Chapter Text
“I told you to stop fucking doing shots,” Sukuna said, loosening his collar. “You have a high alcohol tolerance, but you’re not a god like me.”
“I get it, I got it, I’ll stop,” Yuji muttered, not quite stumbling, but bent over slightly, as though being closer to the ground felt more stable.
“There’s no alcohol here, so yeah, I imagine you will,” Sukuna said, rolling his eyes. There was no point in trading nonsense with a drunkard, except that it was fun, and the next day he could rub it in Yuji’s face. (And in fact, there was more alcohol in their room, stashed in strategic locations like sock drawers.)
“Lemme just…”
“Why’re taking off your pants?” Sukuna asked, amused. “What the hell? Why’re you getting out your dick?”
In the end, Yuji just managed to undo his zipper, not undressing, as Sukuna thought he was.
“I gotta piss real bad,” Yuji murmured.
“Oh?” Sukuna had perked up. “Are you really that far gone? Goddamn, Yuji. Hey, do you need me to hold it for you?”
He couldn’t (wouldn’t) help but delight in his brother’s state of weakness, openly laughing at him.
Yuji stopped, dick held loosely in hand. Sukuna could almost see the calculations inching by behind his eyes. “Hold it for you?”
“No, hold it for you, stupid. Why are you trying to hold mine, you idiot?”
It was a trifling thing, a throwaway joke, and it was well and truly thrown away on Yuji, who just could not seem to understand. “Hold yours,” he muttered to himself, frown lines etching his forehead. He was working very hard. The comprehension still wasn’t there, but the spirit was willing, anyway—he reached out and cupped Sukuna in one hand.
“Don’t do that, brat, I don’t want to have to jerk off tonight,” Sukuna said, a little of the laughter fading from his face. It’d been a minute since he’d had a hookup and just having someone’s hot hand touching him was more than enough to tempt him.
Yuji raised his eyes to meet his brother’s, deadly serious. “I’m holding it.”
“I fuckin’ know you are. Stop.” Sukuna stepped backwards out of the touch, annoyed at the prospect of forgoing tormenting Yuji for jerking off. He could always do the latter—but they’d been raised in separate households until some years back and there was still a certain amount of musical households, not to mention work, not to mention Yuji’s 5000 idiot friends. It didn’t leave him nearly enough time to do what he used to be able to do all day.
Yuji blinked, confused. Then he looked down at his own dick, which was still hanging shamelessly from his unzipped pants. “Hey, why is my dick out?”
Sukuna was caught between a laugh and a groan. This joke was really getting dragged out now. “Look, just forget it—take a fucking shower and go to bed. You’re really wasted.”
For reasons Sukuna could not discern, this caused a mild panic in Yuji. “No, I can hold it! I’ll hold it. It was the wrong ‘hold it,’ right? I get it now. And—and I will.”
Sukuna cocked his head to the side.
Hunh.
There was something about that expression, the painfully eager-to-please anxiety, transposed over Yuji’s usual equally painful earnestness.
And there were even…holy shit, were those tears in his eyes?
…Damn that hand.
It’d really fucked him up.
Sukuna took a step closer.
“Yuji,” he said, his voice an octave lower. “What do you think you’re holding for me?”
“I—I was gonna piss on the wall,” Yuji muttered, his cheeks darkening. “I know I drank too much.” He hung his head. “I’m sorry.”
Oh.
Sukuna was doing his own calculating, and he was doing it much, much faster than Yuji.
“Fuck, my dick’s still out, hang on—”
“Well now, let’s not be hasty,” Sukuna said, lowering Yuji’s fumbling hand with one of his own. “You’re having trouble holding it, right? You need to go?”
Yuji nodded slowly, looking for all the world like a kid who was about to receive a scolding.
“That’s okay, Yuji. I think I can forgive you if you hold it for me,” Sukuna said kindly, even brushing his brother’s hot cheeks with his hand. “But I’m not a monster, you know? We can make it easier on you. Isn’t it harder to piss if you’re,” he lowered the hand, cupping Yuji’s penis gently, “a little hard?”
Yuji looked doubtful; then he brightened. “That’s true.”
Sukuna almost couldn’t believe his luck. His brother had always been stupid, but alcohol truly magnified this quality of his. It made him more emotional than usual, too, which in turn made him even easier to manipulate than usual.
“I’ll help you,” Sukuna said, voice gentle-sounding, and led him over to the bunk bed that they still shared sometimes. They were both fresh out of college now, yet the room almost hadn’t been touched since they were kids. Well, he’d peeled off the stick-on glow stars himself (multiple times, since Yuji kept putting them back up) and taken down some of their more embarrassing posters, cleaned a few things up, but it was essentially the same. They even kept their places; Sukuna up top and Yuji below.
The difference now was that Sukuna was squeezing them both into the bottom bunk, Yuji caged up against the wall and Sukuna pressed up against him. Yet Yuji didn’t even try to escape, accepting the crush, body held at awkward angles and yet completely relaxed.
The difference now was that Sukuna quietly locked the door.
“Why’d you try to match Mom, anyway?” Sukuna murmured, stroking Yuji’s hair back on impulse. “You know you can’t outdrink her.”
“I figured I’m bigger now…” Yuji said, eyes resting on the wall, half-lidded. “But she’s just built different, I guess.”
“Hey, that was pretty coherent,” Sukuna said, patting his shoulder condescendingly. “You sobering up or something?”
“Mhm.”
Sukuna briefly considered getting more alcohol, but decided against it. He could always do it if he needed to, but right now he had Yuji right where he wanted him. Besides, the appeal of fucking Yuji through alcohol poisoning was minimal, at best. Blood and guts, fine. Vomit—a byproduct of certain acts that he preferred to keep a certain distance from. Particularly when it came to sex.
Sukuna manipulated Yuji’s arms above his head and pulled off his stupid Christmas sweater, then his shirt. He didn’t even bother to offer an explanation, and yet Yuji let him, perfectly trusting.
Which was crazy.
But Yuji had always been a little crazy. Just in nearly opposite ways to Sukuna’s own so-called madness.
The things that had led to him being raised elsewhere for so many years, until he’d learned to hide them better.
The things that Yuji somehow was not dissuaded by, albeit probably did not fully understand.
Things that even Yuji himself had not altogether escaped from.
It was just that if you also gave Yuji affection and played basketball with him and tolerated his stupid friends, the shit he would put up with was frankly a little impressive.
“How come your chest’s so big?” Sukuna asked, amused. He’d never really noticed it before. This had not, in fact, quite occurred to him before altogether. He’d had dreams about it, but assumed they were the products of a hormone-ravaged adolescent mind, or later, that he was just in need of a good fuck.
After all, he didn’t care for men.
That Yuji was also his brother was both totally incidental and all-important.
He was Yuji, and he was also a part of Sukuna, his mirror image.
His tits were pretty soft, considering how hard the rest of his body was. All muscle and bone, with just a little softness from some good home cooking. That was nice. It made him more pleasant to touch.
To grope, if he was being technical.
Yuji didn’t protest, but he did look minorly confused, like the math wasn’t adding up again.
Sukuna trailed his hand down all of that muscled softness, coming to rest just over his lower stomach.
In a moment of pure sadism, he squeezed.
“Fuck, Sukuna! Don’t do that,” Yuji groaned, contorting into a ball around the large hand, which felt nice and warm.
Sukuna chuckled, pleased at his reaction. “You’re still pretty fun.” He paused to consider, cocking his head to the side. He could go in dry, but once again—that would probably lead to some annoying outcomes. Hospital, parental rage, etc. And Yuji would probably hurt either way, so Sukuna probably wouldn’t miss out. It was just annoying to have to…
“…You’re not feeling nauseous, right?” he asked.
“No,” Yuji mumbled, contorted in various contradictory directions against him and seeming as though he might be falling asleep.
“Great,” Sukuna said, and pried two fingers past Yuji’s closed lips.
“’Ey!” Yuji managed to choke out. But then he couldn’t form syllables at all; Sukuna had shoved his fingers down his throat and was now moving them in apparent fascination, in a mimicry of finger-fucking that produced more than enough of the saliva he was after.
“Yet you’re not gagging,” Sukuna observed, sitting up so that he could lean over Yuji more, gain even more maneuverability for fucking his throat.
He filed that information away for later.
He’d really intended to just get off, to put the saliva to use at once, but for some reason he found himself trailing his fingers—webbed and heavy with spit—down Yuji’s stomach, down, down to his cock, which he had said he would make hard. It was his first time touching another man’s dick and despite having one himself, there was an undeniable novelty to it. It was soft, hot, and hard all at once, like the world’s most fragile glass wrapped in velvet.
It would be so easy to shatter.
…Instead, he moved his hand over it, nice and slow, slicking it up.
Yuji moaned faintly. “Feels good.”
“And you know it’s me doing it, right?” Sukuna asked, his mouth at Yuji’s ear. “Hm?”
The question seemed like too much for Yuji, who, more than being stimulated awake like Sukuna, seemed more to be lulled to sleep by the pleasant sensations. Or maybe it was simply the natural result of too much alcohol, of a person who played as hard as he slept. Sukuna had watched him flop into bed plenty of times, only for his breathing to even out nearly instantaneously.
The only difference was that this time, he watched it catch in his throat.
Whether with that intention or not, sleep did not become a sanctuary for Yuji.
His dream began at once.
Around his bare feet, there were shallow pools of red. And given the thick, iron smell in the air, there was no denying what they were made of. They were interrupted by islands of white, culminating in one giant pile of animal bones, including human skulls and hands. Some of the skeletons were partially intact, but for the most part, everything seemed to have been rent apart, bricks for a building of bone.
Atop that pile, there sat a man. One leg rested casually on the other, as his head rested in one hand. He looked down on Yuji, expressionless. He looked just like Sukuna, black tattoos covering his face and upper body, light hair over black, except that he was wearing a white kimono edged with black and black sandals. And although Sukuna was a confident man—arrogant, some would say—there was a presence to this version of his brother that felt crushing. As though Yuji were at the very bottom of the throne of bone because that was his place; because Sukuna had kicked him down there.
It was something physical to wade against, as though the pools of blood were much deeper than they really were. But Yuji had always been stubborn, and being pushed against just made him push that much harder. So he pushed his way to the base of the makeshift throne, glaring up at this nightmare version of his brother.
“Crowned yourself emperor?” Yuji asked, calling out to him. After all, whatever differences there were, and wherever they were, he would recognize him in any form that he could take.
Sukuna’s red eyes had rolled down even further, tracking him. “As though I didn’t earn my place here. Since you know who you’re talking to, don’t you think that you should be much closer to the ground?”
“Ha!” Yuji was already beginning to climb the small mountain of bones. The trouble with this was that they were sharp—teeth bit at him, horns threatened to pierce him through entirely. It was bad enough to make him pause, but not so much for himself. “Hey, get down from there already. It’s not safe. My feet are getting cut to Hell.”
“Consider not climbing it,” Sukuna said drily, and for a moment, his face overlapped entirely with the Sukuna Yuji was more familiar with. The truth was that their set of expressions was really not very different. It was just that in waking life, when his brother looked at him, there was something a little more there. “Though at least it’s put you on your hands and knees, where you belong.”
“I’m being serious,” Yuji huffed, concentrating on putting his hands and feet on rounded or blunt edges of bone. He was already smearing blood on them as it was, trailing red. “This is probably how you get diseases, too.”
Sukuna frowned slightly, looking disdainful. “As though I could become infected.”
“You always act like you’re immortal,” Yuji said, an antelope’s skull sliding out from under him and tumbling down the pile to crack in half at the bottom. He barely avoided falling with it. If he wasn’t so sure-footed, there was no way he would have been able to climb something so loosely constructed at all.
Sukuna rose from where he had been elegantly sprawled, and it was because of this that Yuji realized he’d wound up at his feet after all, having climbed to the more or less flat top of the mound. He tried to stand, too, only to be kicked back down by Sukuna. “Ow!”
“I don’t like the way you’re addressing me,” Sukuna said coldly. “If you think that just because we have a bit of blood in common, we are equals, you are sorely mistaken.”
“Hey,” Yuji said, frowning. He wiped his lip, which had been cut on bone when Sukuna kicked his head into the ground. “That’s taking it too far, Sukuna. You might be—”
Another swift kick, this time to his spine. “Rethink your absence of honorifics. Now.”
“You’re being a real bastard this time!” Yuji said angrily, raising his head, only to have a large hand palm the back of it and smash it once more to the ground. “OW. Fuck! Okay, okay, you want to play emperor, we’ll do that. I swear, you call me childish…”
The hand at the back of his head had paused. “…But if it is you, how did you survive? I ate you.”
“Uh, you gotta give me some background on that one,” Yuji said. “I’m not an improv actor.”
“Shut up,” Sukuna said automatically, grinding him back into the bones. “I’m thinking.”
“Well, don’t hurt yourself,” Yuji said, earning a casual slap to the back of his head that had him seeing stars. And he had a hard head. “Damn! Alright, alright, I’m playing.”
Sukuna wrapped his fingers in Yuji’s hair and jerked him upright. Yuji noticed that on his other hand, there were black claws. A sense of unease finally began to grow in him. A sense that grew stronger as Sukuna’s red eyes studied him, flicking from his cut-up feet to the hair they both shared.
Sukuna frowned. His eyes landed on Yuji’s mid-section. “Has this really aroused you?”
Yuji’s gaze followed his, down to his…hard-on?!
“Uh, that’s because…wait, this is a dream, right?” Yuji said, half in a panic. “It’s definitely got nothing to do with you, so don’t—”
“I’ve met more than a few of you in my time,” Sukuna said coldly. “I don’t care for you. I choose when it hurts.”
“It does!” Yuji said quickly, trying desperately to make his erection disappear. But the thing was—even just imagining a scenario like this should have been more than enough to prevent it in the first place. If this was a dream, either it was just one of those dream-logic things, or maybe he’d been having a more pleasant dream before this one…
“Clearly not enough,” Sukuna said, grabbing him by the front of his shirt and pulling him closer.
Wait, he remembered this shirt…it was the shirt he’d been wearing underneath his Christmas sweater. He’d chosen it because it was on theme: a Krampus holding a mug of hot chocolate. But hadn’t he taken it off earlier? Or somehow it had just…come off?
“You’re always so arrogant about what you can handle,” Sukuna sneered, and Yuji thought, again, that he was talking about masochists. Which Yuji wasn’t! “But I’ve not met a one of you that can withstand me.”
“There’s seriously a misunderstanding,” Yuji protested, trying unsuccessfully to back away. As with the real life (other?) Sukuna, and Yuji himself, he was stupidly strong. No, maybe even stronger here, since when Yuji was awake, he usually stood at least some kind of chance against Sukuna. But all that he succeeded in doing here was getting his shirt ripped and nearly hurling himself backward off of the platform. He would have, if Sukuna hadn’t reached out with a second hand, quick as anything, and caught him by his waist.
“Ahhhhhh,” Yuji hissed, trying instinctively to bend away from the pain, which only twisted Sukuna’s claws deeper into his flesh. “Why do you have claws?”
“Why would I not?” Sukuna asked, narrowing his eyes at him. “Normally I’ve a second set as well. If you were as familiar with me as you pretend to be, you would know that.”
Impatient, he shredded what was left of the shirt and tossed it away.
“Try not to bleed out on the bones,” Sukuna said, throwing him to the ground. “I’d rather you not die before I prove my point.”
“You don’t have to prove anything!” Yuji said eagerly, twisting around from where he lay prone on the ground, having caught himself flat on his hands. “I’m not a masochist, I’m really, really not—” A claw hooked under the elastic of his pants, dragging them down, “—enjoying this?!”
“Say that again when you’re soft,” Sukuna told him. “Or when you yield to me.”
“I am yielding! I don’t like this game, Sukuna, I’m seriously y—”
There was the sound of spitting, followed by something wet and warm hitting his ass.
Yuji was too appalled to even speak.
“Finally,” Sukuna said. “I don’t mind noise, but let’s have fewer words from you.” He licked two fingers, pressed them together as one, and then forced them in none-too gently. “You can scream as much as you like, though. Don’t hold back.”
Yuji didn’t scream, but his words became a long, passionate string of curses and accusations of going “way too fucking far.”
It wasn’t easy to loosen him up; his whole body was tense with pain and the need to crawl away—except that as Sukuna demonstrated, subtly wriggling his fingers, those claws were sharp and moving even a little would mainly free his blood from his body.
“Generous of me, wasn’t it, to ready you like this?” Sukuna asked, though Yuji was almost certain he was talking to himself. “Really, you can’t complain too much. I saw your sorry state and despite you being some kind of brother to me, I’m taking care of it.”
“Don’t,” Yuji pleaded, as the reality of the unreality set in.
It was a dream…right? But if it was, it was some kind of failed lucid dream, where he felt everything all too clearly, yet had no real control.
It wasn’t that his Sukuna wasn’t vicious, wasn’t violent, didn’t take things too far—but even aside from never getting near this far, his Sukuna could usually be swayed. Sometimes that persuasion was a fist, and he’d laugh himself into a slump, distracted or satisfied with whatever bastardry he’d been wreaking. But often it was logic, or, rarely, Yuji’s begging. He scared Yuji, every now and then, but he always stopped before he did anything truly heinous to him. At least by Yuji’s standards.
“Either you’re a good actor,” Sukuna said thoughtfully, and Yuji felt something hot and hard pressing at him, “or this is what you want from me. But you won’t get it. I’ll make sure you don’t enjoy this, you little pervert.”
“I’m. Not!” Yuji ground out, ending in a yell as Sukuna forced his way in.
“Well, at least one of us is, now,” Sukuna said brightly.
Yuji was distracted from answering. Something of a similar feel was sliding down along his front, rubbing against the erection that had fucked him over. Though he had a sense that whatever form it might have taken, this night was never going to go well for him.
“What the fuck…?” With effort, Yuji raised himself on his forearms, barely wincing as the bones further sliced into him. He had to see it. He had to know.
And it was, in fact, exactly what it felt like.
“Why do you have two dicks?”
“Are you my brother or not?” Sukuna asked him, sinking deeper. “You act like you know me better than anyone, but you haven’t even seen my true form, apparently. Here. I’ll treat you to a good look before you die.”
And he pulled out, turning Yuji over onto his back, where he had a dim impression of there being something wrong with the sky, but it was overwhelmed with seeing someone who was both clearly his brother and someone who he had never seen before.
Covering one side of his face was…bone? A wooden mask? and on it were wide, red eyes, in contrast to the slitted eyes on his left side, currently lidded with arousal and staring down at him. There was the same fundamentally arrogant look in them (maybe a little more) yet it finally, irrevocably hit Yuji that this was someone that he didn’t actually know.
Somehow, that was what he saw even before the second set of arms, or the mouth in the center of Sukuna’s stomach.
He no longer shared Yuji’s build, either, which was strong but lithe, built more like a runner than anything else.
Not this man.
And it was a man—Yuji could finally accept that it wasn’t a gimmick; that he didn’t talk quite like his brother, either, and that there was the weight of years to him; a solemnity that his Sukuna didn’t and perhaps wouldn’t know.
“Good, that look suits you much better,” the man said, caressing Yuji’s face with one hand, drawing blood in its wake. “Now—hold onto something.”
Yuji refused to hold onto Sukuna, so he was left scrabbling at bone—not out of obedience, but necessity, as Sukuna seemed to feel he’d been gentle enough already, and began thrusting into him with the full force of those muscles.
“Fuck,” Yuji said through clenched teeth, trying not to scream. If he was going to go through this, if he was going to die here, he didn’t want to satisfy this asshole before he went. He hoped he was a shitty lay.
Unfortunately, Sukuna seemed to be seeking his pain and his suffering, primarily, and had never expected any kind of reciprocation in the first place. It would probably have disgusted him, in fact, but Yuji was nearing the very top of the pain scale, and he didn’t think he could willingly push himself over that edge. Maybe right before death. Yeah, he’d do it then. Once he didn’t have to hold out for too much longer, a final fuck you.
He wasn’t going to get a meaningful death. It seemed that the best that he could do was to maintain what little dignity he had left, and not to submit to this bastard.
Sukuna studied him from above. “Your reactions seem genuine. I can feel the anguish rolling off of you like smoke. And yet…”
Yuji did scream then, in frustration. “Because this is a dream, it’s just a fucking dream, Sukuna! I would never get hard over you, or something like this! Come on!”
“Again, you address me so familiarly,” Sukuna said, bending down to take a bite out of the divot between Yuji’s shoulder and neck. It was not a love bite; it was meant to take, and it took meat with it. “Don’t you want to rethink your poor choices already?”
“…But I do know you!” Yuji said, now in real pain all over, inside and out. “You’re my brother.”
“And what does a bit of blood really mean?” Sukuna asked philosophically, even as his lower mouth’s tongue lolled, dragging up the underside of Yuji’s length, tasting him. The clashing sensations made him squirm. “Are there guarantees in it? Are there promises?” He grinned, and his lower mouth followed suit, even laughing with a slightly more gravelly voice. “Or in the end, will I just eat you again?”
Blood was seeping into the hungry bones beneath him; there was a steady drip-drip-drip, a cave-like echo sounding through the dreamscape.
Yuji realized, then, how the blood pools had come to be.
“Don’t…please don’t touch me like that,” Yuji pleaded, hating the begging, but he really couldn’t stand that heavy pleasure mixed in with the agony, like honey poured into blood. “I really don’t…want this to be my last memory of you.”
And despite himself, despite even the torture not drawing a single tear, Yuji began to cry.
It just made it all feel so fake. Poisoned. Questioned.
All those lazy summer evenings shooting hoops with Sukuna, their shouts echoing into the streets. Sukuna’s sharp barbs over boba at the shop, which Nobara returned right back; Megumi looking between them like he was watching a match. Sukuna’s warm hand on his shoulder, but not like this. Not like this!
He would never.
He definitely wouldn’t ever do this…
But the doubt churned in his stomach like acid; for a moment, he thought he would vomit. But for better or worse, the sensations of Sukuna’s lower mouth sucking him off were too distracting for that. And no matter how desperate his pleas became, increasing in volume and pitch, Sukuna only took encouragement from it, his four eyes alight with malice.
In that moment, they overlapped with those of the Sukuna he thought he knew.
All those dead animals that used to be found in their neighborhood when they were younger; Sukuna’s total disinterest in the whole matter, like he had always already heard about it. Sukuna’s ability to pinpoint someone’s insecurities and taunt them mercilessly for it, driving the needle home until it was a stake in their heart. Sukuna’s warm hand dangling just off of his shoulder, leaving it cold, while the arm was dead, warm weight.
Something in those moments didn’t just feel casually affectionate; in retrospect, they were always when Yuji was talking to a girl. When Yuji had ruffled Megumi’s hair, or Gojo had massaged his shoulders before a match.
This Sukuna leaned down, licking his tears into his mouth.
And despite the horror, despite the paralyzed despair and the sheer physical pain, Yuji came.
It felt so terribly good.
He did scream then, pleasure the least of it.
He could hear, dimly, in the background, Sukuna’s raucous laughter; then a look of surprise, annoyance, and a hand reaching toward Yuji’s face, as though to grab him back from the ledge again.
As with other dreams, perhaps the scream had woken Yuji up. It did not sound from his waking throat, but it reverberated through his whole body, which was drunken and utterly relaxed until that moment. He was lying on a soft bed of down, a blanket half-covering him and half-covering the body behind him. It curled around his, and although there was one hardness of similar size pressed up against his ass, here, it was untouched.
For now.
Yuji came back to himself in panicked stages, feeling the same feeling he’d felt moments before he’d come, the pull in his stomach, the growing tension, the pulsing, flesh encased in flesh, held in Sukuna’s slick hand.
“No,” he muttered, before he could swallow and use his throat again. “No!” He remembered in time where he was; that there were others in the house. It should have been comforting, but right then it only meant that he had to stifle himself. “Let me go!”
“Come on,” Sukuna said in his ear, nipping it playfully. Yuji flinched violently, flashing back to the bite which left a hollow in his flesh. It felt good, but it could always change. In an instant it could change. “Relax, you’re so close.”
“I—” Yuji realized that he didn’t have time to argue with Sukuna. Sukuna, who valued logic over desperation. Sukuna, who didn’t care about the flinch, or the terror that lingered in Yuji’s voice. “The second I cum, I’m going to—I need to go the bathroom, seriously, let go of me—”
Sukuna paused his movements, though he didn’t let go. He was considering. “I guess it’s okay, if it’s yours.”
“It’s not fucking okay!” Yuji’s voice was rising again. “Sukuna, I will fucking scream. Let. Me. Go.”
“Okay, damn,” Sukuna said, holding up his hands. “What are you, a girl? Should I have gotten you a rape whistle for Christmas?”
The joke stung—that Sukuna could still make them, even now, that this was not significant enough to change everything for him, or for him to stop, or for him to have never started at all.
It was just how he always spoke to him.
So had he always been able to treat him like this? Not that Sukuna had changed, but that it had actually always been like this?
Yuji climbed over Sukuna roughly, nearly tripping over him in his desperation to be as far away from him as possible. Sukuna stood fluidly, catching Yuji’s hand as he ran. Yuji tried to fling it from him, but Sukuna had entwined their fingers, and they tangled together, ensnaring him.
“I’ll help you,” Sukuna said, his voice low.
Yuji fought him, but Sukuna was leading them to the bathroom and Yuji had to concentrate on just not pissing himself. He could struggle against his brother, or he could maintain what little was left of his dignity—and not just that, but something told him that he did not want to be any more vulnerable than he already was in front of Sukuna. He did not want to be incapacitated, or need his help, or give him the advantage of humiliation.
Sukuna shut and locked the door behind them, pushing Yuji in front of the toilet. “Go ahead. You were eager enough earlier—almost pissed on the wall.”
Yuji’s face contorted. It was such a stupid thing to mourn, but so recently, so recently, they had just been brothers, and he had never met the other Sukuna, and he should have just made the mess. If he had known how that one ridiculous situation would lead to something so much worse, so much messier in every way—it could have just been a stupid memory that Sukuna would have teased him over for life, but Yuji could have laughed about it.
Things like that could happen. Even if they were gross, even if he would groan when he thought of it, it was not disgusting, like this. It did not make him want to scream, like this.
“Oh,” Sukuna said, leaning around him and unzipping his fly for him. “It’s ‘cause you’re still hard. You should have just let me finish you off and pissed the bed.”
Yuji flashed on his dead body, in another world, blood pooling underneath him and into the bones.
It would have felt similar.
“You sure you’re not going to throw up?” Sukuna asked skeptically. “I’ll leave you to it if you are.”
“Yeah, I-I think I am.”
“Liar,” Sukuna said, stroking his cock, which was, itself, weeping pitifully. “You’ve always been a terrible liar. How did we end up so different, Yuji?”
“Fuck—don’t, don’t, don’t!” Yuji’s voice rose on each panicked note, feeling himself getting closer, his ass instinctively pressing back against Sukuna’s front, relying on him now just to keep himself upright. But it was inevitable again, inescapable again, and without the agony to mask it, with it being the hand that was so familiar, it felt even better, hurling him over the edge with a shudder that wracked his whole body. A splash over white, once more, followed instantaneously by the palest yellow, before the pleasure had even had a chance to fade, before he could stand by himself.
Before the low moan of despair—and worse—had fallen from his lips.
“Yuji,” Sukuna breathed, nosing at his neck.
Yuji tried to shrug him off, remembering all too well that vicious bite, but there was only so much he could do—even that one movement nearly made a mess. He could only stand (lean) there, forced to share this intimacy with someone he’d thought would always have his back; someone who probably did think he had his back, quite literally. He was still keeping him upright, keeping him from making a mess, as he had earlier.
This bite was so much more gentle.
But now, Yuji could feel the tension between it. The shaky breath on his bare skin, the teeth that held them both still, struggling not to sink any deeper.
And because he was not quite being eaten this time, once again, it felt so much better.
Without meaning to, he tilted his head to the side, baring his neck, giving Sukuna better access.
Sukuna, who, even without being given an inch, had taken his mile, now took even more.
Like he always had.
With the hand that wasn’t holding Yuji’s dick, he grasped the divot of Yuji’s waist, as though determined to insert himself into every unoccupied space. His short nails dug into the flesh there, and for a while, until they sank deeper and deeper, drawing blood, it felt good. There, too, Yuji could feel Sukuna’s need to hurt him; the restraint, which was not the restraint of a normal person, who would not do it in the first place, but for someone as impulsive as Sukuna, for someone who did not even pause to consider trifles like needs and feelings, it was also everything.
That Yuji noticed, that he could value that—he hated it so much.
Hated himself, in that moment.
Wondered what it would be like to be unburdened by always seeing into other people, wrapped in a thousand rules and naively out to give them his best, no matter what it did to him.
Because even after all of this, even as Sukuna barely waited ‘til he had finished to tuck him back into his pants, blood beading at his neck and running freely down his side, he understood him too well. Or worse, thought that he did. Maybe he was seeing kindness that wasn’t there; maybe he still knew nothing, in the end.
And yet.
Perversely, incredibly, he was still Sukuna.
Just Sukuna.
His brother.
Things would never be the same, and yet, they wouldn’t be different enough, either. Because he could not make them different. In the end, his heart would betray him, too. Despite his disgust, despite his pain and his fear, he was still the Sukuna that he had shared breakfast with around the table, passing comics back and forth. It did not negate or fundamentally change any of his memories with him; it was just a confusing and repugnant addition.