Yuji sat quietly on the bed, the bowl of porridge warm in his hands. He'd waited patiently, listening to the faint sounds from the bathroom, until finally the door creaked open.
Gojo stepped out, skin flushed red from the fever and damp heat, his white hair clinging slightly to his forehead. He looked exhausted, yet still unreasonably handsome. Yuji quickly stood, offering the soft clothes he had found earlier.
Neither spoke as Gojo dressed. The silence between them stretched heavy, awkward thicker than steam. When Gojo finally sighed, it sounded like the weight of his fever and something else entirely. He tugged lightly at the hem of Yuji's shirt like a helpless child, eyes downcast.
Yuji's lips curved into a gentle, motherly smile. "Come on, senpai," he murmured, taking his hand and guiding him to the bed. He arranged several pillows behind Gojo so he could sit up comfortably, then held the bowl. "Open your mouth, okay? I'll feed you."
Obedient for once, Gojo parted his lips, letting Yuji spoon the porridge to him. But behind the fever's haze, his body betrayed him, his arousal still lingered, obvious beneath the blanket though hidden from view. Yuji noticed, of course. His cheeks warmed, but he said nothing, choosing instead to focus on the task at hand.
"Are you hurt? Gomen…" Gojo muttered, guilt flashing in his fever-bright eyes. He remembered shoving Yuji earlier, more roughly than he meant to.
Yuji gave a soft huff. "I'm fine, senpai. I'm strong, remember?" He kept feeding him patiently.
Midway through, Gojo suddenly leaned forward, wrapping his arms around Yuji's waist like a child desperate for comfort. The porridge almost spilled.
"Senpai! Careful–" Yuji scolded, but when Gojo only clung tighter, he sighed and let it be, his hand rubbing slow circles on his back.
When the bowl was finally emptied and set aside, Yuji wrung a cool cloth and gently laid it across Gojo's forehead. He slid under the blanket beside him, one small oil lamp casting a soft amber glow across the room. Yuji's hand patted Gojo's chest lightly, coaxing him to sleep. Soon, lulled by warmth and exhaustion, Yuji drifted off as well.
But in the middle of the night, Yuji stirred awake. Something warm and wet tickled at his neck. His breath hitched when he realized– Gojo's lips, nipping and mouthing unconsciously at his skin.
"Sen…pai…?" Yuji whispered, his voice trembling.
Gojo's arms were locked tight around him in sleep, holding him close. More unsettling was the hard length grinding against Yuji through the thin fabric of his pants, each rut pressing right where his womanhood now ached. Even through the barrier, the friction was hot and insistent, making his body jolt with helpless sparks of pleasure.
"Ah—"
Yuji's lips parted in a broken gasp, shame burning his cheeks as slick warmth dampened the fabric between his thighs. It almost felt as though Gojo's cock might push through the cloth and inside without warning, and the thought alone had Yuji trembling–caught between horror and the sinful ache that only grew sharper with every grind of Gojo's hips.
"Senpai…" he whispered again, cheeks blazing, torn between embarrassment and a strange heat pooling in his belly.
But Gojo didn't respond, his eyes stayed closed, his movements aimless, fever-drunk. It was like instinct, raw and unrestrained.
Yuji, panicked and flustered, shook him gently. "Senpai, stop… you're too hot…"
The motion was enough. Gojo stilled with a faint groan, his hold loosening slightly. Yuji exhaled shakily, relief flooding through him. Yet his own body betrayed him, the hard length had rubbed against him through the thin fabric of their pants, and the heat still lingered there.
His thighs trembled as dampness spread, the cloth clinging uncomfortably to his skin. Every shift made the wet patch press tighter, dragging across his sensitive folds, and Yuji bit down hard on his lip to stifle a sound.
Mortified, he curled smaller in Gojo's arms, pressing his face into the pillow. His heart pounded violently, his whole body flushed crimson at the shameful ache that refused to fade.
+++
The fever broke after just a day. By morning, Gojo stretched lazily, his body humming with renewed energy. He let out a long groan of satisfaction, arms above his head, every muscle relaxed.
"Man, that was a good sleep," he said to no one, grinning wide. It felt like the sickness had never even touched him, if anything, he was more alive than before.
Rolling over, he reached instinctively toward the other side of the bed, only to find it empty. The sheets were neatly tucked, Yuji's warmth long gone. Gojo sat up, blinking in surprise. "Eh? He already cleaned up and ran off? How domestic of him."
He padded toward the balcony. The midday sun blazed overhead, scorching and golden. His eyes landed on the oasis below, clear water glimmering, and right in the middle of it, a small handmade boat floated proudly. One of his many experiments, still afloat.
Gojo folded his arms, stroking his chin with a smug expression. "Heh. Master carpenter Gojo Satoru strikes again." Then, feeling the prickle of stubble along his jaw, he muttered, "Ugh. I should probably shave before I start looking like Gandalf."
Whistling to himself, he made his way downstairs and out to the ancient stone pool that served as their bath. Stripping leisurely, he peeled his pants off, only to pause at the faint, dried stain inside.
His brow arched. "Oh… when did that happen?"
The realization sank in slowly. He hadn't done anything, not consciously, at least. But with how his fever had burned and with Yuji's scent so close, wrapped around him all night… his body must have given in on its own.
Gojo pinched the bridge of his nose, groaning as embarrassment washed over him. "Ahhh, seriously? How uncool."
Tossing the clothes aside, he slid into the cool water of the stone pool with a splash. The heat clinging to him finally loosened, but another kind of heat replaced it–memory. His mind drifted unbidden to the bathroom, to Yuji's stubborn face as he insisted on helping, to the softness of his skin when Gojo's fever-clouded instincts had taken over.
He dragged a hand over his face. His cheeks, usually pale, burned crimson. "Shit."
Leaning back against the stone edge, he sank until the water lapped at his chin, eyes squeezing shut. "Please don't think I'm gross, Yuji. Please don't think I'm gross…"
But then, the memory of Yuji's wide eyes and flushed cheeks flickered through his mind, and the way Yuji hadn't shoved him away.
Gojo groaned again, sinking deeper. "This is bad. Really bad. I can't stop thinking about it."