arched into his touch, and he groaned. “like that?” he asked, voice scraped. “like when i touch you?”
“mh, yes—”
“good.” his thumb circled again. “‘cus ’m not gonna stop.”
satoru felt up your thighs, palm squeezing your hips, fingers tracing the curve of your waist—
then stopping as his eyes landed on a leftover patch of chocolate on your collarbone.
he brought it to his mouth, licking it clean. “saved some for me,” he murmured, voice wrecked. “aren’t you so—so thoughtful.”
you rolled your hips, a gruff sound leaving his parted mouth.
“fuck, look at you,” he mumbled, thumb brushing over your nipple. “riding me like you've got something to prove.”
“maybe i do.”
“oh?” he tilted his head, even as his voice wobbled.
you rolled your hips in a slow circle, evil glimmering in your eyes as you watched satoru lose his composure.
“oh, i see,” he accused, straining, “you’re doing that on purpose,” his voice cracked. “that’s—so mean. fuck, i love it. i—” he broke off with a moan as you did it again.
the fan wheezed uselessly in the corner, neither of you caring. you felt the coiling in your lower body, not realizing how tightly you'd been gripping his shoulder until your fingers ached.
the world had narrowed to this—his hands on your hips, his breath in your ear, the sound of his voice telling you how good you were, how perfect, how much he’d wanted this—and the tight squeeze of your body around him.
your hips fastened, and satoru’s head tipped back fully. “yes—fuuck.”
his hands found their way back to your hips, urging you on. “that’s it,” he murmured. “take what you need baby.”
you did. you took and took and took, and satoru gave it all— hands, voice, the way he looked at you through half-fluttering lids, brows knitting in a fight to not close his eyes.
his lap started meeting yours, thrusting up to meet your movements, and the rhythm broke into something slipshod.
“god—you’re so—” his voice broke. “i need to feel you—please—baby,”
he did. you came apart with his name on your lips and his hands pressing into your skin.
satoru pulled you down against his chest, the slick of his torso sliding against yours as he held you close, shuddering through his own undoing.
for a moment, neither of you moved.
then you felt him shift beneath you, already stirring again.
you laid a hand on his chest, pinning him down. “give me a second.”
he whined—puppylike. “but—”
“a second, satoru.”
he slumped back against the couch, frowning magnificently. “fine. tell me when. i’m counting.”
your forehead drooped to his shoulder, a light chuckle escaping out of you.
satoru laughed with delight in turn, his pout slipping. he stretched his arms behind his head, declaring. “so worth the walk.”
He so fucking would
