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Two hundred heads bow down.
Each person knelt in front of the stage, unworthy and prostrating themselves before the messiah of a new world. A world where the strong did not exist to protect the weak, and where the weak could have the solace of not existing.
Those who cannot see curses, those who leeched off the ones that could. They shouldn't exist.
Fabric drags across the floor, a pristine kesa, different from the one he usually wears. Switched for the ceremony of course, because everything had to be perfect. The crowd doesn’t so much as flinch as he steps onto the podium, hair swaying gently as he cranes his neck to regard them.
His nose scrunches up in disdain unknown to them. Filthy, putrid stench of monkey.
Every head down there swimming in the masses, was a blot of weakness in a perfect world. He resists the urge to take out a spray of rose water, to mask the smell of weakness and rot. It would have to be endured for now.
Geto Suguru sits down, in his designated spot. The messiah of the new world. He raises one hand upwards with a catlike smile and eyes masking his disgust-
“Rise”
They do, like the obedient little monkeys they were, and should always be.
Suguru leans back against the backrest of his perch, sweeping a careful eye over the five chosen non-sorcerer's kneeling on the stage . Separated from the rest of them, these five sit near the edge of the stage, eyes trained downwards to the floor. Layers of silk, cushions and cloth cover the middle of the stage.
Now here's the thing, he isn't insane. Not by a long shot.
The ceremony wasn't meaningful beyond a placeholder, and a means to satisfy an itch beneath his soul that had persisted ever since his days in the school. Something symbolic, for people to believe in, and for him to be able to taste the beginnings of the future he wants to create.
Suguru’s eyes drift to the figure in the corner of the stage. A glimpse of blue silk in the shadows untouched by the spotlight. It took a lot of convincing to have him do this.
Almost five years since Suguru chose this path, he was always the missing piece.
The group needed something to believe in, and they put their faith in Suguru. But Suguru didn’t know how to play god, it had never been his style. No, Suguru knew he could only preach of something greater than everything- what they needed was a deity.
Suguru lowers his head in the direction of the figure, and they step into the light.
Gojo Satoru looked like the nostalgia of his youth, and the promise of his future. Dressed in a pale blue yukata that he had himself picked out, the intricate silk dragonflies pattern over the fabric shining in the light, weaving over Satoru’s figure in the most captivating way.
Despite him walking over to arms reach, Suguru still missed him. He wonders if Satoru felt the same.
“I told you not to wear those over your eyes” he murmurs silently, holding out a hand.
Satoru takes it, expression partly hidden by the starch white bandages he has now taken to covering them. But Suguru could sense it, this was his way of not completely giving into Suguru’s whims. Foolish really, he takes all the more pleasure in unravelling it himself.
Satoru sits down on the heap of silk and cushions with a haughty poise, his back turned to the audience. The spotlight cast a glow on his hair, like the sun on fresh snow.
Suguru claps his hands, and two hundred heads look up unanimously.
“The ceremony begins now” he says, as a few of them start to whisper at the sight of Satoru. Geto keeps his smile in place and listens to someone recite something that he had ‘preached’ in the previous gathering.
Words about the weak body and the correct path to salvation drone on in the background as Suguru focuses his attention solely on Satoru. In that beautiful silk kimono he surely spent some time being fussed into.
“Will you turn to them?” he asks, oh so benevolently. One cannot demand things of a god after all.
Satoru scrunched his nose, the bandage covering his slope wrinkling in a manner that conveyed exactly his thoughts on the matter. But he shifts, turning to face the audience.
Without further dallying, Suguru soothes the itch of removing the bandages, they unfurl beneath his fingertips and Satoru’s hair falls from where it was raised. His fingers wander to the undercut, and down to the man's nape. Smiling as he feels the twitch of the others body at blunt nails scratching his most vulnerable point.
The crowd immediately falls silent. Suguru was not surprised, little monkeys with no cursed energy staring at the cesspool of power that was the Six Eyes. Even Suguru had paused when he had first seen them, years ago in his adolescence.
He counts the seconds, one to five in total, before maneuvering Satoru’s precious gaze away from the undeserving. Suguru had been generous enough to offer them a glimpse, they should consider themselves lucky. Especially the five on the stage, one of them looked a little too mesmerized for his liking.
“I’m going to begin now, Satoru” Suguru murmurs, staring into Satoru’s endless blues in open adoration.
Satoru parts his lips in a sigh “This is ridiculous”
“Then why did you agree to come?” his hands find the obi, and he begins to undo it carefully, like a present.
Sartoru’s scorn is sharp “To convince you this is madness, obviously. I had to see what exactly you were doing in order to point out the flaws”
“This isn't madness” says Suguru “It is worship”
“Worship?” the other echoes, with a scoff “More like this is some fetish of yours that somehow escaped my notice. Public sex wasn’t your thing the last time I checked”
“Still vulgar” He teases “and here I thought you might have finally started talking like an adult.”
“Unlike you, I did not change my entire personality to be someone else Suguru”
“Someone else ? I’m still me Satoru”
Whatever reply that was to come, Suguru smothers it by undoing the obi completely, and raking his hands up Satoru’s back with relish. The warmth of the other’s skin seeping through the kimono as he traces one of the embroidered silk dragonflies situated a shy away from the man’s rib cage. If Suguru could reach into flesh and bone, he would be able to feel the blood red pulse under his hand, to prove to himself that Satoru Gojo was touchable in his human confines.
“It is sacrilegious to look.” He raises his voice to address the crowd, warning hidden in the discretionary sentence “Bow down”
Satoru’s kimono comes loose, pooling at his waist, alabaster skin and honed muscles all before Suguru as if it were an offering.
One hundred ninety nine heads bow down. Including four of the chosen ones on the stage, the fifth one on the right stays upright to linger his gaze on the low dip of Satoru’s spine. Suguru couldn’t blame him for looking, monkeys were too curious for their own good.
A sweet, sickening pop and the man bursts like a balloon, blood specks falling onto Satoru’s back making his eyes widen.
“Did you just-“ Satoru whispers, squinting at Suguru as if in exasperation “Suguru did you kill him?”
“He was looking at you perversely” Suguru fakes a chastised tone, trailing his hands up Satoru’s abdomen and making him arch into the touch like he’s starved . He probably was, for apart from Suguru, he seldom drops infinity around anyone.
Good, Suguru thinks. His Satoru wouldn’t sleep with someone else, someone undeserving of him. Only Suguru has had him laid bare and open, he will be the first and last, not some disgusting monkey that thinks of taking more than what Satoru has already given to the world.
Satoru tilts his head back, when Suguru kisses down the slope.
“This is worship,” he says, listening to Satoru’s soft, shaky breaths as he grips the other’s waist, rubbing circles onto the jut of his hip bone, “Something you should experience a little more.”
Because Suguru knows how the jujutsu society chews onto Satoru’s existence for sustenance, he boils at the fact that Satoru’s eyes look more tired, harrowed when they used to sparkle with mirth back when they were teenagers.
“You think I don't know what it's like to be gawked at and paraded?” Satoru mutters “News flash Suguru, I'm the fucking six eyes-”
“So you know what it's like to be used , not worshipped” Suguru says disapprovingly, reaching over for the bottle of scented expensive lubricant he’d kept for this occasion “That's all they ever do Satoru, they'll use you for their burdensome tasks until there isn't much of you left to give”
“I’m not being used,” Satoru lies to himself, as Suguru’s broad hands maneuver his thighs apart, “And you would never have called missions- protecting the weak 'burdensome’ before-”
“Before I realised the error of my ways. That we were throwing away our lives for monkeys who don’t have the finesse to appreciate it”
The first finger breaches in, making the strongest choke out a gasp.
“This” he grits out “Is embarrassing”
Suguru ignores him, knowing full well that if Satoru didn’t want to be here, he was capable of destroying the whole commune. This was curiosity on Satoru’s part, and Suguru was more than happy to show him what it feels like to be a beloved deity.
With the second finger, the other is flushed a light pink, breaths coming out in quick exhales. By the third, Suguru thrusts it in and out faster, hearing nothing but the slick sound of lube and Satoru’s progressively ragged breathing.
He curls his fingers in to reach that one spot that makes Satoru moan, loud and high pitched.
Suguru smiles as Satoru’s face withers in mortification, realising that more than a hundred people were witness to him getting fingered, splayed out in front of Suguru in silk and sin.
Perfect. He maneuvers Satoru to face the crowd, ignoring the others small ‘wait’ and ‘donts’ make him look at everyone who still had their heads lowered “They won't dare to look at you, see?”
Satoru scowls weakly, scrambling into this new position and whining when Suguru’s fingers reach deeper, and his thighs part sweetly like he cannot help the attention Suguru is giving to that bundle of nerves, prodding it just right.
“I don’t want to look” Satoru says, his breathing was laboured and his face flushed down to his chest.
“You will,” Suguru murmurs sweetly, pressing against the arch of his back and leaning in to whisper into his ear, “You would do that for me won't you? Let me show you what I’m trying to do Satoru. What I’m trying to achieve”
He watches with satisfaction as Satoru cracks his eyes open to watch reluctantly, almost uncharacteristically shy. Suguru snakes a hand up to thumb one of his pink, pebbled nipples roughly, to make him whine.
One of the four monkeys on the stage had the audacity to look up at the noise, and Satoru’s eyes widened in embarrassment while Suguru’s narrowed in annoyance.
Pop. pop. pop.
The sickeningly sweet twist of bones snapping when a curse wraps around the source of the offending gaze, a snap of the neck and the person slumps dead.
The other looks back to glare at Suguru. It was coloured with something- not surprise, nor irritation. Instead it looked like disappointment.
Suguru couldn't stand that face made at him, Satoru didn’t get to look at him like that. He didn't understand why not one human life was worth being used as a weapon for, not after they carved him into a saviour and he allowed it to happen. He regrets not convincing Satoru to come from the very start, but it had to be this way. Natural curiosity that had brought him into Suguru’s carefully cultivated plans, and back into his arms where he always belonged.
Suguru levels him with an impassive look, before removing his fingers and replacing them with his dick. Immediately thrusting in, and groaning at how tight, hot and perfect the other felt around him.
Like had buried himself inside perfection itself.
Satoru makes a choked off noise. Like the air had been forced out of him the moment Suguru made space for himself, warbling dumbly as he started with shallow thrusts.
With every snap of his hips forward, the other's knees dig into the silk below, cock bobbing, hard and drooling precum. Suguru murmurs into his ear how gorgeous he is, beautifully taking him. How good he felt, and how kind and giving the other was.
“You’re perfect” He gasps out like a prayer “Satoru. You are perfection”
Satoru cries out when fingers wrap around his cock, gathering the slick of his arousal to stroke him languidly.
“The world shifted to make room for you, and all you do is let it take you apart piece by piece. We don’t deserve that, Satoru. Especially not you” he thumbs at Satoru’s shaft, before stroking his cock exactly the way the other likes, “Nobody has ever once stopped to truly worship you the way you deserve.”
Satoru whines loudly when Suguru pulls out and rams in with force, burying himself into the mattress below as the pace gets faster, rougher, with the boiling desire that Suguru had finally dipped into feeling. It had been too long since he’d had Satoru like this.
Still, he forces Satoru’s head up gently, free hand curling around the other’s throat to pull him into a taut arch. Pulling out and slamming in.
The moan he is rewarded with is the answer to all his desolate prayers.
“Look at them, Satoru” Suguru says breathlessly, “I did this for us. With you in mind, for a future where the scum of the earth know their place, and know your place-” he punctuates with a thrust “-Above them. Untouchable.”
Untouchable by everyone but Suguru. Satoru favours him, loves him back. A god and his forever most devoted believer. Even before he had understood the truth of this world, Suguru had always clung onto him as though he was a protective charm, warm in his clammy palms.
One hundred and Ninety Eight heads, still bowed down.
Three sacrificial lambs left on the stage. A curse crushes one, smothering its grating cries with its spindly arms. Two sacrificial lambs left, one more skittish than the other.
Satoru was lost to the pleasure of Suguru filling him up, unravelling his infinite defences with his knowing hands. He wails loudly when Suguru rams into the right spot, over and over.
“Love you, love you, love you-” Suguru chants “Stay with me, don’t let them use you- let me worship you every single day for the rest of my life-”
“Suguru” The other moans out, trembling as Suguru strokes him faster “I need- I’m going to-”
“Anything, I’ll do anything for you if you'll stay by my side. I love you”
Suguru slams into him erratically, gripping Satoru’s flesh with a bruising force, stroking him just the right way until Satoru comes with a cry, spilling onto his fingers.
Another sacrifice bursts into pieces on the stage, a few flecks of red splatter onto Satoru’s white hair, red seeping into winter snow. The crowd is silent, a few tremble in fear, most are smart enough to not even twitch. Everything is as it should be.
He bundles the loose fabric of Satoru’s kimono around him carefully, covering up the precious flush of sweaty skin and kissing him sweetly.
Suguru’s heart thrums when Satoru kisses him back, with a weak press of his lips. I love you too.
There's a few drops of blood on the other’s cheek, which Suguru wipes carefully with his thumb. Disgusted at the thought of monkey blood sullying his beloved Satoru’s skin even for a second longer. The other doesn't protest, breathing shallow and eyes glazed in the afterglow.
He looked worshipped. Glowing with divinity that Suguru wanted to breathe prayers too. He doesn’t take his eyes off Satoru as he lifts him up in his arms, like a deity’s idol. Sandals clicking on the wood as he walks off the stage.
The spotlight dims down and the last sacrificial lamb breathes a sigh of pure fear and relief, shaking like a leaf. The monkey lifts its curious head upward to look, and explodes into unworthy blood and bone.
One hundred Ninety Five heads stay bowed down, five red spots line up on the stage, offerings for the divine.