[ A bit of a wry look lifts one of his eyebrows, and the tattoos on his face move with it like the stripes on a very large cat. He removes his hand from beneath Megumi's shirt, slinging his arm now over the back of the couch that they share, one leg crossed over the other. Sukuna has the ability of most powerful men to look as if he is sitting in his living room in very nearly any space that he occupies; there is no care for his surroundings, nothing particularly alert, although he must be (he would have to be, considering his power and position). He knows full well that he has not underestimated the boy; this interaction would not be happening were Gojo not aware of this teenager's singularity, his effect. He knows what Sukuna likes, knows what he'll want. If nothing else, it's the smartest move on his part— why not dangle something he wants in front of his eyes, a loan, to go with the repayment (handled elsewhere, by their accountants).
Sukuna glances back, into the club, over his shoulder. A part of him wants to drag the boy around Tokyo; to have him at his side for his engagements, to put a brand on him, to tell him to wear his hair pushed away from his forehead so that his green eyes strike people more brilliantly; his rarest possession, no longer Megumi's own, but his. But— not yet. Gojo is still at the table opposite, and Sukuna draws a long breath, turning to the man. ]
A month, [ He says to Gojo, eyes lazy. ]
I'd like him for a month.
[ There is a shrug from the other yakuza, and he sips his drink, smiling at Megumi from over the rims of his sunglasses. "One month," Gojo echoes. "Megumi-chan, how does that sound?"
Sukuna knows care when he sees it; he knows concern. Despite being low on both himself, he can at least recognise it; it is not a spoken thing, but he can tell that Gojo has a stake in the boy, at heart does not want him hurt. He is worried about this deal, perhaps he is realising that a mistake has been made, that he may not get Megumi back, or may only after a bloody fight between their factions, which would result in more trouble than needed.
A month is far longer than a week; a lot more damage can be done over the course of a month. It's invasive too; a week could be planned for, a month ruins any plans. But— to Sukuna, other people's lives count for very little. If Megumi has friends, or duties, or whatever it is he does when he is not Gojo's pet, well. That's none of Sukuna's concern.
The backs of Sukuna's fingers touch Megumi's neck; not a brand, but good enough for now. It's intimate too; laying against the pulse point like a lover's might. ]
We'll get along just fine, you and I. [ He murmurs, but it's a pretty cold comfort. His reputation is well known. But still— the chemistry from earlier between them is there, like static where skin touches skin. ]
no subject
[ A bit of a wry look lifts one of his eyebrows, and the tattoos on his face move with it like the stripes on a very large cat. He removes his hand from beneath Megumi's shirt, slinging his arm now over the back of the couch that they share, one leg crossed over the other. Sukuna has the ability of most powerful men to look as if he is sitting in his living room in very nearly any space that he occupies; there is no care for his surroundings, nothing particularly alert, although he must be (he would have to be, considering his power and position). He knows full well that he has not underestimated the boy; this interaction would not be happening were Gojo not aware of this teenager's singularity, his effect. He knows what Sukuna likes, knows what he'll want. If nothing else, it's the smartest move on his part— why not dangle something he wants in front of his eyes, a loan, to go with the repayment (handled elsewhere, by their accountants).
Sukuna glances back, into the club, over his shoulder. A part of him wants to drag the boy around Tokyo; to have him at his side for his engagements, to put a brand on him, to tell him to wear his hair pushed away from his forehead so that his green eyes strike people more brilliantly; his rarest possession, no longer Megumi's own, but his. But— not yet. Gojo is still at the table opposite, and Sukuna draws a long breath, turning to the man. ]
A month, [ He says to Gojo, eyes lazy. ]
I'd like him for a month.
[ There is a shrug from the other yakuza, and he sips his drink, smiling at Megumi from over the rims of his sunglasses. "One month," Gojo echoes. "Megumi-chan, how does that sound?"
Sukuna knows care when he sees it; he knows concern. Despite being low on both himself, he can at least recognise it; it is not a spoken thing, but he can tell that Gojo has a stake in the boy, at heart does not want him hurt. He is worried about this deal, perhaps he is realising that a mistake has been made, that he may not get Megumi back, or may only after a bloody fight between their factions, which would result in more trouble than needed.
A month is far longer than a week; a lot more damage can be done over the course of a month. It's invasive too; a week could be planned for, a month ruins any plans. But— to Sukuna, other people's lives count for very little. If Megumi has friends, or duties, or whatever it is he does when he is not Gojo's pet, well. That's none of Sukuna's concern.
The backs of Sukuna's fingers touch Megumi's neck; not a brand, but good enough for now. It's intimate too; laying against the pulse point like a lover's might. ]
We'll get along just fine, you and I. [ He murmurs, but it's a pretty cold comfort. His reputation is well known. But still— the chemistry from earlier between them is there, like static where skin touches skin. ]