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Satoru knows he’s not a bad person.
He’s not even the worst person living in the apartment.
In comparison to Toji, he’s a good person. In comparison to a good percentage of the planet he’s a way better person than most of them will ever be. He’s never hurt anyone, for one thing, not really, not in a way that matters.
Doesn’t matter how much he’s thought about it. Doesn’t matter how many times he’s seen it happen, how many times he’s sought it out, grainy, glitchy videos of girls with their insides on their outsides and gaping wounds so deep it feels like he could drown in them. He hasn’t done it. He’s never done anything to anyone. Wouldn’t even know how to start, for one thing, because he’s never held a gun, even though Toji keeps trying to teach him how to shoot one, and he’s never really held any kind of weapon at all either, nothing sharp enough to kill.
He’s not a bad person.
He can’t be, because he’s never done anything that anyone didn’t have coming.
Besides, Megumi’s used to it now. Likes it even. Kind of. Probably. Satoru doesn’t know why he wouldn’t. He should like it. It’s better if he does.
He likes it when Satoru holds him down and tells him he’s cute, because they both know it’s the only time that he’s ever going to hear it. He likes feeling wanted, even when he says he doesn’t. Even when he’s got his face pressed into Satoru’s chest or thigh, breath stuttering, body shaking, a beat away from crying.
Satoru wishes he would cry. Maybe then he’d know what to do. Maybe then he could wipe the tears off his face and tell him to shut the fuck up before his dad hears him, instead of shoving him off after a couple minutes and going to boot up his Xbox.
He’s not a psychopath—he usually tosses the second player controller over. More often than not, Megumi will take it. A couple rounds of mindless shooting later and it's like nothing ever happened at all. Megumi presses the buttons he’s supposed to press and kills the NPCs that he’s supposed to kill and it’s easy to forget the dried white streaks on the inside of his thighs, or the way his lip is bitten raw and wobbles every time Satoru scoots a little closer to him. The way he flinches when Satoru puts a hand around over his to help him get a better grip of the controls.
It’s cute. If Satoru hadn’t just done it, he’d fuck him again.
“You know you can talk to me if you want.”
Satoru’s hands shift to trace the line of his wrists, so thin he could probably snap them like a twig.
He presses his thumb against the pulse point of one of them and adds, a little louder, “You should talk to me.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Don’t care.”
“I don’t want to talk to you,” Megumi retorts. It’s probably true, but it’s still not a promise he ever makes good on. He talks to Satoru all the time. He tells him to shut up and tells him to stop and sometimes he’ll ask when their parents are coming home and sometimes when Satoru’s hands are on him he thinks he can hear the word please.
“You know, you're kinda overreacting a little,” Satoru says. “It's not that big a deal.”
“What’s not that big a deal?”
Above them, the pause menu of the game blinks. Megumi flicks through the settings without even really looking at them, changing the audio from stereo to mono and then back again, lowering the volume to two instead of ten and then upping it to eleven, all so he has something to do that isn’t looking at Satoru. Satoru kind of doesn’t blame him. He only puts a stop to it when Megumi gets to the languages, yanking the controller out of the kid’s hands entirely before he can make the whole thing unintelligible and leave Satoru unable to use the console he’s had for the better part of his entire life.
He drops the controller on the floor and turns the game off. “Getting fucked.”
Megumi flushes. “When did I say it was a big deal?”
“When you started being so fucking sad about it.” Satoru snorts, reaching out and thumbing at the sleeve of Megumi’s grey-washed tee. He can tell it’s one of his. “Keep going all limp and letting me fuck you and I’ll start thinking you actually like me or some stupid shit.”
At this, Megumi actually does take some initiative and shove him away, but now it just feels more like he’s just doing it for Satoru’s sake. It doesn’t help he’s still not meeting his eyes, still letting them trail along the faded carpet instead, skipping over one soda stain and landing on another. He yanks the hem of his shirt down over his ass as he stands up and picks his underwear and jeans up off the floor, re-dressing himself as if Satoru isn’t there at all.
White drips down the inside of his thigh and Satoru’s eyes follow it.
“Hey,” he protests. “What’d I do?”
Megumi flips him off.
“Oh fuck,” Satoru snorts, leaning back to look up at him. “You do actually like me, don’t you? Well fuck, don’t let Toji find out. If he hasn’t killed you for calling yourself a boy yet, he definitely will if he finds out you think you’re a boy who thinks he’s a faggot.”
“Shut the fuck up,” Megumi mutters, fumbling with the button of his jeans. His fingers are shaking. There’s sweat stains on his shirt. It’s impossible not to tell he just got fucked, no matter how many layers he puts on. It’s honestly cute he’s even trying.
Satoru not-so-subtly stares at his ass. “What? What’d I say?”
“Just stop talking,” Megumi pleads, taking a half-step around him.
Satoru catches his wrist and tugs him back before he can walk out of the room. “First, stop being fucking weird.”
Megumi freezes in place.
“See, you’re being weeeird. Come on. Do something normal. Fight me off.”
“Just leave me the fuck alone.”
“No. C’mon. Take some fucking initiative.” Satoru loops a couple fingers around Megumi’s belt loop with his other hand. He laughs when Megumi still doesn’t move a muscle, and takes a moment to say fuck it and slip his thumb past the waistband, just enough for the tip to kiss the soft hair at the top of Megumi’s cunt. “God, no wonder you let Toji fuck you.”
Satoru saw the blood on his dick when he popped the kid’s cherry. He knows Toji’s not fucking him the same way he is. Knows he’s never even touched him like that, because if he had he wouldn’t have bled, and if he had, then maybe Megumi would remember it. Maybe he’d tell Satoru the truth when he asks, instead of freezing up and shutting him out.
Even if he’s not fucking him, he’s still put his hands on him. There’s no way he hasn’t. Megumi wears it like a second skin.
He yanks at Megumi’s belt loop once and withdraws his hand. It's not the satisfying snap of elastic rebounding against the kid's skin and springing back, but that's not to say there's no satisfaction at all in the way Megumi still stays there, still, as if the second no one's touching him he doesn't know what to do with himself anymore.
“You should talk to me,” Satoru says again.
Megumi gives a half-hearted shove at his chest. “Stop fucking me first.”
Satoru doesn’t.
Stop fucking him, that is.
It’s not like it’s a threat, and even if it is, there isn’t anything Megumi can do about it. Short of running away and falling prey to God knows what on the streets (something he'd never do, because lesser of two evils and all that, and the devil you know, even if the devil in question is a twenty-eight year old with a libido that rivals a teenager and a front-runner for the prize of worst father on Earth), Megumi’s stuck here. Stuck in Satoru’s apartment, in his bed, between his thighs and curled up into his chest in the middle of the night as he has his third nightmare of the week.
He has a lot of nightmares. Satoru does too sometimes, but Satoru’s aren’t the kind that he wakes up in the middle of the night to cry about. Fuck, he can’t even remember the last time he cried. He wants to say it hasn’t been since high school but the real answer is probably something like a couple months ago. A year ago?
(Last week. He tried to arm-wrestle Toji and got a sprained wrist and a bloody nose, because Satoru cries when he gets hurt and Toji likes to hurt people when they cry.)
Technically speaking, it’s not like Megumi’s crying about his nightmares either, but he’s not shaking them off either. He just tosses and turns a lot. Mumbles things into the folds of Satoru’s shirt that sound a little like stop and a little more like don’t want to, and kicks the blankets off of both of them and leaves them in a messy pile at the foot of the bed.
Maybe Toji should buy the kid his own bed after all. Or maybe not, because if he does then Satoru’s never going to get to do this anymore, sleepy hands creeping up his shirt and curling around his wrists, pulling him close and then closer, close enough to rest his cheek on his shoulder, close enough to wonder what he’s thinking about. Dreaming about. If he’s a part of it, if the monster under his bed is just the same one that’s in it.
He tries to ask him, sometimes.
Megumi stumbles his way around the answer each time. It’s hard to talk while his brain is still thick with sleep, harder still when Satoru’s fingers are tracing patterns into the inside of his thighs, but he still manages to get out something about choking and something else about his skin crawling, and his voice only breaks a little bit when Satoru nudges a knee up against his cunt and asks if Megumi wants him to fuck him back to sleep.
It’s the most Satoru gets out of him. He’s pretty sure the kid doesn’t even remember most of his dreams at all, judging by the way he’ll just slow-blink at Satoru when he asks sometimes. Don’t remember. Twitch of his nose. Think Toji was in it?
Yeah, but what else?
Pause. Dropped eye contact. Think I was about to die.
Megumi’s not dying though, and that’s why Satoru’s snaking a hand past the waistband of his pants to grope at his cunt while the kid noses into his shoulder and snores. He’s wet. He’s so wet all the time. Toji really should’ve had more kids. Maybe they’d all turn out like this.
Freak would probably fuck all of them the same way he's probably fucking Megumi, but whatever.
Satoru wishes his own dad had ever cared about him enough to fuck him.
Although maybe if he had, he never would've left. Maybe Satoru would get why Megumi cries all the time.
Maybe he'd know better than to be two fingers deep in the kid's cunt while he’s asleep but well—it doesn't matter now.
None of it matters. Everything bad that's going to happen already has.
He slides his thumb over Megumi’s clit and presses his face into the kid’s neck. It’s sticky and sweaty and gross but he isn’t moving for anything. Wants to be as close as he can get.
“So fucking wet,” he groans. “You get this wet for your dad? Your dad touch you like this?”
He gets the sense Toji wouldn’t know how to touch a woman if he had an instruction manual staring him right in the face, but Megumi’s not a woman. Not even really a girl, either, no matter how much Satoru wishes he was.
He wonders how hard Toji would slap him if he asked to watch him fuck Megumi. Pay-per-view shit. 4k ultra HD. Satoru would blow the last of his spare change in an instant just to get a glimpse of the betrayal on Megumi’s face as his dad's cock splits him open.
“Bet you wish he did,” he pants against Megumi’s ear, curling his fingers up to the spot inside Megumi that he knows girls are supposed to like. “Bet you wish someone fucked you that actually liked you.”
Megumi groans against his chest.
Satoru pushes a third finger in, and feels the way Megumi constricts around it, so tight. Fucks his fingers in and out, sloppy, until he can hear the kid whining against his chest again, little half-breaths and partial syllables that might be words.
“St—stop it.”
“You really want me to stop?” Satoru pushes his thumb against Megumi’s clit again, feeling it throb under his touch. Megumi’s legs slip open to make a little more room for him and it's hard to tell if the kid's doing it of his own will or the arm pressing between his thighs has something to do with it. “Sure you don’t wanna come? Don’t be fucking stupid.”
Megumi shifts against him, thighs squeezing around Satoru’s wrist, and there’s enough lucidity in the movement for Satoru to be able to tell he’s waking up for real. His eyes flutter open just to squeeze shut again immediately, body twisting under Satoru to try to sit up, as his hand slips down between his legs to cover Satoru’s. “To—What are you…Sa— toru what are you…”
“Shut up,” Satoru says, wrangling him back down and speaking the words directly into his throat. The skin’s soft here. Could suck a bruise into it, if there wasn’t a surefire chance Toji would see it. Could fucking choke the kid out if that didn’t mean having a corpse in his childhood bedroom. He can tell by the way Megumi’s wriggling and squirming, even while barely awake, that he’s close. So close Satoru can almost taste it, licking the sweat from the kid’s jaw and breathing in the scent of his face wash. Satoru’s face wash. Not even really Satoru’s because Satoru doesn’t even ever use it in the first place but whatever. “You ever touch yourself before?”
You ever felt anything that wasn’t inflicted by someone else?
“No,” Megumi gasps.
“You should.”
Would feel good probably, even better than this does, smooth little fingers beating out Satoru’s rougher ones, paper-cut scar on the outside of his index finger, bitten down nails jabbing at the most sensitive parts of the kid. Like he wants to rip him open, even when he doesn't.
Not the way Toji already has.
Satoru noses at his cheek, mouth ghosting close enough to Megumi's he can feel the kid's breath. “Toji ever make you come?”
He feels Megumi's reaction before he hears it, the way he squeezes around his fingers tighter than before. His face crumples and it takes everything Satoru has not to instantly bust in his pants.
He can tell the kid's about to either start crying or start yelling at him so he seals the hand that isn't between Megumi’s legs over his mouth. It does fuck all to stop Megumi from crying but well—at least he’s quieter about it. Sniffling into Satoru’s palm, scrabbling at his wrist like a caged animal.
Who knew all he had to do to get the kid to fight back was make it actually feel good for him.
(Maybe it’s more the fact he ambushed him with it, tore him straight out of a nightmare just to drop him into the reality that’s so much worse.The difference between dreaming about your dad putting his hands on you versus it having been actually been done and having to live with it, having it be held over your head like this, like it’s the only thing that makes you worth anything.)
“C'mon,” Satoru rasps, moving his fingers a little faster. It's so wet. “Stop fucking fighting it. It's not gonna kill you to feel good. Let me make you feel good. I got you.” He nudges his fingers as deep as he can, and it’s so easy the way Megumi comes at that, thighs squeezing tight and teeth sealing shut around the skin of Satoru’s palm in a half moan, half bite.
It burns, but not as much as the way adrenaline courses through Satoru’s veins, pulse steady in line with the squeeze of Megumi’s cunt around his fingers as he whines into Satoru’s hand, mouth so slick with drool it’s almost as wet as his pussy.
It’s weird the way it burns, the smear of Megumi’s lips against his palm. Fucker probably broke the skin. Satoru’s proven right when he pulls his hand away and there's a soft smear of red on the kid's lips. He smears wet fingers over it. There’s the warmth of his breath against his fingertips, stuttered and shaking and sounding like Satoru’s punctured a hole right through him to his lungs.
(He wonders what would happen if he did, if it works the way it does in movies, if a knife in between the ribs is all it takes to get the kid to stop being able to make any sounds at all.)
He nudges his thumb past Megumi’s lips to press against his tongue. “Ever tasted blood before? Or pussy?”
Megumi blinks hazy eyes up at Satoru. Even the press of Satoru’s finger down his cheek, nail digging in the slightest bit, just enough to leave an indent, a mark, only gets the smallest wince.
He still looks a little like he’s about to cry.
He kind of looks like that all the time.
Satoru laughs, heavy and thick and probably way too loud right in Megumi’s ear. He’s way too close to him, but it’s not like it means anything anymore, not when he’s been inside the kid. “Felt good, didn’t it?”
Of course it did.
“I think,” Satoru starts, “That you should say thank you.”
Megumi’s lips part. Before he can even try to speak—even though they both know he won’t, doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t have anything to say that he hasn’t already said, stop stop stop stop you’re a freak you’re a weirdo you’re gross— Satoru pulls his hand away, spit-slick at the palm and wet enough that it drips down his wrist.
“C’mon,” he says. “You can do it. Say thank you, big brother,” he enunciates carefully, each syllable making a little more blood rush to his dick. He should’ve just fucked the kid. Whatever. He’ll jack off when he falls back asleep. Try to jack off for that matter, because God knows he probably isn’t gonna be successful. It's too easy for Megumi to get him off. He’s used to him now. Satoru needs him. All the fake cum and pierced nipples and fuck-me eyes in the world can't compare to the feeling of having his dick inside something he knows he shouldn't.
Megumi just tries to squirm out from under him. He's wearing an Evanescence shirt that Satoru hasn’t seen in years and honestly thought he'd already trashed months ago. His lip still has a smear of blood. The fat of his cheek is flushed pink and wet.
Satoru knocks his hand against it and whines, “Stop being a little bitch.”
“Fuck you,” Megumi says, and he’s barely even spoken before Satoru hits him again, outstretched palm, half fist, nothing like the way you’re supposed to fight, nothing like the way you’re supposed to touch your little brother, but he’s already crossed that line and when his hand comes away stinging and aching he doesn’t really feel anything at all.
Not anything that he’s probably supposed to be feeling.
He wonders if this is how Suguru feels to hurt people, if all it is is this vague emptiness, if they’re more alike than Satoru will ever admit, but then he blinks and Megumi is bleeding.
Megumi is bleeding a lot.
Red streaks down his chin and the side of his cheek, looking a little closer to black in the night. The side of Megumi’s lip split, red and leaking and looking a little like the slit of his cunt. The way the blood’s spread over his upper lip, like maybe some of it’s dripped down from his nose too, viscous and dark.
He flinches when Satoru leans over him.
Oh fuck.
Fuck.
“Don’t cry,” Satoru says carefully. “Don’t you dare fucking cry or I’ll do it again.”
Megumi sniffles, blood bubbling over his lip. He tries to wipe it away with the palm of his hand just to smear it on the front of his shirt. The dark stain spreads over the peak of his tits. More blood trickles out from the cut in his lip. It’s on the wrong side, the side that doesn’t match Toji’s. Some of the blood runs down his neck to soak into his collar. He turns his face away from Satoru and it smears on the pillowcase. It looks like he wants to say something but each time his eyes get anywhere close to Satoru’s they shift away again immediately.
His pants are still around his thighs.
This whole thing is so fucked.
“Don’t,” Megumi mumbles. His voice cracks. There’s blood on his teeth when he moves his mouth. Probably bit his tongue. Probably swallowing mouthfuls of blood just because he doesn’t have the energy to spit them out.
“Don’t what?” Satoru gets quiet. “Don’t fuck you like this?”
Megumi’s nose twitches. He sucks in a breath and the blood in his mouth makes a wet noise. His eyes meet Satoru’s, only inches away. Blood leaks down the side of his cheek, sticky.
Satoru licks it up and then licks at his mouth too, not even giving Megumi a chance to fight before he presses their lips together for real.
Somehow, it feels like more of a murder than anything else has.
He’s kissed girls and he’s also kissed Suguru. He’s had sloppy makeouts in bar bathrooms and the tender undefined touch of Suguru’s mouth. Maybe Megumi’s got a cunt like a girl, the body of one, the soft tits pressed up against Satoru’s chest when he collapses against him, but it’s not like Satoru’s kissing a girl, because girls don’t bleed into his mouth like this, thick and copper, writhing against him and crying.
Megumi’s nose bumps against his and it seems to make him cry a little harder, chest shaking against Satoru’s. Satoru wants to tell him to shut the fuck up. He doesn’t, because he’s a little too busy trying to force his tongue into the gap in Megumi’s front teeth. It’s all way too wet, blood and spit and the way Megumi’s pussy is still dripping when Satoru pushes his thigh up against it, warm to the touch even through the ratty fabric of his Star Wars pajama pants.
It takes longer than it should for Megumi to shove him off.
A string of pink spit breaks between them. There’s blood on Satoru’s lips too now and it sticks to the roof of his mouth when he tries to swallow it. He sits up so he’s not leaning over Megumi anymore like some kind of wild animal ready for the kill, but it does nothing to change the way that Megumi’s sprawled out and bleeding like caught prey anyway, one hand over his mouth to try to stop the bleeding and another curled around his ribs protectively.
“Let me see how bad it is.” Satoru inches closer and pries Megumi’s hand away from his face.
Oh fuck.
It’s pretty fucking bad.
It’s not like he broke his nose or knocked a tooth out but— fuck, there’s a lot of blood.
Toji is actually going to fucking kill him.
He tries to wipe some of the blood off Megumi’s cheek with the edge of his shirt, if only so the kid can look a little less like he just got fucking murdered, but then he’s squirming away and sitting up too, pulling his knees up to his chest. “Don’t fucking touch me.”
“Why the fuck can’t I touch you?” Satoru was three fingers deep in his cunt not even ten minutes ago. “You think I’m gonna hit you again?”
Megumi sniffles. His nose is definitely bleeding.
“C’mon let me see,” Satoru tries, grabbing his chin.
Megumi glares up at him.
Satoru scowls. “Stop being a bitch. Unless you wanna fall back asleep like this.”
“I don’t wanna do fucking anything,” Megumi mumbles.
“Just shut the fuck up and let me fix it.” Satoru presses two fingers to the gash in his lip to try to stop the bleeding. He doesn’t think he’s doing a good job. His own lips still feel sticky. They’re probably still swollen and bloody the same way Megumi’s are. It’s probably why Megumi keeps staring at them. He presses them into a firm line. “Maybe it’ll stop bleeding if you stop talking.”
“Then stop talking to me.”
Satoru wraps his other hand around Megumi’s wrist and presses his thumbnail into the skin hard enough to leave a mark.
Megumi slaps him away. “Toji’s gonna kill you when he sees this.”
“What? You mean when he sees your face or do you mean when he sees how fucking wet you still are even after I made you come?”
“Fuck you.”
Satoru just grins. He thinks most of the bleeding has stopped. He drops his hand. “You’re a bad kisser.”
Megumi brings a hand up to his mouth to try to wipe away the blood that’s left. Some of it’s already drying, cracked flakes across his skin. He doesn’t grace Satoru’s words with a response, which is probably for the better. Or it would be, if Satoru wasn’t insistent on pushing him.
“Am I the first guy to kiss you?”
“Shut up.”
“What about your dad?”
“Sh-shu—”
Satoru kisses him again, because he doesn’t have anything else to say, and there’s a little part of him that wants to rip the wound back open the moment the blood’s clotted, tugging Megumi’s lip between his teeth and pulling until all he can taste is iron and spit and the adrenaline pulse that comes from the feeling of Megumi’s fingers tangling in his shirt and tugging.
He doesn’t remember getting this close but Megumi’s thigh is right up against his dick, straining in his pants, and all he has to do is shift a little for it to feel so fucking good . He pushes Megumi back down against the mattress, hand on his waist and then on his chest, grabbing his tits just to feel the way the kid gasps into his mouth and fuck, is he actually still crying?
Satoru lifts his head, leaving only the tiniest space between their mouths. “Are you still fucking crying?”
Megumi tries to shove him off. He fails.
“You’re so ungrateful.” Satoru bites his lip, licks the blood like it’s something sweet. “I could just hit you again.”
Or fuck him, or push him off the bed or out the window or onto the fucking street but he likes this stupid fucking kid and he likes the way he gets scared when Satoru puts his hands on him sometimes and he likes the way that he’s looking up at him now, looking like if Satoru ripped him clean open and tore his heart out he’d just let him.
Megumi’s breath stutters. “I think I’d rather you did.”
Satoru sits up. “Don’t tempt me.”
He gets out of bed to wash his face in the bathroom because he doesn’t wanna sleep with blood on his face. Even though he’s gonna have to sleep with it all over his fucking bed. He doesn’t do anything about Megumi’s face because he doesn’t care and if it matters that much Megumi can deal with it himself.
He runs into Toji on the way back to his room. Because of course he does. All six feet whatever, the same height as Satoru but somehow wearing it better.
“Why the fuck are you awake?”
“Why are you?” Satoru responds, monotone, the least incendiary tone possible.
“Something happen?”
“No.”
“I was gonna check on Megumi.”
“You don’t need to do that.”
It’s three a.m. Maybe four a.m. by now. Satoru can’t remember. Why the fuck does Toji need to check on Megumi. It’s not like he’s ever checked on him before, all the times Satoru had his dick out and rubbing it against his thighs.
“I don’t?”
“He’s asleep. With me.”
“You’re not asleep.”
Satoru bites his tongue. “I was.”
“So why are you awake?”
“I had to piss.”
“Really? You can piss like that?”
Satoru doesn’t really get what the fuck Toji is talking about until Toji reaches down and grabs his dick through his pants and oh, fuck, he’s still hard and Toji’s hand feels way stupidly better than it should. Gross. It’s so gross. Less because Toji’s his step-dad and more because Toji is Toji.
“H- hey—”
“The fuck are you all hot over?”
Somehow doesn’t occur to him that it might have anything at all to do with the kid that Satoru has been sharing a bed with. For weeks.
Satoru squirms away. “Wouldn’t you like to know, fucking prick.” He gets to his room and closes the door behind him before Toji can say anything else, even locking it for good measure. He finds Megumi curled up in bed, still bloody, still looking like he’s seen better days, and worms his way in next to him. Maybe they do need a bigger bed. He’s not complaining, but still.
“Why’s Toji awake?” Megumi asks quietly, pushing his face into Satoru’s chest. It probably has more to do with the fact there’s nowhere else to put his face but still, it’s nice, him being this close, wet cheek smearing across the logo of a band that Satoru’s never even liked all that much anyway. It almost makes Satoru want to shove him away to see what he does, see what happens when the one time he initiates contact he can’t fucking get it.
He doesn’t. “Dunno. Didn’t know he was even home.”
Toji’s only around like half the time. He’s awake before everyone else and asleep long after everyone else has gone to bed. He comes home in the middle of night from alcohol binges and then he’s gone again by the time Satoru drags himself out of bed. He doesn’t have a schedule the way Satoru’s mom does, late nights and later afternoons at the office, whatever shifts she can get her hands on, because he doesn’t have a job, unless you count coming home twice a week with blood money and a body bag an occupation.
“Did you tell him what—”
Toji knocks on their door. “Fuck are you two doing up?”
Satoru immediately claps a hand over Megumi’s mouth. “Nothing.”
“Is Megumi awake?”
“No.” Satoru says. He slips a couple fingers into Megumi’s mouth absentmindedly. It just makes the kid claw at his chest. “Shh—hey, fuckin’ stop it, Jesus—”
“Don’t touch my fucking mouth,” Megumi hisses, shoving his hands away.
“What the fuck is your problem?”
There’s the soft thump of Toji leaning against the door. “Can I talk to Megumi?”
Satoru’s annoyed enough he doesn’t really give a fuck anymore. Not like Megumi’s gonna rat him out. Not if he’s gone this long without telling Toji what the fuck Satoru’s been doing. “Yeah, su—”
This time Megumi reaches out and covers Satoru’s mouth. “Please don’t,” he whispers.
Satoru blinks.
“You too busy jacking off?” Toji says.
He wishes he was. He wonders where the fuck his mom is. He pries Megumi’s hand from his lips carefully and says, “Can you let us fucking sleep?”
Toji tries the doorknob. Satoru becomes keenly aware of Megumi trembling against him and wonders if maybe he should possibly do something. He thinks about spitting out the words I’m fucking your kid just to see the way it makes Toji’s blood boil, see if he’ll even give a shit or if he was just bluffing. Maybe he’ll find it just as hot as Satoru finds the thought of him fucking Megumi.
Maybe Toji’s looking for an excuse to fuck the kid, and Satoru could be it.
His dick throbs.
He’s never getting off tonight, is he?
After a couple minutes, there’s the sound of footsteps receding down the hall, and a door slamming. It’s not the door to Toji’s and his mom’s room but whatever. Who cares where he’s fucking off to. Slowly, Megumi relaxes against Satoru again.
“You looked like you were gonna piss yourself for a second there,” Satoru comments.
Megumi pushes a hand back over his mouth and glares up at him.
Satoru rolls his eyes. “Okay, okay, okay, I’ll fuck off. Goodnight.”
Satoru wakes up first. Probably because Megumi’s had fifteen years to get used to the sound of Toji's footsteps. Still, Satoru can feel him stirring a little against him anyway, just barely on the cusp of waking. At least he's not thrashing around in his sleep like he was before. Maybe getting pushed around a little actually knocked him out good. The blood on his face is dry now and his hair sticks to it, plastering to his cheeks and the back of his neck. Satoru tugs a strand out of his eyes and watches the blood crack.
Kid needs a shower.
Maybe Toji and his mom will fuck off for the rest of the day and they'll be home alone and Satoru can wash Megumi himself, hands going further down then they should, one hand on Megumi’s waist and another on the shower head, icy cold stream up against his cunt because maybe it's about time Megumi learned how to touch himself for real.
Satoru’s hand still hurts from when Megumi bit the skin clean open when he came last night, and when he yanks it out from under his body the cut is scabbed over and a little sticky with dried blood and cum. There's a smear of blood down his wrist and God knows how many more on his shirt. His other hand is buried somewhere under Megumi’s body, flat against the kid’s back.
“Megumi,” he mumbles, pulling at his hand. “I gotta get up.”
He manages to peel himself away and sit up and a moment later Megumi’s grappling at his shirt lazily, trying to drag him back. “Don’t,” he murmurs.
“Don’t what?”
Megumi groans into the pillow. “My head hurts. Stay.”
“Fuck am I supposed to do about that?”
“Dunno. Just—st-stop. Wanna sleep.”
“Then sleep.”
“Mmmmffffff.”
Satoru takes a long look at his face while Megumi’s eyes are still shut, taking in the blood streaks. The actual wounds aren’t really that bad. He’s probably not gonna have a scar. Which is a good thing, because if Satoru unwittingly forced the kid into becoming a carbon copy of his dad he doesn’t know what the fuck he’d do.
Kill himself, maybe.
Fuck, it’s too early for this.
“If I tell Toji you fell off the bed are you gonna go along with it?”
“Didn’t fall off the bed,” Megumi mumbles.
“Don’t fucking care.” Satoru leans over him. “You gonna be good or not?”
Megumi blinks one eye open and then the other. When he speaks, the cut on his lip gets pulled open again. “I guess.”
It’s the best Satoru is getting out of him so—good enough.
-
“What happened to your mom?”
Megumi glances up at him over a bowl of dry cereal. There’s a band-aid on his cheek and another on his chin. “What happened to your dad?”
Good question.
They’re alone in the apartment. Well, at least they figure they are. No one knows where the hell Toji is but Satoru’s mom has already left for work. She’s the one responsible for the shit patch-up job on Megumi. She freaked out the second she saw him. Satoru doesn’t quite blame her. It does look fucked up in the morning light. Looked like he’d been hit by a car or a bus. Definitely not his brother.
(It’s funny, how easily she believes Satoru when he says Megumi fell off the bed because you don’t fuck up your mouth like this from dropping three feet onto carpet but then again, according to her, maybe you do. Maybe you do because it doesn’t occur to her that it could possibly be from anything else. There’s no monsters in her house. There’s the man that she married that loves her a little less than he should, and the son that scares her a little sometimes even though she tries to pretend he doesn’t.)
It’s a toss-up as to whether Toji will believe Satoru—really the question is whether or not he’s going to be sober enough to give a shit—but that’s a problem for later. It’s not like Toji can prove Satoru hurt the kid. Not any more than he can prove he's fucking him. Toji’s the one who hurts people. He was awake last night. He was outside their room. Strictly speaking, it’s just as likely to be him.
(Strictly speaking, it doesn’t matter at all, because the only one Satoru would have to convince is his mom and she’d believe Toji over him, because of course she would.)
Whatever. Satoru doesn’t want to think about it. Wants to get as much satisfaction as he can out of the look on Megumi’s face, the way he keeps rubbing at his lip like he wants to rub the cut off. Satoru caught him staring in the mirror while his mom was cleaning his face and sticking the band-aids on, looking a little like he was gonna throw up. He really does almost look like Toji like this. Satoru might find it hot if it wasn’t so fucking annoying.
“Who gives a shit what happened to my dad?” Satoru bluffs. “I don’t.”
Megumi pokes at his cereal. “Is he dead?”
“Huh? No.”
“Then where is he?”
Satoru shrugs. “Not here, obviously.” He kicks Megumi’s foot under the table. “Back to you. Where’s your mom?”
“Not here.” Megumi averts his eyes. “Dead.”
“Toji kill her?”
“Fuck off.”
“Hey, come on, it’s a valid question.”
“No it’s not. She died when I was a baby.”
Satoru raises an eyebrow. “Are you fucking serious? You’ve been stuck with just Toji your whole life? Jesus, no wonder you’re like this.”
Megumi scowls. “The fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“You know what it means.”
“It’s not even true. I had a sister at one point.”
“You what?”
“Step-sister I guess. Whatever.” He looks annoyed by the surprised look on Satoru’s face. “Why’s that a big deal?”
“What happened to your sister?”
“I don’t know.”
“Fuck do you mean you don’t know?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did Toji divorce her mom or—?”
“I’m telling you I don’t know. I was like… I dunno. Six? I don’t even really remember her. She was just… there. And then I dunno, she wasn’t.”
“She wasn’t,” Satoru repeats back, incredulous.
“I don’t know. I don’t remember.”
“You had a whole sister and you don’t remember her?”
“Step-sister.”
“Who gives a fuck about the difference.”
“It’s not a big deal.” Megumi pushes cereal around his bowl with his index finger. Satoru notices that he’s barely eaten any of it. It’s hard to tell how much of that is due to whatever difficulty there is in trying to swallow when your mouth still tastes like blood and how much of it is due to the conversation. “She’s probably fine. Living with her mom somewhere. I think Toji liked her more than me.”
“I don’t think Toji likes anyone more than you.”
Megumi flinches. “Don’t say that.”
“What? It’s true. Don’t act like you’re surprised. I think if he didn’t wanna fuck you so bad he’d already have slutted you out to half the guys he meets. The only thing keeping you from being half-dead on the street is your face.” Satoru says, watching the slope of Megumi’s mouth just to catch the moment when it becomes a frown, the moment the kid goes from defensive to hurt, because it's the closest thing to snorting crack he’s ever going to get.
He reaches out and grabs Megumi’s bowl from him.
“You gonna finish that?”
It takes two hours for Toji to get home and two seconds for him to get a glance at Megumi’s face. It takes two minutes for him to find Satoru and corner him, back against the wall of the living room, blue eyes wide and palms shaking more than he wants them to be. There’s a broken plate on the floor. He doesn’t remember how it got there. He wonders when Toji’s body count started to include the fine china.
“Fuck did you do to my kid?”
“I didn’t do anything, kid’s a fucking idiot, not my fault he can’t keep himself in one piece.”
Toji takes another step closer. Satoru’s head hits the edge of a picture frame, the one of his parents’ wedding, his real parents, his real dad, somehow feeling more human in a still image than Toji does right in front of him. Toji grabs his chin. “Get Megumi’s name out of your fucking mouth.”
“Hey, I didn’t say his name. Neither did you. How am I supposed to know what kid you’re talking about? Who knows how many people you’ve knocked up.”
Toji’s jaw clenches. There’s a cut down the side of his neck. It doesn’t unnerve Satoru enough to get him to shut up. He’s still talking, still walking right into his own grave. He hopes when Toji kills him Megumi doesn’t come to the funeral. Hopes he holes up alone in Satoru’s room, surrounded by everything Satoru hates but doesn’t have the will to destroy. Wears his t-shirts. (He already does.) Sleeps in his bed. (He already does.) Hates himself the way Satoru does. (He probably already does.)
Acts the same way Satoru does.
(...He probably never will.)
Satoru leers at Toji. “You gonna knock up my mom next? Gonna give me a new little brother? Aw, that’s so sweet of you, considering you already fucked up the first one.”
Toji hits him so hard and fast that he doesn’t see it coming. Even though he probably really should have, the second he opened his mouth. You can’t blame him. Not his fault his mind’s all fuzzy with the thought of Megumi having nothing left but his ruins.
He thinks his nose is bleeding. He spits blood at Toji’s black t-shirt. It doesn’t even show on the fabric.
Toji spits right back in his mouth, beer and gasoline taste and all slimy in a way that makes Satoru's stomach twist. “Leave my kid alone.”
Satoru’s not going to, but he says yeah, okay anyway, because he doesn’t even want to begin to imagine what’ll happen if he doesn’t.
“You should let me kiss you again,” Satoru says, two weeks later, long enough that the mark he’s left on Megumi is almost completely gone, and it doesn’t hurt when Satoru smiles anymore, the muscles in his face back to normal and no longer cowering under the threat of Toji’s knuckles.
He says let like it makes any difference and isn’t just another way to get under Megumi’s skin. If he lets Satoru do this then what else will he let Satoru do. How much has he already let Satoru do. It’s submission just to be lying in bed with him, every second that Satoru has a hand on him that he isn’t doing anything about. It's not just submission, it's pathetic to have his head resting on Satoru’s chest the way he is, to be curled up still and unmoving while Satoru flicks through Shoko’s social media feed and wonders if she’s ever going to text him back again.
“Thought you didn’t wanna kiss me because I wasn’t a girl.”
Satoru accidentally likes the wrong post and groans and throws his phone at the wall. “I didn’t wanna kiss you because you’re a fucking brat.”
“Then don’t.”
“Just c’mere.”
Megumi lifts his head up, wary. “Toji’s home.”
“I don’t give a fuck.” Satoru says, pointedly ignoring the very real threat on his life. The door’s closed anyway, because it always is, because it makes him feel a little less like he’s doing something stupid. “Come on.” He grabs at the edge of Megumi’s shirt to tug him closer and sits up a little too, just so he can wrangle the kid into a position where he can get his lips on him.
He tastes like the ginger ale they drank with lunch, too sweet and almost stinging Satoru’s tongue. Satoru makes a face and then kisses him again anyway, soft, tongue flicking across his lips as if Megumi’s ever going to part them for him. His hands move down to the kid's sides, one hand on his ribcage and another on his waist. “Am I actually the only person you’ve kissed?”
Megumi’s eyes flash. “Never said you were in the first place.”
“But I am, aren’t I? Who else is gonna do it?” Satoru licks into his mouth and laughs when Megumi squirms away, grossed out. “Toji?”
“Stop it.”
“No.” Satoru snorts. “You’re fucking weird, you know?” He doesn’t give Megumi a chance to argue as he tugs him back, the hand on his waist heavy enough to bruise. Brings his other hand up to his chin just to prod his thumb at pink lips, the corner still broken in an almost imperceptible scar. “You don’t let me touch your mouth. You don’t let me talk about your dad. Don’t even like it when I kiss you.”
“That’s not true,” Megumi mutters, trying to push him away.
Satoru drags his thumbnail across the line of Megumi’s lips and it’s like pure adrenaline the way he can feel the tension in it, the way it’s palpable how every muscle in Megumi’s body is fighting the urge to get the fuck away from him. “Yeah it is.”
“I don’t let you talk about my dad—” He stops, like the word tastes weird on his lips. “I just don’t let you…” He stops again, maybe this time because he’s realized how stupid the whole sentence is, because he’s never let Satoru do anything. “I don’t let you talk about Toji f-f… fucking me.”
He trips over the word just to eventually spit it out in a rush, barely enunciated.
It’s cute.
Maybe in part because of the way his voice cracks when he says it.
Like he’s gonna cry but only he isn’t, because why would he, because Satoru hasn’t even said anything. He hasn’t said anything that isn’t true. He hasn’t said anything that isn’t the same thing he says every other day, calling the kid a freak and maybe sometimes a whore, and pushing his thighs apart and asking if he’s done this for his dad before, if his dad’s hands have ever been in the places that Satoru’s have, the inside of his thighs and the outside of his tits, skinny fingers squishing what little fat is on the kid’s body.
“You don’t let me talk about it ‘cause it’s true,” Satoru says, grinning and trying to push Megumi’s mouth into a matching smile with his fingers, just because it’s funny. It’s so funny. What the fuck is he so weird about it for. It’s not like it makes a difference to Satoru. He knew he was ruined the moment he put his hands on him.
Megumi shoves him away just for Satoru to push him over and get him against the mattress, chest to chest, mouth to mouth, because maybe Megumi’s bad at kissing but it doesn’t matter, not when it gets him this upset.
“Talk to me,” he says. “Come on. I’m your big brother. Shouldn’t I get to protect you? Tell me what Toji did to you.” He slips a hand under Megumi’s shirt to grope his chest, voice all syrupy-fake as he adds, “Show me where he touched you. He touch you here? Grab your little fucking tits? That the reason you don’t wanna be a girl anymore? Wanna cut ‘em off, just so Toji can’t mistake you for your mom? You think he even still remembers her? Bet he doesn’t. Bet he’s so fucked up he barely even remembers you’re his kid.”
Satoru seals the words with a kiss like it makes them any better, mouth clumsily pressed against Megumi’s, tongue on teeth, licking at the scabbed-over cut on his lip like if he tries hard enough he can rip it back open. He’s half expecting Megumi to try to bite him, at the very least tell him to shut up, but when Satoru pulls back, spit string between their mouths, red faces and heavy breaths, Megumi just stares up at him.
“Go on. Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me your dad didn’t touch you.”
Megumi’s bottom lip wobbles and he doesn’t answer.
Holy fuck Toji actually did touch this kid.
Satoru cups baby-soft flesh in his palm and squeezes. “Come on, tell me. Gonna protect you. Not gonna ever let it happen again. You’re gonna be safe with me. Where’d the bad man touch you?” he mocks. “He touch you here?” His hands slip down a little lower to Megumi’s stomach, ghosting the hem of his shorts. “Here?”
Megumi squirms. “Don’t know.”
“Fuck do you mean you don’t know.”
“I mean I don’t—” Megumi’s voice breaks. “I don’t—I don’t remember. I don’t kno— nothing happened to me.”
He almost sounds like he believes himself. He definitely sounds like he wants to, like he’s been making himself sick trying to prove it. He wants to prove that everything’s okay. Wants to have never been hurt, not in any way that matters, because even if Satoru’s fucking him, even if Satoru’s made his body into more of a wasteland than Toji ever could, at least it’s not Toji.
At least he won’t have been ruined before he could even remember it.
“Hey, hey, shhh, shut the fuck up, stop crying, what do you mean you don’t remember?” Satoru wedges a knee between Megumi’s thighs just to feel the pulse at the apex of them. “Spit it out. Toji put his hands on you or not?”
Megumi’s breath stutters.
Satoru smooths hair back from his face and says, “Hey, shh, you can tell me. Tell me what happened. I’ll protect you.”
No he won’t.
Doesn’t even have the slightest idea how. Doesn’t want to, either, or really he just doesn’t care. What the fuck does it matter? It’s already happened. He can’t go back in time and take Toji’s hands off him. Stop him from ever becoming what he is now, fifteen and pliant, hating his body more than anyone else ever could and not being able to explain why, exactly the way Satoru wants him.
He’s not crying.
Satoru almost wishes he was. He puts a hand on his cheek when he kisses him again, thumb hooking in the corner of his mouth, running over soft-wet muscle and making him hiccup against Satoru’s tongue.
“I don’t remember,” Megumi murmurs, voice barely audible. His fists are in Satoru’s shirt, not exactly pulling but rather bunching the fabric up and squeezing, giving him something to do that isn’t shoving Satoru away. Because he doesn’t want to. Satoru can tell. Can fucking taste it in the way the kid’s mouth shyly tries to meet his again, because maybe if he lets Satoru have this, his body, his mouth, the same thing that’s already been desecrated, then he won’t push any deeper. Won’t even try to sink his teeth into the mess that’s coiled underneath.
“But you know he did, don’t you?” Satoru avoids the attempt at a kiss and pulls back instead to tease. Girls hate it when he does shit like this because usually this is the point where they’re already putty in his hands, already love-drunk on whatever he’s giving them, saccharine words mixed with rough, dirty hands inside their jeans. This is the point where they want him because they’re starting to understand that it doesn’t matter if they don’t.
They get a little mean about it sometimes. Pout. Fingernails on his cheek, trying to tug him in. Say they can find someone better to fuck for the night, even though Satoru knows they can’t. Megumi doesn’t do any of that, just bites his lip hard enough that it looks a little like he’s gonna rip it back open and says, “I don’t know tha—”
“Yeah you do.” Satoru presses his thumbpad against the fat of Megumi’s lower lip. “If you didn’t you’d be crying and yelling and telling me to shut the fuck up, but you don’t even have the energy to do that, because you know you’re wasting breath. C’mon.”
Megumi swallows. “I don’t—I don’t remember anything.”
“But you know.” Satoru nudges his knee up against the kid’s cunt and watches him wince at the friction, hating himself for how it almost feels good, how he’s capable of feeling anything during this conversation that isn’t exclusively disgust. “Tell me what you do remember.”
“No,” Megumi says, too quick. “No, forget it, get off me, get—”
“Don’t want to. C’mon. Please.”
“Stop touching my m- mouth.”
Satoru prods at his cheek instead, spit-slick fingers leaving shiny marks. “Why?”
“Feels weird.”
“You don’t get mad at me every time I get anywhere near it just because it feels weird.”
“Feels gross.”
“How does it feel gross?”
“Feels like—like you’re gonna hurt me.”
“That’s not gross,” Satoru huffs, staring down at him. “That’s just you being a paranoid little freak. No one’s gonna hurt you.”
At least, any more than they already have.
“Feels like I’m a little kid again.”
“Aw.” That’s interesting. “Keep going.”
Megumi glares up at him. If it wouldn't make another mess to clean up and make Megumi completely shut down, Satoru would probably have already hit him again.
“C'mooon.” Satoru kisses him lazily, dragging out the syllable directly into his mouth. “You ever feel his hands on you? All big and sweaty, wrapped around your ankle or some shit, you'd remember it wouldn't you?”
Course he would. Maybe it's all blurred together with the way Toji touches him now, hand clamping down on his shoulder, brushing his hair out of his eyes, yanking him by the collar to Toji's beat-up SUV with black-red-brown stains all along the inside, but there's a difference between being touched in a way you have to be, because it's all you've ever known, and being touched in a way you’ll forever spend the rest of your life desperately trying not to know.
Megumi makes a face.
Satoru grabs his wrist and digs in stubby fingernails. “Don't lie.”
“I think I—” Megumi swallows. “I think I remember his mouth on mine. Like—I know what it feels like.”
He says it right as Satoru’s about to press their mouths together again and watches through damp eyelashes as Satoru immediately pulls away again, the look on his face crossing over into hurt as Satoru can’t help but laugh.
“He kissed you?” He nudges his face against Megumi’s, tucking it into his neck as if it’s gonna muffle the excitement in his tone. “Isn’t that a little fucking gross?”
“Stop it.”
“Stop what? Saying the obvious?” Satoru snorts, shifting so he laying next to Megumi instead of on top. It doesn’t make the kid any less on edge, tension still palpable in the way he barely moves a muscle. Satoru tugs him over so Megumi’s the one on top now instead, hands slipping under the back of his shirt and gripping the soft skin of his waist to keep him from running.
Not that he thinks he even would. Why would he walk away from this conversation? Not like anyone else is ever gonna ask him. Not like anyone else is ever gonna wanna know in the first place.
“How old were you? He put his tongue in your little mouth?” Satoru’s hands dip past the waistband of his pants. “I’d ask if he made you suck him off but we both know it never would’ve fit. Probably just jacked off looking at your tits or some shit.”
Megumi looks a little sick to his stomach.
“Aw, you didn’t even have tits then, did you? Not anything worth jacking it to.”
“Stop fucking t-t- talking.”
“Maybe he did make you suck him off. I saw how cute you were. Still looked like a girl. No way Toji had the self-restraint to keep from shoving his dick down your throat.”
Megumi’s hand shifts, coming a little closer to Satoru’s face. He wonders if the kid’s gonna slap him. Kind of wants him to, honestly, because all that is is another indication he’s getting under his skin, and it’s exactly where Satoru wants to be.
“What? You gonna hit me? Go ahead. Probably can’t do it as hard as your dad.” Satoru’s eyes flick back up to his face, darting over the crease of his brows, down to the way his mouth is hanging open like he’s not sure what to say, the flush on his cheeks and the way they shine from almost-dried tears.
Megumi’s hand freezes just short of his cheek. “...I’m not gonna hit you.”
“Don’t tell me you actually fucking like me.”
It’s immediate the way Megumi’s mouth moves, instinct, and Satoru can practically see the denial begin to form on his lips. I don’t. Course I don’t. Of course I fucking don’t.
He shouldn’t, probably, but Megumi never actually gets the words out. Just stares at him.
“Holy fuck, you actually do like me.” Satoru shifts underneath him, grinds his dick up against his thigh a little, grins like Megumi just told him he loves him. Which—he kind of did, didn’t he? Might as well have. Kid doesn’t even know what love is. Probably never will. “So cute, you actually like your big brother. God, you’re fucking gross. Should tell Toji. Let him know what a freak his kid turned into. Get molested a little and suddenly you’re like fucking addicted to it. So gross. I know he’d never hit you over it, but he really fucking should.
“Or would you get off on that? You already spend all your time thinking about him touching you, don’t you? Trying to remember it. Wanna know if he ever put his fingers inside you. How many times you saw his dick and how many times he made you swallow. Wanna know if he even tried to pretend he loved you when it was happening, or if you never even had that.”
Megumi’s hand twitches like he’s gonna hit him. Satoru waits for the impact, the burn of skin on skin, palm on flesh, blood oozing and bubbling out his mouth, but the only thing that happens is Megumi sniffling and ducking his head down to bury it into his chest.
“What the fuck are y—”
Oh, the kid’s fucking crying. Oh. Fuck.
Okay maybe he went a little too far. Maybe.
No it wasn’t.
It’s not like he said anything that wasn’t true.
“Stop crying,” he mutters, dropping his hands from Megumi’s waist and putting one of them on his cheek instead, trying to turn it back to him. “Jesus, Toji’s gonna fuckin’ hear.”
“Shut the fuck u- up.”
“Jesus Christ.” Satoru pushes himself up a little, just enough to be able to actually look at him. “Hey, c’mon, calm down—”
“Fuck you.” Megumi’s voice breaks off in a sob. “I hate you, I hate this shitty fucking apartment, I hate your mom, I hate your room, I hate this entire arrangement, I hate being here. I don’t want to fucking—”
Satoru scowls. “Like any of that’s my fault. Where would you even be if you weren’t here? In the same busted up motel rooms with Toji, watching fucking paint dry? Curled up in the same fucking bed with him, trying not to think about his hands getting a little too close?”
None of this is Satoru’s fault. None of this has anything to do with him, except for the parts that do, and those are just the parts that have happened to fall neatly into his lap.
“I wouldn’t be with you.”
It might be a decent point to make if Megumi wasn’t still pressed up against him, nosing into his shirt, snot smearing down the sleeve when Satoru tries to touch his face, sobs all muffled against the fabric.
“Didn’t you just admit you fucking like me?”
“Didn’t say—I didn’t say that—”
“Sure you did.” Satoru pushes his hand under his chin and forces the kid to look at him. “You can’t even fucking hit me. Can’t even tell me you don’t like me.”
“I hate you,” Megumi repeats. Satoru can feel his tits pressing up against him, and it does nothing to help how hard he is. He knows Megumi can feel it against his thigh.
“But you like me,” Satoru says. “You like me, because I’m all you have.”
Megumi sniffles and squeezes his eyes shut.
“Your dad doesn’t like you,” Satoru starts. “Not how you want him to. No one fucking likes you, except for when they’re inside you. Just get over it. You’re fifteen and you’re acting like being fucked is the worst thing that could ever happen to you. Least you’re getting fucked by someone who actually likes you. Could be treating you like shit but instead I’m actually being nice to you. I could fucking hit you.”
“You did hit me. You’re not nice to me.”
“I’m nice to you,” Satoru says. “If I wasn’t nice to you I could’ve left you at Suguru’s place. I could hit you again. You want that? You wanna get off from your brother making you cry? You wanna get off like this, crying over your fucking dad sticking his dick in your mouth?”
Megumi hiccups. “Don’t.”
“Bet you were real cute when it happened.”
“Toji didn’t—he f-f-f-fucking didn’t—didn’t—”
“Go on then. Say it. If you’re so fucking sure of it.”
Megumi just looks like he’s about to cry again.
“Say it.”
“I can’t.”
“See? You fucking get it yet? You know he did.”
“Don’t want him to.”
“It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?”
“I mean I don’t want it to have f-fucking happened.”
Aw. There’s a lot of things Satoru wishes hadn’t happened. The Spice Girls breaking up, for starters. His dad leaving. Trading away his limited edition Ho-Oh Pokemon card in middle school for a beat-up Gyrados and half a Twizzler. Losing his virginity in a school supply closet and getting dirty mop water spilled on his shoes. Being twenty-eight and still thinking of that dark space, still thinking of hands on his ass every time Toji gets too close. Getting kicked out of the senior class pizza party because he made the wrong joke to Suguru at the wrong time.
“It’s really not a big deal,” he tries.
“Yeah it fucking—it is. It’s—” Megumi cuts himself off. Tries to get ahold of himself and fails, following one shaky breath with another. Satoru lets him be for a moment, watching curiously. It’s funny, watching the kid struggle to speak. He’s never been any fucking good at it in the first place, but it’s even worse now, like he actually physically can’t say it.
Probably why he gives up on words entirely and presses his face back into Satoru’s chest to cry.
Jesus.
Satoru doesn’t know how Toji hasn’t heard him yet and come barging in. Fucker’s probably passed out somewhere in the apartment. If Satoru’s lucky, his body’s already gone cold. Satoru’s never lucky (except for when he is, except for when he gets a fifteen-year-old in his lap) but well—he can hope. He threads a hand through his hair. “Hey, c’mon it’s not a big deal. It’s okay.”
No it’s not.
“Don’t f-fucking say th—”
Satoru cuts him off. “Fine then, it fucking sucks. What do you want me to tell you? It’s fucking gross? It’s disgusting?”
“I want you to tell me it didn’t—it didn’t happen.”
“You want me to lie to you?”
Megumi doesn’t answer immediately. “Yeah.”
Satoru pulls his head up to get a good look at him. Smears his fingers across his cheeks just to wipe up the tears. “Don’t make it a bigger deal than it is,” he mutters. “You’re fine. You’ll survive.” He pauses. “Probably even liked it when it was happening.” Maybe it’s not the right thing to say, but nothing Satoru wants to say is. “Not like you knew any fuckin’ better.”
It doesn’t make Megumi look any less upset—just sick to his stomach.
Tough crowd.
Satoru puts a hand on his face, mostly to keep him from backing off, but also to wipe up the tears that are still dripping down and maybe also to brush the pad of his thumb against the seam of his lips, tracing the line of the scar that’s almost gone. It’s only really visible when the kid smiles. Satoru’s not entirely sure he’s ever going to get him to smile again. Doesn’t remember him ever smiling a lot in the first place so well. Not like anyone will notice.
Megumi tries to claw his hand away. Satoru presses down on his tongue until he gags.
“I'm not even doing anything. Jesus. Just tryna shut you up. Can you stop fighting me for once in your life?”
“Shh- shtop.” Megumi bites Satoru’s thumb as he says it.
“Don’t bite me,” he hisses back, pushing his thumb a little deeper, forcing his mouth wide open. “Was being nice to you. Tryna’ get you to stop fucking crying. Might as well just fuck you if you’re gonna be like this.”
Satoru pulls his hand away for long enough to Megumi to slur out the words fuck you while Satoru hooks his thumb in the belt loop of his jeans and yanks them down hard enough for his dick to slap against his stomach.
“Stop it, you fucking—”
“Yeah, yeah, shut the fuck up. Aren’t you sick of fighting it by now? Look, I’m still being nice if you really think about it. You rather look at your brother’s dick or think about your dad’s? Least I actually shower on a regular basis.”
“Fuc—”
“No wonder Toji wanted to stick his dick in your mouth, it's fucking filthy. You tell him to stop too? Did he listen?” Satoru straightens up, one hand supporting him and the other on his dick, already working at himself, even though he’s already hard, has been this whole fucking time, because it’s impossible to think about Toji’s hands on Megumi and not be. He brings his hand back to Megumi’s face once it’s sticky enough with pre to make a trail down his cheek and hooks his thumb in the corner of his mouth. Waits for the kid to try to bite him and when he doesn’t this time, he asks, “You gonna cry if I try to fuck your mouth?”’
Megumi does bite now, but Satoru doesn’t even flinch.
“C’mon. Lemme see what Toji thought was so fuckin’ special about your slutty little mouth.”
He shifts, pushing Megumi’s head down a little so he can nudge the tip against his face, bumping up against his cheek and leaving a sticky wet trail to his chin. Kid looks like he’s gonna cry. Satoru thinks he might come before he even gets the kid’s mouth on his dick. No way Toji was able to last long at all.
“Stop crying,” he says. “It’s not a big deal. Besides, you’ve done it before, haven’t you? At least now your mouth’s big enough to actually fit it.”
It’s not, not really. It’s not even that Satoru’s dick is that big—Suguru says it’s small, actually, but half the things Suguru says are meaningless so Satoru isn’t going to believe him on this one—but just that Megumi’s mouth is pretty small. Small enough it gets completely swallowed up when Satoru kisses him again, knuckle trapped between their lips, pulling away way faster than he should because the taste of his own pre-cum makes him feel like he’s swallowed battery acid.
“Don’t want to.” Spit bubbles at Megumi’s lips. “Don’t like it. Feels like—”
Satoru replaces his thumb with his cock as he pushes it between Megumi’s lips. “Feels like you’ve done it before?”
Megumi whines around the tip and it almost slips out, but Satoru tugs at his hair to keep him still, giving him room to push a little further into the kid’s mouth. Fuck, it’s warm. He can’t remember the last time he got his dick sucked. Can’t remember the last time he got his dick sucked and it was actually good. Not that this is exactly good —objectively it would be better if Megumi would actually suck it and not just cry—but the crying’s hot too.
It’s cute.
Megumi’s fucking cute.
Satoru almost wants to kiss him again but there’s no way he’s taking his dick out of his mouth so he settles for smoothing a hand over his cheek and pushing his head down. “Seeeee, not that hard. Probably tastes better than Toji did.”
He thinks of Toji, fresh from whatever scumfuck jobs he picks up to pay his bar tabs, wet iron smell and grease stains on his jeans as he unzips them. Shit motel room, lights flickering on and off, dirty carpet scratching at Megumi’s knees. Too small hands on Toji’s thighs, trying to pull away, not being strong enough to. Fuzzy Polaroid childhood photos taken and then later destroyed, dark hair and red cheeks and dirty mattresses.
In the same beat, he thinks of chalkboard dust and too-strong hand on his jaw. Progress reports still warm from the printer under his cheek, ballpoint pen caught somewhere under his thighs, school bell ringing in the background as too-thick fingers pull out of him.
This isn’t the same thing.
Probably.
It’s not supposed to be.
Megumi’s mouth is hot around him, flat tongue curling up around the underside of his dick and Satoru tries to fuck into him a little deeper just for Megumi to try to pull away.
“Stop it. Don’t know what the fuck you’re fighting for anyway. Isn’t this better? You’re not thinking about your dad, you’re thinking about me. Calm down. It’s fine.” He finds one of Megumi’s hands and squeezes thin fingers in his palm as his dick sinks a little further down the back of his throat. “Hah— fuck… Look, nothing’s gonna happen to you. No one’s gonna hurt you. Stop crying, you’re fine, I promise, you’re okay, fuuuck, so good, no wonder Toji fucked you up like this .”
A fresh round of tears prick at Megumi’s eyes and Satoru scrubs them away with his thumb, nail skimming over his cheekbone almost hard enough to scratch. “Just don't think about it.”
Megumi blinks, wet lashes fluttering. Makes a choked little sound around Satoru’s dick like he’s drowning. Maybe he is.
Satoru comes down his throat thinking of baby teeth and skin sweat and the way that Toji’s voice sounds through the apartment walls when he’s telling his mom to “Shut the fuck up and take it.”
It’s not even satisfying.
The whole thing’s so kind of stupidly pathetic that it reverses everything that’s hot about it. But at least it keeps Megumi quiet. At least he’s not even crying anymore. Maybe it’s just the weight against his tongue making him go stupid, or maybe this isn’t so bad for him after all.
This close to Satoru, his brother, cum leaking down his throat, hands in his hair and on his face, keeping him calm. It’s good for him. Maybe Satoru should keep him like this all the time, on his knees, mouth open, lips wet.
He pulls Megumi off his dick after a moment and when he does, the kid looks wrecked. Face red, spit-bubble at his lips, hair mussed from where Satoru pulled at it just to try to smooth it back down again. His voice is busted too, and Satoru can tell when he tries to speak and ends up not speaking at all. He lays his head in Satoru’s lap, white-tinged spit dripping from his mouth and dribbling stains into Satoru’s jeans.
“You could say thank you,” Satoru says.
Megumi just closes his eyes.
“Not gonna hit you this time, but like, you should.”
The silence drags on. Maybe Satoru should hit him. Wants to see him with a mouthful of blood again. Wants to taste it again, the slick metallic aftertaste and the way it feels on his tongue.
Satoru pinches his cheek to make him open his eyes again. “You’re kinda—”
“Do you actually like me?” Megumi interrupts, words dulled by the material of Satoru’s jeans. He shifts so his mouth is free and he’s looking up at him from a better angle. “You said … at least someone’s fucking me that actually likes me.”
“I know what I said,” Satoru says. He traces a finger down Megumi’s cheek, nudging it into his mouth to push his tongue flat. Megumi bites down, but not with malice. Slow. Testing the weight. Testing the way it feels when Satoru runs the pad of his finger over his teeth like he’s trying to map out the universe. “Who gives a fuck what I said?”
Outside, footsteps sound in the hall. Clunky, a little sluggish, unmistakably Toji. Satoru can feel the way the tension in the air pulls taut, a tightrope line thin enough to trip right over.
“Toji’s gonna kill you one of these days,” Megumi mumbles around his finger.
“We could kill him first.”
“Don’t.”
“I’m not serious,” Satoru says, even though he kind of is. At least—he could be serious. If he got convinced of it, maybe. If he didn’t think he’d look ugly in a mugshot. If he could get away with it. If he wasn’t a pussy, even though he’ll never let himself admit that he is one. He wonders how Suguru did it. Suguru did it because he had nothing left to lose.
Satoru has everything to lose, whether the bastard gets killed or not.
It’s a stupid idea anyway. He doesn’t think he’d be able to stomach playing nice at Toji’s funeral. It’s not like he’s a murderer, anyway.
Not even a bad person. Not really.
Is it that bad when Megumi’s head is in his lap like this, and for once the kid isn’t trying to squirm away?
Megumi should suck his dick more often, if that’s all it takes to get the fight sucked out of him. Push the boundaries until they break. Kiss the pieces and put them back together, this time so much softer than before.
The silence drags on. Megumi looks a little like he’s gonna start crying again. Satoru hooks an arm underneath him and pulls him up into his chest. His shirt gets tugged up with it, the briefest flash of soft pale skin, and when Satoru slips a hand under to feel him up, he doesn’t even flinch.
Instead, he leans into Satoru, head on his shoulder. Voice soft when he says, “...I don’t want anything to have happened to me.”
Satoru blinks. Drops his hand from his chest.
Megumi corrects himself. “I don’t want… Toji… to have…”
Oh.
He’s still stuck on that.
“‘ts not a big deal,” Satoru says, eyes tracking Megumi’s carefully. He leans in close enough for their mouths to touch. “Happens all the time.”
Megumi scrunches his nose up but doesn’t pull away, letting his eyes settle on Satoru’s mouth. “It ever happen to you?”
Satoru kisses him, wet, and doesn’t even cringe when the aftertaste of his own cum sets in, sticking to the roof of his mouth and making him feel a little sick. “No fuckin’ way. I'm not that pathetic.”