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The summer night sticks to their skin like honey, thick and cloying, pressing in through the thin walls of their room. The cheap fan in the corner does little more than stir the hot, heavy air, its rhythmic click clack a lazy counterpoint to the sound of their breathing. Matakara lies on his back on the futon, one arm thrown over his eyes, the other resting on the sweat slick plain of his stomach. His chest rises and falls, a deep and steady rhythm in the darkness.
Mitsukuni watches him from the doorway, a silent silhouette against the faint hall light. He can see the gleam of sweat on Matakara's collarbones, the way it traces paths down the defined pectorals, pooling in the valley between them. His brother has grown. It's a thought that's been echoing in Mitsukuni's mind for months, a quiet, persistent refrain. But tonight, seeing him here, vulnerable and powerful all at once, the thought swells into something more, something urgent and possessive.
He steps into the room, bare feet silent on the cool floor. The futon dips slightly under his weight as he kneels beside Matakara. His younger brother doesn't startle, just shifts his arm, blinking slowly up at him. "Mitsukuni?"
"Yeah," Mitsukuni's voice is a low murmur, husky with the heat and something else. "It's me."
His hand hovers for a moment, a phantom limb, before he lets it settle on Matakara's chest. The skin is hot, the muscle beneath it firm and solid. He traces the line of a pectoral, his finger sliding through the sheen of sweat. Matakara shivers, a full body tremor that has nothing to do with the temperature.
"Mitsukuni," he says again, but it's softer this time, a question without words.
"Look at you," Mitsukuni breathes, his thumb brushing over a hardening nipple. "Look at how much you've grown, Matakara. So strong." His other hand comes up to join the first, splaying across the breadth of Matakara's shoulders, feeling the solid muscle there. "All that training...it's paid off."
He leans down, his lips brushing against the damp skin of Matakara's shoulder. He can taste salt, clean and sharp. He mouths a path down the corded muscle of his brother's arm, feeling the power coiled there. "So powerful," he murmurs against Matakara's skin. "My little brother...all grown up."
Matakara makes a low sound in the back of his throat, a choked off gasp as Mitsukuni's teeth graze the sensitive skin of his inner bicep. His hands come up to clutch at Mitsukuni's shoulders, fingers digging in.
"Shh," Mitsukuni soothes, his hands moving down, mapping the terrain of Matakara's torso. He worships the ridges of his brother's abs, tracing each one with a reverence that feels almost holy. He presses a kiss to the navel, feeling the muscles jump under his lips. "Perfect," he whispers, the word a puff of hot air against Matakara's skin. "You're perfect."
He continues his downward journey, nipping at the sharp line of Matakara's hip, his tongue laving the sting away. He can feel the tension thrumming through his brother's body, a coiled spring of want and need and something deeper, something that tastes of forbidden fruit and home. He hooks his fingers in the waistband of Matakara's sweatpants, tugging them down inch by agonizing inch.
Matakara lifts his hips, a silent invitation. Mitsukuni's breath catches in his throat. He's hard, a fact that's impossible to ignore in the close, humid darkness of the room. He strokes a thumb over the head of Matakara's cock, smearing the precome that beads there. Matakara arches into the touch, a broken moan escaping his lips.
"Patience," Mitsukuni chides, though there's no real heat in it. He takes Matakara in his mouth, a slow, deliberate glide that has Matakara's hands fisting in the sheets. He sets a languid pace, a thorough exploration that leaves Matakara panting and writhing beneath him. He pulls back just as Matakara is on the edge, a desperate whine escaping him.
"Mitsukuni, please..."
"Please what?" Mitsukuni asks, his voice a low, teasing rumble. He's shucking his own clothes now, the fabric sticking to his skin before he finally discards it. He kneels between Matakara's spread thighs, the sight of his brother, flushed and wanting, making his own cock ache.
"Please...inside," Matakara manages, the words a breathless plea. "Mitsukuni, please."
Mitsukuni leans over him, bracing himself on his arms. He presses their foreheads together, their mingled breaths hot between them. "Anything for you," he promises, and he means it.
He fumbles for the bottle of lube he knows his brother keeps stashed in the nightstand, the cool gel a stark contrast to the heat of their skin. He preps Matakara slowly, carefully, stretching him open with a patience that contrasts the desperate need clawing at his own insides. He watches Matakara's face, the way his brows furrow in concentration, the way his lips part on a silent gasp as Mitsukuni adds another finger.
"Okay?" Mitsukuni asks, his own breathing ragged.
Matakara nods, a jerky, desperate motion. "Okay. Please, Mitsukuni. Now."
Mitsukuni lines himself up, the head of his cock nudging at Matakara's tight hole. He pushes in, slow and steady, burying himself inch by inch in the tight, welcoming heat of his brother's body. Matakara gasps, his back arching off the futon as Mitsukuni fills him completely.
"God, Matakara," Mitsukuni grits out, his forehead pressed against his brother's shoulder. "So tight. So perfect." He starts to move, a shallow, rocking rhythm that quickly deepens, becomes more demanding. The room fills with the sounds of their exertion, the slap of skin on skin, their mingled gasps and moans.
He watches Matakara's face, the way the moonlight from the window catches the sweat on his temples, the way his jaw is clenched in pleasure. He reaches between them, fisting Matakara's cock in a firm grip, stroking him in time with his thrusts.
"That's it," Mitsukuni encourages, his own control fraying. "Come for me, Matakara."
Matakara cries out, a raw, ragged sound as he spills over Mitsukuni's fist, his body convulsing with the force of his orgasm. The sight, the feel of Matakara clenching around him, is too much. Mitsukuni's own climax hits him like a freight train, a white hot flash of pleasure that steals his breath. He buries himself deep, spilling into his brother's body, a wave of possessive, overwhelming love washing over him.
He collapses onto Matakara, and, for a long moment, the only sound is their ragged breathing, the clicks and clacks of the fan. Mitsukuni shifts, rolling them onto their sides, still buried deep inside Matakara. He presses a soft kiss to the back of Matakara's nec.
"Mine," he whispers, the word a quiet vow in the stillness of the room. Matakara doesn't answer, just pushes back against him, a silent, contented agreement. The fan clicks on, stirring the humid air, and in the sticky, sweltering darkness, they find their own perfect, suffocating peace.