( Shocked, like he's wounded. He pulls away again, far enough to press his own fingers to his bottom lip. For a moment his face forgets the shape it's supposed to be in, layers peeled back so that in the end all he looks is young, tired, a longing so raw it could be bleeding. Then it catches again, a lock in a latch, brows drawing tight. He is still sitting across the other man's lap but he draws himself up like something regal anyway, the dark sweep of his lashes obscuring the light in his eyes. )
Do you think you wouldn't have a place in it, Satoru?
( That new world, what he's striving for. There is a reason Geto has yet to make a move that will draw them at odds with each other. He is still being careful. Either way, he probably doesn't want to hear the answer. And so he rises before Gojo can stop him, shifting on his heel so they're facing each other. His leg bends, nudging the inside of the other man's own, making space. Without another word he sinks down there, right onto his knees in the dim motel room, a palm creeping up to a bare knee just below the hem of the bathrobe. )
Didn't you want something anyway? I'm tired of talking.
( He'd said he wouldn't. He says a lot of things. He is no good with the damaged edges, and so this, head tipping to one side in question. Does Gojo Satoru want something? )
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
→ agnize
Ah.
( Shocked, like he's wounded. He pulls away again, far enough to press his own fingers to his bottom lip. For a moment his face forgets the shape it's supposed to be in, layers peeled back so that in the end all he looks is young, tired, a longing so raw it could be bleeding. Then it catches again, a lock in a latch, brows drawing tight. He is still sitting across the other man's lap but he draws himself up like something regal anyway, the dark sweep of his lashes obscuring the light in his eyes. )
Do you think you wouldn't have a place in it, Satoru?
( That new world, what he's striving for. There is a reason Geto has yet to make a move that will draw them at odds with each other. He is still being careful. Either way, he probably doesn't want to hear the answer. And so he rises before Gojo can stop him, shifting on his heel so they're facing each other. His leg bends, nudging the inside of the other man's own, making space. Without another word he sinks down there, right onto his knees in the dim motel room, a palm creeping up to a bare knee just below the hem of the bathrobe. )
Didn't you want something anyway? I'm tired of talking.
( He'd said he wouldn't. He says a lot of things. He is no good with the damaged edges, and so this, head tipping to one side in question. Does Gojo Satoru want something? )