Chapter Text
"Touya? Shouto?"
As if one, they hold their breaths.
Everything turns very still. A shiver runs up Shouto's spine to shake him violently, and Touya grabs his hips tighter, keeping him in place; like Shouto’s first intention is to pull away.
As if I could. Shouto can feel his brother’s cock jumping inside him, the movements sending a wave of delicious heat to spread in his body, despite their less than welcomed predicament.
"Aren't you guys coming?"
Touya sighs a breathy sound, controlling his voice.
He speaks the next sentence with a caring intone. "No, we're busy, sorry." Shouto can almost believe he sounds sincere.
"Oh, come on! But we set this up a month ago!"
Natsuo's silhouette moves restlessly. Shouto's heart misses a beat when his arm lifts as if to slide open the fusuma door.
There are no locks in this house, paper and wood holding everything together. If Natsuo decides to open this door nothing will stop him from revealing the grotesque picture of his brothers touching one another, of Touya buried balls-deep inside their youngest keen.
Maybe it's an age thing. He can already feel himself starting to sweat, anxiety climbing up his throat and closing his airways. As opposed to him, Touya is steady, thumbs running circles on his hips. How can he be so calm?
At least he knows no one can see them from outside. Light filters through the east windows this time of the day, keeping them in the liminal while shining bright behind Natsuo's back and illuminating the world in a yellow haze. His shadow looks almost mythical, spiky hair a nest of horns.
But the sweat keeps accumulating on his back. The longer Natsuo lingers outside his room the heavier his limbs feel, ripe with growing fear, one Touya can't easily rub away.
He can't come in. He'll misunderstand, his face will twist with disgust. He'll tell father.
A warm hand caresses his face, trailing down his cheek.
Touya's eyes are trained on the door. "You're right. We'll be there soon, I promise." And then he angles his hips and slams Shouto's prostate, sending them skidding on the tatami, just as his hand covers the younger's mouth to catch his surprised gasp from spilling out.
Oh God.
"Shou? Everything okay there?"
Bastard. Shouto's mind tumbles, stuck between keening and begging for more and slapping Touya for being such a twisted asshole.
Wheezy breaths escape through Touya's fingers. Don't lose it. You have to pull yourself together. Despite their risky situation, his own dick jumps with excitement, shamefully turned on at the prospect of someone so close almost knowing, almost touching the truth yet still so far away.
Disgrace colors his cheeks along with arousal.
"Yeah, everything's fine," he responds, thanking the heavens for years of experience in flattening his voice. Someone less naive could have sensed the lie, but not their sweetest brother.
Said brother sighs loudly and steps away from the door. "Fine, but don't be too long! We won't wait anymore!"
Behind him Touya shifts, looking down at him. The weight and mischief in his eyes makes it hard not to bow down and let him ravish him.
"You heard him, baby boy, we have to hurry."
Shouto nods, belly quivering.
______
But it all started years ago, long before Shouto could imagine anything of the like happening with his biggest brother. In the beginning he was just Touya-nii; the first born, his gangly brother, long-limbed and sad faced, red hair and blue eyes so reminiscent of their father but so different in every possible way. First he was just Touya-nii, playing with him in the garden, moving his fingers through Shouto’s soft hair after bath time, laughing along in front of silly cartoons on the TV on sacred Saturday mornings.
Maybe they never had a choice but to be close, being the two opposite ends of their father’s destructive obsession with a perfect heir. It was an unnatural relationship, brought upon by pain and grief. The first major stitch to start and tie their fate together was woven still before Shouto could voice anything but howling pain, and could seek nothing more than a comfort in the arms of his big brother.
He was five, and his mother had just poured hot water over his face. The pain seared through him worse than everything he had ever felt; worse than father’s fists, worse than endless training. It was unbearable.
When the family’s doctor finished wrapping his left side up he felt groggy and empty. The juice the old man gave him was sweet but made him dizzy; a strange numbness had taken over his face, but his heart was still pounding harshly, circling agony throughout his little body.
He wanted mommy. He wanted her to hug him and tell him everything will be okay. He wanted mommy even though mommy didn’t want him.
So he stumbled through the house, tears springing in his right eye and blurring his vision. The darkness of the halls was ominous, creeping around him as he went on and on. The house didn't seem like their house anymore; he was tired, and he could barely see, and the halls seemed to stretch endlessly, wrong and scary.
That is, until he finally latched onto a door and stumbled inside a room.
That room wasn't completely bathed in darkness. Guided by the faint light, Shouto creeped in slowly, little feet tapping lightly on the tatami covered floor. There was no mistaking the sleeping figure in the futon, and if Shouto had half the right mind he might have thought about finding his own room and sparing his brother the unavoidable interruption; but as it was, he needed something else, even if he couldn't place a name on the feeling.
The darkness didn’t dominate the space by virtue of a little light Touya had placed in the corner, like a lone firefly floating in space. Shouto liked it; the lamp showed little wolves running in a snowy scenery. It made him feel calmer. He knew Touya wasn't really proud of its existence; he heard the way father yelled at him and slapped him, shouting he was too immature. Too feminine. Too weak.
Mother grabbed his hand when he went for another strike, receiving herself the unstoppable punishment. Even though it must have hurt, she smiled moments later, crouching to hug Touya, to bury his sad face in her neck.
Tears began rolling down his face again, and now he was aching, but he was also very angry. It was all father's fault, he made her feel this way, he made her hate them –
"Shouto? What's wrong?"
Touya had woken up, lifting his head to try and see his little brother better. Shouto sparsely came into his room at night anymore; he was a quiet child now, and while he was capable of showing affection, lately he was more reserved. Touya wasn't sure if the unrest that used to plague him stopped, or if he merely avoided sharing it with Touya anymore.
In the dim light of his bare room he saw Shouto's little figure sitting on the edge of his futon, shoulders shaking with each sob he couldn't keep in. Touya knew very well the effort of keeping it all under wraps. He was also intimately familiar with the moment the seams couldn't hold together anymore.
He took in the bandages, the scrunched brow, the downturn of his quivering mouth, his little hands balled into fists by his sides. Deep sadness took over him. His brother shouldn't feel this way; he was only five. He shouldn't know these feelings for at least a little while longer.
Too late, too late for that.
"Hey, come here."
Touya lifted the edge of his blanket, rolling to his side to face Shouto. Shouto crawled inside without preamble, lying on his right side. Touya's hand ran underneath his grey eye, collecting tears. The bandages were like an out of place blockage, as if someone erased a part of him and covered it up. Tufts of red hair peeked in between, like scattered weeds growing in a wasteland.
Was it the work of their father again? Touya had a horrifying doubt gnawing at his thoughts, thinking maybe this time, for some horrid reason, it was their mother, seeing as Shouto was here for comfort and not with her. Was there another reason he should be here instead?
He didn't ask. Instead his fingers moved slowly down his head, cupping his chubby cheek.
It was warm.
Touya's eyes were deep and blue and his gaze was quiet, like the big sea they saw last summer. Nothing like father's constant storm, brewing on the horizon of his glare. Shouto liked it much better.
His big brother smiled and pulled him closer, rearranging them so Shouto was laying mostly on top of him, head tucked in the crook of his neck. It smelled like clean laundry, fresh shower and something unique to his big brother. His big hands traced gentle circles on Shouto's back. Swaying, they rocked slowly from side to side, barely moving at all.
A low rumble ignited underneath him, travelling over his body. The tune Touya was humming was something simple, familiar, something they heard their mother sing times and times again in the past.
Soon, Shouto couldn't think of anything but the warmth of his brother seeping into his own body where they pressed together. Wolves were running through the snow, howling a lullaby, and his mind drifted away.
Touya, on the other hand, felt a great stone settle in the center of his chest. Each time the bandages on his little brother's head scratched his neck he could feel a piece of him chipping off, lamenting the loss of too many things to count. He had to take a deep breath to suppress his own tears. Even though he wanted nothing but to lash out, he couldn't allow himself to act on his feelings, with the weight of his brother on top of him, breath finally deep and evened out. Shouto deserved his unbidden solace. He didn't need to hear more screams and witness more violence, not so soon.
Though he was only nine years old, something foreign - an evolved form of concentrated hatred and frustration - clouded his mind, ignited a burning in his limbs. It was easier to grow livid than to fade out in a blink of desperation. It was mandatory.
Finally, after hours, Shouto's short breaths and solid weight beckoned him to fall asleep.
______
After the fateful night – the last time they saw their mother – Shouto would crawl from time to time to Touya's room, usually at night, and find his way under the covers to attach himself to his brother's side. Touya didn't mind; Shouto was a calm sleeper most of the time. Sometimes nightmares would possess his mind, but Touya would always be there, hugging him and whispering soothing words in his ear until he could fall asleep once more. If anything, he worried he might rouse Shouto, being more awake than asleep most nights.
During the day they were close, but how deeply they were connected wasn't visible to others, probably. Touya didn't know if anyone besides himself knew of Shouto's nightly escapades, or when they had started. Hell, Natsuo and Fuyumi might not have known the whole picture of Shouto's new scar only until a few days after the incident.
"Your mother is very sick. She hurt Shouto, and herself, so she will not be coming home soon."
Fuyumi had cried and Natsuo had yelled his anguish, disbelief coloring both their faces. Touya held Shouto close to his side, face set as stone, hand running through his silky hair. His youngest brother hugged his leg and sniffled lowly, not daring to say anything.
By now, Touya knew better than to say something himself. He wished to let all his anger pour out and scream at his father, to unveil the ugly truth beneath Shouto's bandaged face. But he didn't, for Shouto's sake. It would have only resulted in more anger and ended in a beating. Touya wasn't going to compromise them like that.
Besides, now he had a new objective. He had to protect Shouto. He couldn't keep him safe if he angered the old man – at least directly. Because the bastard might have thought he had them all on a leash, but Touya had a better plan. He was going to keep Shouto so close to him, all to himself, until the old man had nothing. He wanted Shouto to be the heir to his law firm empire; dabbing Touya 'too weak' and Natsuo 'too daft'. Shouto was supposed to be the very best. Shouto would have private tutors from a very young age. Shouto was destined.
Only he wasn't destined to their pathetic excuse of a father. He was destined to Touya. And Touya would make sure to show his father exactly what he stripped him of.
______
Perhaps it was odd because brothers tend to bicker and fight. They can also love each other, but would it make their heart stutter and their breath grow shorter?
His heart was about to explode.
“You don’t like it?”
Shouto had his lower lip chewed by worrying teeth, looking at him expectantly. In quivering palms Touya held a drawing full of colorful, crude lines Shouto had put onto paper.
The longer he took to answer the more apparent Shouto’s apprehension had become, feet shuffling minutely. He stood next to Touya’s seated form on the wooden veranda, making their eyes meet at the same level.
Touya came outside in hopes of finding a quiet moment to chill his mind after another argument with Enj; in the back part of the house, on the veranda leading to the garden their mother used to care for. Only a year had passed, but weeds sprouted between once carefully placed flowers, overgrown and foreign.
He didn’t expect anyone to find him here; then a light tapping of a small set of feet, a pat on his shoulder and before he could turn around a small hand thrusted a paper into his own.
It was a drawing of both of them. Touya recognized Shouto by the double-colored lines of hair and the two different-colored dots to make for the eyes on the small stick-figure; his own form could have been a very young, ambiguous Enji, but it was most definitely not, because this face was smiling while holding Shouto’s stick-arm. Shouto was smiling too; behind there was a small house, above flew what was probably supposed to be birds, and around them...maybe dogs?
“You drew this for me?” he asked him quietly.
“Yes! you see, this is you and me, and this is our house, because we’re always going to stay together!”
Ah, the pink line around them wasn’t a circle but a heart.
Emotions blocked his airways. The paper shook minutely in his trembling hands.
He could see the uncertainty, the question ready to be asked again. Shouto’s eyes gleamed with nervous energy.
“I love it, Shou. Thank you so much.”
Anything, he’d do anything to see that smile light up his beautiful face, anything to feel his small arms wrap around his neck. He put the drawing down carefully and pulled the smaller body to his own, breathing in his familiar smell, intertwined with his mother’s forgotten Lilacs and sad Jasmin.
______
Despite all his high talking and great intentions, he stumbled here and there.
It got worse as he grew older; he was entering 'a rebellious phase' and his father had already made clear he was not putting up with any 'teenage bullshit' Touya had up his sleeve.
It was dinner time, and for some reason they were all gathered around the long table in the living room. Rarely did their father join them for dinner; they barely saw him during the week nowadays, always busy with work, and it was much, much better that way. That evening, for some unknown reason, he dominated the head of the table and left the four of them to sit at his sides.
Unrest crawled underneath his skin.
The dinner was quiet, except for the clutter of chopsticks on porcelain bowls. Fuyumi was chatting about something in a hurried fashion, trying to engage all of them in the conversation, but it was mostly her and Natsuo. Touya couldn't really follow – something about a teacher at school, a joined activity their classes had. He was already a first year in middle school, separated from the three of them. His siblings were sweet, and he couldn't blame Fuyumi for her apparent need to play at a functioning family, but he could not bring himself to participate.
He was almost finished anyways, intending to leave as soon as possible when the inevitable happened. He knew what was coming – the screech of a chair being thrown back, Fuyumi's abrupt halt, his father's hand pulling his ear forcefully –
"What the hell is this?!"
He tugged harshly, pulling the tender flesh around his new piercings. A sharp pain shot in his ear, making him hiss and groan. He slanted his glare at his father.
"What does it look like?"
The slap rang loud and clear in the tense silence. Someone gasped but he wasn't sure who, as his head hung low from the force of the hit. He could feel blood dripping down his lip where he cut his cheek on his teeth.
"Don't you dare make fun of me, you insolent child. You should be thanking me I'm letting you live in this house at all."
You should be thanking me for not reporting you to the authorities, he almost said, but swallowed it back. From the corner of his eye he could see Shouto moving restlessly, shaking in his chair.
"Take that filth out and don't ever speak back to me again."
In the white light of the bathroom his face looked paler than usual, highlighting the angry red mark on his cheek. The boy in the mirror was thin, his mouth turned into an angry scowl, his eyes burning with rage. He tentatively checked his ear – all in place, just swollen. Phew. At least he hadn't ripped them out.
He didn’t really need to take them out, right? Enji would be gone for a week starting tomorrow morning, and by the time he’d get back he would hopefully forget, or more probably find something new to roar about.
A soft knocking stirred him from his intense staring. He spat into the sink, washed his mouth from the taste of blood and tried to compose himself.
"Come in," he sighed, knowing exactly who would walk through that door.
As expected, Shouto slowly inched inside, eyes big and heavy with worry.
"Nii-san, are you okay?"
Although Touya was aware that his brother legitimately felt troubled, a warm feeling still spread in his chest as he watched at him. Shouto looked adorable when he was worried, lower lip jutting out in a concerned pout, pawing at his waist with obvious concern. Touya couldn't help himself – he picked him up and sat him by the sink on his knees, hugging him from behind. Shouto was almost too big for this, soon he'd have no place for his growing legs.
"Of course I am, baby. It's nothing," he said with forced cheer, tickling his soft belly. A bubbly, childish laughter filled the space, forcing Touya's mouth into a smile. His fingers didn't relent; they dug underneath the pudgy parts of his arms, capturing him in his embrace as he became louder and louder.
Tears rolled down Shouto's cheeks and he pawed uselessly at him. "N-nii-san – st – stop!" he giggled, belly convulsing. Touya finally took mercy on him, instead kissing his cheek.
Shouto was like a medicine. His own, costume made one.
Once he stopped hiccupping, Shouto's mismatched eyes found his own in the mirror.
"What did you do to your ear?" he asked, innocent and curious.
Touya turned his ear to the mirror, showing him the two studs punched into the upper part of his ear.
"It's a piercing. It's called an industrial. In a few months I'm going to put a straight barbell inside and it's going to look badass," he boasted, smiling cheekily at his little brother. The smaller gave him an awed look, eyes jumping between his face and the silver rings.
"Does it hurt?"
"Not really," he lied, ignoring the pounding in his ear. They were fairly new, only three weeks old; his hair wasn't long enough to cover them just yet, so of course he was aware of this possible outcome but fuck if he cared. It only made the fire in the pit of his belly grow warmer.
"I think they look cool," Shouto muttered shyly, a hand reaching towards the shiny metal but stopping halfway, a contemplating look on his young face. Instead, Touya turned his lips to his palm, kissing it repeatedly. Shouto giggled and squirmed in the cage of his arms. Next he kissed the side of his face, under his scar. Nosed in the smell, the familiar warmth radiating off of the one he held dearest. "Don't worry," he whispered into his ear, feeling the words blanketing smooth and heavy over his own fluttering heart.
______
Shouto loved all his siblings, even though growing up he got to see them less and less; most of his free afternoons were spent with private tutors, pouring over numbers and phrases in various languages, honing his skills until his brain was too exhausted to think of anything anymore.
When he was done he was usually granted some free time, which he used to go play with the rest. Late as it was – mostly after the sun had already set – Natsuo, being the most energetic of them all, would always be up for a game or two, and his boisterous laughter usually beckoned Fuyumi to join them. Although they were twins, they never made Shouto feel excluded. Sometimes they ganged up on him, but Shouto suspected they usually let him decide his pair out of pity for his ‘special situation’. He didn't care, as long as they all got to be together. Together could also mean making food, or tidying the house – those were okay too, in his eyes. It was never boring or lonesome, at least.
So even though Shouto loved all his siblings dearly and knew he shouldn't have a preference, he did. He couldn't help it.
Touya wasn't as funny and easy going as Natsuo nor was he as smart and kind as Fuyumi. That's not to say his biggest brother wasn't any of those things in his own way - making Shouto squirm with laughter was an apparent goal many times; and he never, ever treated him harshly: Touya had the gentlest hands he'd ever known. They rivaled mom's, even; Shouto remembered how many times her embraces were a bit too tight, her eyes turning vacant, smile slipping off her face as she'd detach his arms where they latched onto her.
Touya never pushed him away.
So why was he avoiding him now?
Shouto couldn't make sense of this, in his young mind at the age of ten. Touya-nii was always, always there. When Shouto fell in the yard and scraped his knees; when he needed help with his homework; after father's discipline; when the nightmares terrorized him.
He knew he wasn't a little kid anymore, and he wasn't supposed to come to his big brother for every little thing, theoretically. But somehow that contradicted the crux of their relationship. It was natural and obvious for Shouto to seek Touya out over any of these things, he never even gave it a second thought.
Three days ago, though, that foreign thought penetrated the stable castle they have built over the years, vines of unrest worming their way in the foundations, invading those protected spaces until the insecurities and uneasiness he felt mostly in other situations - around his father for example, but never, ever around Touya - lodged themselves steadily in his throat, clamming him up. Took over these islands of safety only they explored, washing over them in a Tsunami.
It started innocently enough, as it always did. Dinner was over; Shouto had already taken his bath, skin warm and tender and hair damp. Fuyumi handed him a cup of warm tea as he walked back to the living room, excitement peaking as he caught sight of Touya on the floor, next to the low table. Natsuo took up half the couch in a lazy sprawl, watching a movie, and so Shouto planted himself next to Touya.
The angry scribbles of pen on paper were barely audible over the movie's soundtrack. Shouto's eyes drifted towards the screen, registering the colorful imagery but insisting on keeping his focus on the boy closer to him. A delicate, long-fingered hand was poised over the books and papers with enough tension to correlate the severe concentration pouring through. Math, by the scowl on his face.
Touya was studying really hard lately for the coming exams that were to determine which high school he'd go to, resulting in radio silence on his part, barely interacting with anyone. Shouto didn't like not having him around and couldn't understand why it mattered so much, considering Touya had said he didn't intend on attending the private school his father was adamant about anyways. Last night he caught a snippet of conversation between the twins, talking about how lately Touya seemed different, how he would dispute their father more and more. It reflected in his balled fists, he mused to himself. He didn't use to be this strung up.
Seeing him out of his room was a surprise in itself. Of course Shouto didn't want to disrupt him, but he was just happy to see Touya, even if he wasn't paying attention to him. As quietly as he could he peered over the scribbled pages. At the beginning Touya seemed completely engulfed in his world. Only when Shouto moved again, a stray drop of water falling from his hair onto the paper and turning ink into a blotchy spot, did Touya finally lift his head.
“Hey, watch it,” he huffed and gathered his things closer. He didn’t spare him a second glance.
“Sorry,” he said lowly, leaning back. His eyes drifted back to the movie, unseeing. Something tight and uncomfortable knotted in his chest at the sharp, agitated line of his brother’s eyebrows, at his strict tone. No matter how much he tried, the colorful characters on the screen didn’t lighten his mood.
the longer they sat in the tense silence the bigger the knot grew. As minutes ticked by, nothing changed but the whitening of Touya’s knuckles around his pen. Outside the winds picked up, whistling a deranged melody through the low treetops.
“Shou, can you pass me the remote?” Natsuo tapped his bare feet on his shoulder lazily, pointing at the remote at the edge of the table.
He did. In the process of doing so, his arm reached out; something fell in the yard from the force of the howling winds, the loud crash almost enough to cover the din of Shouto’s cup of tea toppling over the table as his arm knocked it over, spilling scalding liquid all over Touya’s papers. On the screen a hooded hero in a red cape swung at the villian; “Victory!” the word popped on the screen.
Above it all, Touya’s loud yell was crystal clear.
“What the fuck are you doing?!”
His hand recoiled lightning-fast, cradled close to his chest; he didn’t burn himself but he sure felt like he did. On the table lay a soggy, sorry mess of what was moments ago the result of hours of studying. The scribbles were incomprehensible, slowly bleeding into one another.
Shouto was shaking. In his ringing ears he could hear father's voice layering over his brother's. Touya breathed harshly through his nose, eyes spitting fire. That too was a familiar sight in the wrong setting.
“Hey, it was an accident, lay off him,” Natsuo quipped from the couch, eyes no longer glued to the screen. Their oldest brother didn’t bother answering him, instead shifted his burning eyes from Shouto to the mess.
“Fuck, fuck, shit,” he cursed, fist hitting the table repeatedly. Shouto flinched with every blow.
He saw Touya get angry numerous times, but never like this - never this raw and never aimed at him.
“I’m sorry,” his voice quivered, announcing the inevitable arrival of tears.
He was already eleven years old but he always felt so tiny when voices were raised.
As he got up, Touya didn’t say a word, only turned his back - taut, shoulders to his ears - and left the place as it was; a worried Natsuo, a trembling Shouto and the heap of useless paper on the wet table.
That night Shouto walked up to Touya’s room, intent on returning the papers - he dried them as best as he could, he even retraced some of the parts that he could see - but Touya didn’t open the door. A muffled “don’t come in,” through the wood and paper was the only answer. The next morning the pile was still there.
Things didn’t get better after that day.
It couldn’t be the sole reason they drifted apart, Shouto anxiously reasoned with himself later, but he couldn’t think of anything else. Weeks turned into months; soon he couldn’t remember when was the last time they properly talked to each other. Touya just...floated out of reach, and Shouto did not know how deep the water ran, could not take the leap.
It left a gaping, aching hole in his chest with each passing day. The more estranged he became, the more cumbersome the blanket of loneliness and abandonment felt, draped heavily around his shoulders.
______
Something was wrong. Very much so, wrong in the way that twists your guts, that lights a forest fire to rage under your skin, burning hot with shame and mortification. He felt sick to his core.
In the cavity of his dreams, fleeting under the guise of sub-consciousness; in the throes of his twisted imagination while daydreaming; whenever he let loose of the leash tied around his scurrying thoughts.
It was the hitch in his breath, the unbearable heat dripping low in his gut, molten and good and so awfully wrong that woke him up to the grey light of the cold winter morning. The sun was barely out.
Another dream, another mark of disgrace. At least he shook himself awake of this one early enough, before it could spiral down the too familiar damned rabbit hole.
Many times he had asked himself if his family was simply cursed. There was just an accumulation of mishaps – and Touya didn't want to label this as anything anything else, lest he sank deeper into the ocean of self-pity he was already drowning in.
He could deal with the rest, could chin up and welcome another day for the sake of his siblings. For the sake of Shouto, who received the short end of the stick in seemingly every aspect of their raising.
Hot tears slid down his cheeks. Blinking bits of hazy, filthy images flickered behind his closed eyelids. It didn't matter even if he opened them, there was no escape – he knew very well what they consisted of. Felt very well through his rising flesh, through the shameful wet patch staining the front of his underwear.
He couldn't deal with this. He couldn't possibly, in some crooked twist of fate be a part of the curse too.
He grinded his eyes with the palms of his hands until they burned. The sheet wrapped around his legs felt too confining and he kicked it off, an unnamable sensation coursing under his skin, like a thousand ants skirmishing, biting along his muscles.
Even though he was a hundred percent awake now, even though he was undoubtedly alone in his room, in the confines of his mind he could still feel mismatched eyes burning into him, fluttering over his naked chest, settling on his thin lips. Eyes that had no place to hold such depth, no capacity to feel the kind of feelings Touya had burdened them with.
He wanted to claw out of his skin.
______
If Touya thought about it really hard – which he did, lately, all the time, without rest – he was truly going to turn insane at this rate – he could track down the beginning of his abhorrent thoughts to the days prior to Shouto's tenth birthday. They were having a very small gathering (as always), just the five of them, and for once everyone seemed to be trying to behave as civil as they could (read: Enji only stayed the necessary minimum, and then excused himself). The usually reserved Shouto was joyous, stuffing his face with Fuyumi's vanilla and strawberries birthday cake. 'Happy Birthday, Shou-Chan!" was written in neat letters in the center of the frosting.
None of them actually got to celebrate their birthdays, but for this one occasion the three of them begged their father to cooperate and not hinder their efforts. Shouto was already sparsely seen, his smile was not as wide these days, like he was too tired to lift the corners of his mouth. At nights, heard through the thin wooden walls, he would cry out for their mom, something he hadn’t done in ages; Touya wanted to create a good memory, to allow him to be happy in the present.
Small gestures, that was the beginning. They were always the closest – maybe a result of being a lone sibling and not a part of a twinset, or the outcome of their father's oppressive ideals laid on their shoulder. Somehow they were pulled together, or rather, pushed into one another.
And it showed, even in minor situations like this one. Shouto gave him the first slice of the cake, claiming he wanted Touya to be the first. Shouto received his father's blessing with a mere nod, eyes cast down. He hugged Touya, head leaning on his chest after he opened his present. Even while playing with the twins or opening a present, mismatched eyes always seeked him out, always made sure they knew where he was.
By the end of it all it was already ten o'clock - they've started the celebration late due to their father returning home from work at his usual overdue hour. Now, past the birthday boy's bedtime, the sugar was slowly leaving his system, eyes drooping. Naturally he gravitated close to Touya and climbed into his lap, even though he had just turned ten and Touya was already fourteen.
Touya indulged him, of course. This was another small gesture, but not so small a moment; behind Shouto's shoulder, their father's scorching glare. The slow understanding, creeping to the forefront of his mind like a spotlight coming to life on a dark theater stage. Jealousy. Hostility. The look an opponent would give another opponent.
It stirred something within him, this glare. And as Shouto's hands wrapped tighter around his neck, body sliding over his lap, a low rumble stirred in the pit of his stomach. This, he already knew at his age, had nothing to do with family matters. Or so he thought.
"Stop squirming around," he chastitied lightly, though inside a coldness spread from his throat to his lungs. He tightened his embrace around his little brother's middle, reminding himself just who this was and where they were.
In reply, Shouto planted a shy kiss on his cheek and hid his face in the crook of his neck, hot breath fanning over his skin.
Could be Shouto was actually the one doing the cursing, with how Touya froze up, limbs rendered useless. He didn't have a name for what he felt just yet but in the coming weeks he'd know far too well.
Enji was watching them closely, something akin to disgust mangling his angry mouth. Instinct took over; Touya let his own eyebrows scale his forehead, challenging the old man to dare and spoil something for Shouto on this sole day. They all knew their father couldn’t care less and would absolutely not mind ruining everything, as he usually did, birthdays or not.
Yet there was something more, crawling underneath the surface.
Whatever it may be, from that day on, Touya witnessed it more and more. He could have enjoyed it, could have basked in the upper hand life handed him in this situation, the power to ruffle his father and get under his skin, only he was far too busy dealing with the lecherous thoughts that slowly slid into the crevices of his mind.
______
"Shouto, watch out!"
As gravity pulled him down, Natsuo's frantic voice was a little too late a warning as the branch under him creaked and gave into his weight.
The way down graced him with scrapes and cuts and the earth kissed him blue and red, blood vessels breaking underneath the skin-surface. Natsuo was by his side in an instant and helped him sit, face pinched in concern with eyes wide.
A groan of pain made its way out of his sore throat. Everything hurt, though it was probably mostly the shock of the actual fall that had his heart in a vicious clutch. That, and the thought of what his father would say once he found out.
Ugh. Stupid bet. He shouldn't have caved in to Natsuo's taunting.
"Shou, can you move? Anything feels broken?"
He took a moment to regain his senses, eyes blinking back the various aches he was suddenly aware of. "No," he breathed, slowly rising to his feet on uncertain legs. His shirt was torn, pants dirty with earth.
The sun was almost down and he needed to patch himself up as best as he could, as fast as possible. Natsuo said something about getting rid of the branch, asking him if he'd manage by himself. Shouto nodded, promising him he was okay.
In the white lights of the bathroom everything looked considerably worse.
His face was miraculously okay, save for a cut on the bridge of his nose and a bruise materializing on his jaw. The same could not be said for the rest of his body, though. Scratched and battered, his arms and legs were covered with an assortment of marks, some leaking blood. His heartbeat was travelling between sites of damaged tissues until he felt like a choir of bells tolled throughout his body.
He had to get rid of the dirt first - some even stuck to his hair. Resigning to his fate, he let the tub fill slowly, taking notice to keep the water lukewarm at best.
The first limb made him hiss. The second elicited a gasp, as his bloody knee stinging at the contact of the tepid water. When he was finally submerged he let out a long drawn, trembling breath. Climbing the old tree in the yard probably wasn't the best idea, then. Betting with Natsuo over who could climb higher was probably even a worse one.
Twenty minutes later he peeled himself from the tub's floor, gently brushing his wounds. He really didn't look forward to the next part but it was inevitable. Besides, pain wasn't a foreign concept; it had been easier in the past, when Touya would attend to his wounds, but as things shifted between them Shouto kept to himself, and it seemed Touya was partial to participate. The distance stung much more than any wound, yet Shouto couldn't touch the subject out-loud. Didn't want to know the real reason behind the rift, too afraid to have his fears solidified. If he just kept going as they were, maybe he could ignore the way his brother's turquoise eyes jumped over his head, the way he turned his back and tailed out of the room when Shouto entered it.
But in the safety of the empty bathroom, he could let himself feel the absolute desolation that consumed his body at the feeling of Touya avoiding him. The tears that thought lured to his eyes ran hot and frightful on his cheeks.
Mechanically, he took out the first aid kit, tending to his wounds. Hissing at the contact of the antiseptic, his breath bounced in the enclosed space, sounding awfully loud in his ears. This was nothing, he knew very well how to care for his wounds, courtesy of his father's fists. It wasn't the worst he'd had, of course. Still, something about the situation bloomed into a great sadness in his chest. Under the fresh cuts and bruises, old marks lay – all of them without exception the work of his father. None of them that anyone else had seen.
"Hey, what's taking so damn long? I need to piss," Touya's muffled baritone was accompanied with an impatient series of knocks.
At the sound of his voice, the tears came back with fervor for a second round. He tried scrubbing them away, to no avail.
Taking a stabilizing breath, he let out a soft murmur. "Just another minute," hoping it was audible.
The knocking stopped altogether. Shouto could hear the shifting of a body against the wood.
There was a silent moment, and then, "Shouto, I'm coming in."
And there was nothing he could have done in retaliation, not enough time to put on clothes, to close the curtain to the freak show that was his body in its current condition.
Hands trembling, he looked up at his brother, towering over him. The first sensation that hit him was a shock zipping up his spine, just for a second as he looked at his image. He hadn't had the chance to do so, since they barely crossed paths anymore. Fuyumi had told him Touya decided to dye his hair black, told him of the bruises that appeared the other day over his body. Touya vowed to their father that the day he turned sixteen he would legally alter whatever he wanted in his body and there would be no stopping him. Father said it didn't matter, since he was worthless anyways.
Shouto didn't get to see the new look yet, only in fleeting moments. At first he felt like someone else was residing in the house instead of Touya, but now he could validate with his own eyes the same face. Same piercing blue gaze. It was all so jarringly similar but different; it made his head spin. It suited him - made everything bolder and sharper - the slanted shape of his eyes, the sharp cheekbones - yet he couldn't shake the feeling of uncanniness, like this was Touya but it also wasn't. Like something might have changed deeper, under the surface, where he couldn't see. Where he couldn't know.
Something cold washed over his mind, looking at his face.
"I fell from the tree," he tried explaining and he wasn't sure why it sounded like an excuse, or if it really mattered at all.
Wordlessly, Touya took the supply from his hands, gaze skimming quickly over his naked body. He sat Shouto on the bath's edge, one hand guiding him at his elbow and crouched in front of him. One by one he swept the antiseptic-dabbed cotton over fresh cuts, applying gauze, moving on; his hands hovered over the bruises, over the interlaying map of old and new. A shaky breath left his lips.
They stayed silent, only the occasional gasp as Touya pressed too hard. He didn't apologize, but let his fingertips linger just a moment longer, caressing the unhurt skin around it. The touch sent a rattle through his bones, raising his flesh. Shouto noticed the way his brother's breath seemed to flatten then, eyes hyper focused and then escaping to the floor a moment later.
He didn't know what to make of it.
In fact, he couldn't ignore the odd atmosphere that settled over them. His heart beat loudly in his ears like the flapping of a desperate bird; his tears threatened to renew their race down gravity's lane.
He could only scrunch his eyes shut, head bowed. It'll be over soon, and Touya would leave, and Shouto would finally be able to cry, to relish in the memory of his brother's hands touching him, even if his eyes wouldn't meet his own.
Apparently, though, the universe had a different course to walk them through, because suddenly he felt a warm palm on the crown of his head, fingers threading gently into his hair, over the shape of his scalp. Coaxed his face up, settling underneath his jaw with care.
Unintentionally he leaned into the touch, eyelids lowering in half.
The buzz of the overhead fluorescent filled his head.
Touya swept at the cut on his nose, placing a bandage over it. In a moment he was done, but his hand remained in place, and his face was so close Shouto could see his fair skin tinted blue in the white light. His chapped lips dry with the winds of autumn. His eyes, the deepest turquoise as ever, but unlike the ocean they used to remind him, now he could only see the pit of a blazing fire.
Something hot and breath-halting overtook his body at the way Touya looked at him. He had never seen such a thing in them before, and again, he found his head spinning. Instead of fear, a different sensation inflated his body.
A shiver ran over him. All at once he was awfully aware of the fact he was fully naked while his brother was fully clothed. A slow burn unfurled across his face, surprising and dislocating.
A bang from the front door of the house closing shut cut through the tense air. Just like that, the moment – and whatever had transpired between them – was over, and Touya was standing up, backing away again. But this time he didn't turn his back to him, instead pinned him in place with his fiery eyes, the black spikes of his hair a Reaper's halo, yet rather than scared, Shouto found himself drawn in.
Even hours later he couldn't shake the sinking feeling in his stomach, the slight mortification slithering in his gut over the pull he couldn't deny.
______
Keeping them apart, distancing himself as much as he could - it was unbearably hard and made him grind his teeth in anguish, but he had no other choice. There was no other way to settle the mess going on in his head but to abort all contact.
That was the mantra, at least until he laid his eyes on the blues and purples coloring his baby brother's skin. The sight of the bruises upset him, made an awful feeling of contempt bloat his stomach.
But that was partly a lie, wasn't it? What really made a low growl rattle in his chest wasn't the existence of the bruises but their origin. He knew he was a pervert, his mind was kind enough to conjure different visuals every other night without fail for the last couple of years, but he wasn't aware this perversion started seeping into reality.
He was sure Shouto didn't notice; he was a smart kid, but pretty guileless in these matters. And as long as Touya didn't do anything, it was his private sin to carry, contaminating only himself.
But those bruises. He wanted to put them there, he wanted to suck them onto his pearly skin, to bite into the soft flesh. He wanted to wrap his nimble fingers over his hips. He wanted to mark his territory, he wanted everyone to know Shouto was caged in his and his arms alone. No one could touch him. No one could look at him, no one could lust for him. Only he could.
And he knew without a doubt others were eyeing his baby brother. He was slowly losing the childish fat, jaw starting to sharpen, shoulders filling in. Soon he would pass Fuyumi in height for sure. Of course these changes were minute; his damn voice didn't even fully transition. It could be all in his head, could be the result of his over-active, filthy imagination. Still, he was sure he couldn't possibly be the only one. Shouto was cute as a child, pretty in a non-overtly masculine way. He wasn't too feminine as well, and Touya was pretty sure he wouldn't grow up to be lithe and tall as himself. It was just a hunch, but Touya could already picture him, shorter than his big brother but more muscular, jaw defined, eyes hardened as the years passed.
It made him want to mark him all the more. Would he put up a fight? Would he try to dispute Touya's reign, mutiny against him?
Touya wouldn't let him. He would catch his wrists, pin them over his head. He would ghost his warm breath over the trembling form of his brother, trail his palm down his heaving chest.
Please. Please stop.
Was it Shouto's voice in his head or his own?
Teeth gnawing on bruised lips, chest constricting, he willed his mind into silence. It was getting easier these days, like a torrent of a hurricane finally fizzling out. Some debris here and there, more damage to swallow down. Without another choice, he'd take it all.
______
Something shifted between them again, after the ‘tree incident’ as Shouto dubbed it. Their time together was still sparse and further dwindling, but now Touya seemed to always seek him out. From afar, yes, but constantly. Whereas Shouto felt invisible before, now he felt almost too bare. Turquoise headlights tailed him whenever the opportunity was present.
It did funny things to his stomach, which in turn did confusing things to his head. He chalked it up to the yearning that plagued him since they drifted apart; he was obviously just missing his brother dearly, and now when something finally seemed to be slowly changing, he was starving for his attention again. Might not be the most noble of sensations, but no one had to know. He was a master in concealing his emotions; been told many times that he was unreadable by his peers in class.
Good, he thought then. Letting your emotions broadcast unchecked was a dangerous thing. It gave ammunition to those around you.
He could still feel embarrassment taint his cheeks at the memories of his younger self, acting unreserved, at some cases unfiltered around his siblings. No wonder Touya drifted away, he used to be such a needy child for him.
And now his mind was torturing him. Every thought ended with his big brother; what would he say about this, what would he think about that. On and on, like Shouto was on a leash, roaming around the premise of his life, yet every once in a while he would be jerked back by a bony hand wrapped around leather, a constant reminder of where his thoughts truly belonged.
He shook his head, sitting heavily by their living room's kotatsu. Homework waited for him, and Fuyumi would be down every second now to help with English, the subject he struggled with the most.
"Okay! Let's get started," she bounded down the stairs, settling beside him. Her hair was in its usual messy bun, glasses hitching up on her nose as she smiled.
"Yeah," he sighed but already felt less agitated. Fuyumi always had that calming effect on him.
He leafed through his bag, pulling out a stack of books and notebooks. He was looking for the blue one, sitting at the bottom of the pile, when something strange caught his eye.
A second too late he was though, as his sharp-eyed sister snatched the white envelope from between the stack and held it close for examination. An indignant "Hey!" left his mouth but she was already snickering, eyes glowing with mischief.
"What's this? A love letter from a secret admirer?" Her tone taunted him good-naturally. He huffed, half annoyed at her and half annoyed at the paper he missed noticing. Brow creased, he tried to snatch it back, only she dodged out of his reach in time.
"It says 'To Shouto, my one and only," her finger trailed the letters on the front, making him blanch. He leaned back, eyes rolling. This made her laugh. "What, already used to being the lady's man?"
He sighed through his nose. "It's not the first one," he admitted, finally finding his English notes. Fuyumi took his disinterest as affirmation and opened the little envelope herself. As her eyes skimmed over the content, her face contorted further with snickers and snorts, and by the end of it she let out a full belly laugh.
"Sheesh! Already a heart breaker! You should read this, it's a good example of overusing metaphors and synonyms."
"Thanks, but I'll pass," he didn't even raise his head, used to the awkward content that awaited inside. Lately he's been receiving more of these, and each time they ended in the trash. What did these girls even see in him? It's not like anyone really knew him. He didn't care for these things anyways.
"Ah, to be young and in love," she sighed dramatically, letting the letter tumble to the floor.
Two hours later Shouto was considerably in a better mood, almost done with his homework. Fuyumi was of great help, as usual, explaining everything patiently and thoroughly.
The moon was already out, burned from sight with the garden lights on. It was way past his bedtime, probably nearing midnight, but their father was away somewhere and no one was around to keep them in check. Which meant -
"Touya! God, you scared me!"
Fuyumi had a palm on her chest, above her heart. "How long were you standing there?"
Touya stood tall - he was still pretty gangly, but he was definitely way taller than any of them - eyes cast down, looking over them. He was leaning on the doorframe, clad in all black.
"Not long," he replied softly. His posture was slack, almost calm in Shouto's eyes, but at the same time he looked...washed-out. Tired, but a tiredness that seeped deeper than the normal lack of a night's sleep.
Fuyumi gave their oldest brother a once over, nose scrunched. "You reek," she accused, accompanied with the mandatory finger waving. At that Touya snorted, lifting his shoulders. "Sorry," he said, but didn't sound apologetic too much.
A stench of cigarettes that now followed Touya at nights and the bitter edge of alcohol penetrated his nose, broadening the smells that he associated with him. Shouto couldn't decide if he disliked it or not. It was dislocating, but intriguing.
He knew he was breathing, but his breath became laboured, dragged slower from his lungs. Odd.
Touya slinked closer. "Don't worry 'Yumi, it won't happen again soon," he gave her a conspiratory half smile and sat next to her on his feet in a crouch.
There was something peculiar in his speech.
"How so?" She asked, her tone not free of judgement and disbelief. Shouto could relate. Ever since Touya turned sixteen he did exactly as he promised - his black hair was a permanent fact by now; the metal in his ears multiplied, slowly crawling over his face too - in his nose, in his eyebrow.
And then there were more changes, of the unseen kind. I made some new friends, he said. A new high school, a fresh start. Somewhere public, fit for a "worthless loser" like himself. Those unknown people - never once brought over, though Shouto could not possibly blame his brother for choosing to be anywhere but here - slowly filled his time. I'm staying over. We're going out. Rationally, Shouto was happy for him. Inside, though, something akin to distaste and anger took over him whenever Touya mentioned them.
"Why do you talk like that?" Shouto barged in, unable to keep himself quiet anymore. Touya turned his turquoise gaze to him, a wide smirk growing on his face. "Ding ding ding! We have a winner," he slurred, breath stinking of beer. Shouto leaned back, and Touya leaned in, and then stuck his tongue out, and -
"Touya! What the hell!"
Oh.
A cursing Fuyumi was a sign of something being immensely off.
But Touya wasn't looking at her. His gaze held Shouto's in an iron grip.
A mischievous grin broke out on his brother’s face, much like a Cheshire cat, newly-pierced tongue still lolled out. It looked positively stupid, and Shouto couldn’t stop staring.
“Why’d you do that?” Fuyumi asked, exasperation in her voice.
“Did it hurt?” Shouto asked at the same time, talking without thinking, again. Lately he’d become pretty ineloquent around him. It was probably due to the fact they barely saw each other anymore, and Shouto always felt like he wasn’t quite sure how to approach this half-new, half-not person.
Or maybe it was the constant transformations; every time he saw Touya recently, something seemed to change about him, and Shouto couldn't keep up. A jolt of a memory flashed in his mind; does it hurt he asked, and a pair of arms engulfed him, whispering in his ear. White light overhead, their close bodies reflected in the mirror.
"Not really," a breathless reply. Do you remember it too?
"I think it's gross," Fuyumi concluded, arms crossed defiantly over her chest. A chuckle was Touya's honest reply. "What do you think, baby brother?"
Why was he looking at him like that?
He didn't like it. He didn't like the way his stomach somersaulted at the amount of attention that he gave him, the intensity of it. even the way he talked to him sounded different in his ears. Was he imagining all of this?
What was wrong with him?
Heat spread over his cheeks. "It's…okay," he said, non-committing, averting his gaze down. Touya's hands were splayed on the kotatsu, fingers long and slender.
A short silence ensued. It's weird again because of me, he thought, feeling tortured by unseen forces.
"Well," their sister stretched, arms over her head, "I think I'm heading to bed," she sighed, leaning over to collect her pens. Touya sat back by now, mouth closed in a firm line.
I ought to do the same, Shouto thought, organizing his things, a new urgency pumping in his limbs. He was already standing when Fuyumi snickered in the silence. "Shou, don't forget your love letter," she handed him the offending piece of paper. He rolled his eyes, bended down –
A quick hand snatched the paper before he could. "Hey," he scowled, but was ignored.
Touya's eyes skimmed over the page. With every passing second a sinking feeling pulled down his lungs. Touya's shoulder hunched, eyebrows drawing together. Fuyumi said teasingly, "Apparently our Shouto is very popular," but Touya wasn't indulging in the jab. He was uncomfortably silent.
After what felt like forever, he let the piece of paper fall from his hands. His eyes remained on it, though, and he looked contemplative. He took a deep breath.
"Who is she?"
For some reason Shouto felt admonished, and something helpless beat its fluttering wings in his chest. "I don't know, I don't even know half the people who write them," he croaked, hearing the edge of desperation in his voice.
It was the wrong answer. Although he was seated, Touya's slanted gaze shackled him down, towered over him like he was the one standing above Shouto and not the other way around.
"There are more?"
A dangerous lilt carried over. Shouto felt a single bead of sweat trail down his back.
"It's just an innocent letter, Touya, come on. They're like, almost thirteen, you know," Fuyumi hit him on the shoulder.
A nervous ball of energy rolled in his stomach, tumbling over and over. He wanted to get out of there. He didn't want to think about what the look Touya gave him made him feel, the way his voice gripped tightly at the back of his neck.
"Right," the raven said, and then laughed shortly. He threw them a half smile, strained at the corners, standing up suddenly. "Well, I'm beat. Goodnight," he bid them over his shoulder, speech botched. It sounded half-forced in Shouto's ears, and the transition of emotions was too fast to process fully. He stood there, half dumbstruck, wondering why he felt guilty, as if he did something wrong.
______
"Yeah, fuck, choke on it – "
The music was overwhelming, pounding in his head alongside his quickening heartbeat. Sweat dripped down his temples, humid air suffocating him.
He buried himself deeper in the guy's throat, feeling sick satisfaction at his wide pleading eyes, the gag he couldn't keep back as he fucked his throat relentlessly. Tears trailed down his flushed cheeks and he moaned desperately, palming himself through his dark pants.
"You're such a good little cock-sucking whore, aren't you?" he sneered, grip tightening at the back of his head, brown hair filtering through his tense fingers. He was hurting him; he rammed himself inside his mouth, feeling the back of his sore throat on the head of his cock.
Maybe the nameless fucker on the ground tried to tell him something, clawing at his leg; Touya couldn't hear, and couldn't care less, frankly. Not like he could expect him to hear anything in this loud fucking shithole.
The venue was filled with sweaty bodies, moving with the rhythm of the shredding guitars. The girl on stage was screaming to the mic, fast and furious and heart-clenchingly angry; Himiko really wanted to see this band live and nagged them all to come, and Touya blandly agreed, though he didn't know the band and wasn't a big fan of packed places and live shows. Getting shitfaced and hanging out was fine; in the beginning he was actually enjoying the new world his friends introduced him to. He could still vividly remember the first time they went out to get wasted, the liberating freedom that burned in his veins alongside the cheap alcohol.
'Getting old' wasn't exactly the phrase that matched this situation, though. It wasn't like he enjoyed it immensely less, it just…wasn't exactly what he needed, right now. Something was missing.
The crowd broke out in an uproar, cheering and hollering. Nameless guy and himself were at the very, very back – leaned on the graffiti-covered wall in the stinking bathroom. It had no door, and the stalls could barely be called private; it was a known fact you shouldn't really enter if you wanted to use it for its original purpose. And Touya didn't care for wandering eyes, quite the contrary. His own half-mooned gaze caught several onlookers. Some averted their ashamed gazes quickly, some lingered with lust weighing them down.
"We've got quite the crowd here, sweetheart," he said lowly but clearly, making sure he could hear him. A moan vibrated around his hard dick, making him groan in retaliation; a lecherous smirk hung on his face as he looked down at the guy between his legs.
"That making you hot, you pervert? Bet you get off on that. You like knowing they're watching you, don't you," he mocked lewdly, tightening his grip even more. The guy groaned, lips pursed around his cock, a helpless crease between his drawn eyebrows.
Thump thump thump, his heartbeat traveled in his booze-addled veins. He felt hot all over; guts warming slowly, soon to be over-heated; hands on fire where they tugged and pulled, pushing and halting at his will.
Another song ended, and Touya let his eyes up, legs quivering. Thunderous clapping and star-struck screams assaulted his ears; a sneaky tongue licked at the tip of his member in his moment of halting. Whoever this stranger was, he was good at giving head – pliant enough but initiative too. A bit too initiative, sadly, as he tried to distance Touya with hands on his hips.
Touya had to stop that.
In that moment, he was reminded of another insolent behavior, provoking his blood to boil immediately. He was too wasted to convince himself that now was not the time to think about mismatched eyes and ruby lips; fuck that. It was always the time, always on his mind, revolving around him, blocking any exits. He was hot and horny and he wished he wasn't fucking a stranger's mouth to scratch the edge off.
Fuck that stupid love letter, fuck all those girls and boys throwing themselves at his baby brother's feet. His fingers dug deeper, nails clawing at scalp, eliciting a pained mewl from below.
Fuck fuck fuck.
A deep, shuddering breath heaved from his lungs, mind racing. He pulled all the way back, leaving the head of his cock on the guy's lips, keeping him still with one hand at the back of his neck and the other on the crown of his head. "You’re such a good boy for me, sweetheart. You're going to let me fuck that pretty little mouth hard and good, won't you?"
Someone let out a curse in front of him, but it was too dark to discern who exactly was watching, who was getting off to their little show. His dick twitched, smirk gaining a wicked twist. The guy took the opportunity to huff a much needed gasp – Touya hadn't let him come up for air at all.
Without warning he plunged himself right back, a shock of pleasure shooting up his spine. A choked moan reverberated in the small space, loud and clear over the quiet part in the song currently playing. Filthy. He could feel his cheeks heat, could feel the guy sobbing around his dick. He didn't let him move an inch as he fucked his face hard and shallow, barely pulling out at all. He was trembling, angry, so fucking angry; he wanted nothing more than to wreck him. He wanted to claw his fingers down and draw blood, he wanted to mutilate; he needed to have him. He needed him, his body ached for him, his mind was slowly breaking apart over his growing body, his nimble fingers, his milky white thighs. They'd look so good wrapped around his waist. His long throat would bob with swallowed moans as he'd fuck himself open on his cock, head thrown back and mouth agape; as he would ram up inside that tight ass, the one no one had before, his brother's ass, his brother. Mine mine mine his mind howled, guttural and beast-like, lower stomach clenching, hips stuttering over and over.
He made sure he was as deep as he could be when he shot his load down the guy's throat, keeping him in place for each warm spurt of cum he released. His eyes were closed; somewhere in his sinful, sunken consciousness, red and white strands blended between his fingers, obscuring blues and greys from view. Wide, blown-out pupils stared up at him, hot cum mixing with saliva and dripping on his chin.
"Shit," the stranger gasped on his knees, holding his throat. A dark patch spread over the front of his pants, body trembling.
The familiar tide started rising over his body, behind his eyelids. Touya took a deep, grounding breath and tucked himself in, already walking out of the bathroom. Ignoring the guy's calls, disregarding the various whistles and scorching looks he felt following him. He needed to get out, he wanted to get the fuck out of there; he was grasping with trembling hands at his shattered self-control. He lost count of how many times Shouto was present in his sexual fantasies; more than he cared to count.
The tide was growing taller, taller and all-consuming. He didn't say goodbye to any of his friends, letting the cold night's air slap his heated skin, guide his dislocated focus to the movement of his legs.
Oh, how wrong was he. It wasn't a hurricane at all, nothing he could tame at will. It was a dam, slowly filling with every immoral thought, and all it took - he knew it, he dreaded it, he craved for it every night - was a little push to flood it all.