Work Text:
To the tired teenager running the film from the projector room, the theater was almost empty. It was a matinee show on a Wednesday, most adults were at work, and kids should be at school. Should be, of course. That didn’t stop the loner sitting in the back row of the otherwise empty theater, hands shoved into his pockets and mostly concealed by the darkness. If not for the fact he knows they sold one ticket for this showing, he would have turned off the projector by now. As it is, he’s barely supervising it- he’s seen this film before, a cheap slasher with a classic romance subplot. It was probably more work to hit “PLAY” on the projector than it was writing the script. The employee rolls his head back, eyes drifting away from the seats below, and tugs his cap down over his face. If he has to sit here for the next hour and a half, he may as well get a nap.
“...I think he’s asleep up there.” Mahito says from beside Junpei, and the sudden words almost make the boy jump in the otherwise silent theater.
“Who, the employee?” Junpei whispers back, despite the empty theater and Mahito’s normal volume. After all, Mahito’s voice was inaudible to everyone except sorcerers. Even if the theater was packed, he could scream to high heavens and not cause anyone to bat an eye. Junpei, however, kept his voice low, both from habit and on the off chance an employee might hear him talking to himself.
“Yeah, the projector-er.” Mahito hums, kicking his feet up on the seat in front of him.
“He’s not.. he just operates the projector. Projector-er is not a word.” Junpei’s feet stay firmly on the ground, cinema etiquette winning out over the knowledge that nobody would ever see him copying the curse.
“Mm, if you say so.” Mahito hums, and Junpei jumps when he feels an arm stretch behind his head. “Either way, it looks like we’re all alone, Junpei. No supervision.”
Despite everything, Mahito had a comfortable embrace. It almost made it possible to forget that he wasn’t human. Almost.
“Knock it off.” Junpei murmurs back rather than respond to the obvious bait, letting the Curse’s arm slide around his shoulders.
“And then sock it off, and then drop it off?” Mahito asks from beside him. It was the curse’s latest pleasure: rhyming word games. “Ooh, and then mock it off, and then-”
Junpei puts a hand over his mouth to shut him up, but Mahito morphs his lips to ooze from between Junpei’s fingers, words slightly garbled.
“...And then cock it off?” Mahito accompanies the words with a flick of his tongue between his now fluid lips, and Junpei laughs before he means to. It’s kind of gross, when Mahito turns his body all fluid, morphing it like dough. It’s also kind of funny.
“Don’t be silly.” He mumbles, moving his hand back in time for Mahito’s mouth to reform and chase after it, planting a kiss on the palm. It makes him blush, invisible in the low light of the theater.
“Okay, okay.” Mahito surrenders. “I’ll behave.” The words are counteracted by the suggestive flick of his tongue between his lips again, accompanied with a tug of his fingers across Junpei’s other shoulder. It makes the fabric of his hoodie ride up slightly, exposing just a tiny sliver of skin at his hip to the air.
“You never behave.” Junpei points out, and Mahito seems more pleased than offended at the words.
“Well, neither do you. You’re skipping school right now.” Hearing Mahito, of all people, talk about skipping school, of all things, is enough to make Junpei exhale another snorted laugh, smacking a hand lightly against the curse’s chest. He’s grown more confident, more comfortable with himself. More open with casual touches, more physical with expressing his frustration and amusement. It makes Mahito feel.. warm inside. It’s a new feeling. He thinks it might be pride.
“I learn more from movies than school.” Junpei insists, turning his eyes back to the screen. As if on cue, the scene pans over a scenic outlook, a single car parked at the end of the lot. The music swells as the killer creeps closer, and Mahito laughs out loud when the camera pans closer, revealing two sweaty teenagers in the back seat, car windows fogged up with condensation.
“More from movies?” Mahito asked, and Junpei slapped a hand over the curse’s mouth again, stifling his own laughter.
“Shh.” He whispers, and Mahito only laughs harder under his hands, mouth shifting sideways on his face to grin at Junpei. Junpei slaps his other hand over it, both hands attempting to muffle Mahito’s giggles. It’s not enough, of course, Mahito could grow a whole second head. But the curse plays along, hands play-fighting and slapping against Junpei’s to try and get the human’s hands off his mouth. Then Mahito changes tactic, and Junpei can feel a tongue lick against his fingers, and it makes him splutter in shock for a moment, the knowledge that he needs to be quiet only making his shocked laughter more pressing.
“Mahito,” He insists, and Mahito’s tongue wiggles against his fingers again, prompting more restrained giggles. “Stop it!” On screen, the future slasher victims are still getting it on, rocking the car slightly with their efforts. The killer is definitely going to kill them both, and Junpei would probably make some comment about how cliche it was if he wasn’t trying to wipe Mahito’s spit off his hands, moving his hands back enough to wipe them on the curse’s poncho. “Ew, ew Mahito.” he whispers, the curse matching his volume with giggles of his own. It’s ridiculous. It makes Junpei’s heart flutter in his chest. He’s sure Mahito can read it the same way he reads all of Junpei’s other intentions, the liquid shape of his soul somehow betraying a hidden urge or passing thought. Thankfully, Mahito doesn’t comment on it. Instead, the curse tugs Junpei closer, tongue lapping over his cheek to prompt more whispered yelps of protest from the human before he connects their lips into a messy kiss.
It’s not the first time he’s had Mahito’s tongue in his mouth, but it’s the first time he’s ever done so in anything considered public. That thought doesn’t quite occur to Junpei initially, too knocked off his feet by the feeling of the curse, all too cold and not close enough in the dark theater as Mahito laps along the inside of his mouth, exploring every centimeter he’s explored before. Junpei makes a tiny sound somewhere in his chest, and he feels Mahito’s tongue flick along his. All the way along his. While he’s still exploring the inner corner of his mouth. He’s lengthened his tongue, Junpei realizes, a moment before Mahito thrusts it to the back of Junpei’s throat. It makes him gag, and Mahito laughs against his lips, tongue retreating a moment later. Junpei pulls back from the kiss to give the curse a piece of his mind about unwelcome body intrusions, but Mahito is already slipping a hand lower, wrapping around the skin at Junpei’s hip that he exposed earlier when the hoodie rode up.
“Sorry.” Mahito apologizes before Junpei can protest, cutting off his huffed complaints with a stroke of his hip. “Just wanted to try something.”
“Don’t do that, someone might have heard me.” Junpei protests in a whisper, and then, as it occurs to him, “We can’t do that here, I’ll look crazy making out with air.”
“It’s a dark theater.” Mahito points out, and Junpei is pretty sure he made his eyes bigger for dramatic effect.
“Still.” His voice sounds less convincing by the second, especially when Mahito tugs him closer by the hand around his hip. “That’s a crime, you know. They call the police for that sort of thing.”
“What is a police going to do?” Mahito asked, cocking his head to the side with an almost playful grin. “We can do this until you scream, Junpei, right here, and I could kill anyone who sees.”
It shouldn’t be remotely sexy. It definitely shouldn’t be sort of romantic, in a weird way. Junpei’s cheeks flush anyway, rising to a cough as he looks away from the curse’s eyes.
“Shh.” he says rather than respond, pressing a hand again over Mahito’s mouth and this time not protesting when the curse lapped at his fingers. “No killing people.”
“Okie-dokie.” Mahito responds with a grin, and his hand around Junpei’s hip slips upwards, under his shirt, settling across Junpei’s stomach. “Whatever you say.”
“That means be subtle.” Junpei adds, his hand settling on Mahito’s knee.
“I don’t know that word.” Mahito might be being serious: There’s still some more seldom-used words he hasn’t yet learned. Or he might be fucking around. Mahito’s hand flicks lower, grazing around his waistband, and Junpei decides he’s definitely fucking around. Mahito might know the meaning of the word ‘subtle’ in the literal sense, but he doesn’t think the curse has even once embodied it.
“Mahito.” He warns, but the curse’s hand is steady, just stroking back and forth across his waistband. A pleasant sensation, he might admit under other circumstances. Junpei returns the favor with a hand sliding up Mahito’s thigh, tracing designs with one finger. Mahito hums in satisfaction at the small motion- like a cat, Junpei thinks privately- and leans further into him. It’s comfortable, Mahito’s hand on his stomach in the movie theater’s cold air conditioning, his hand tracing up and down Mahito’s thigh, and the curse making occasional sighs of enjoyment. On screen, the town detective is trying to recruit the big city cops to catch the killer. He’s almost certainly not going to succeed, it’s just another cliche, and Junpei might comment as such if he was feeling less blissful right now.
His content mood is snatched from him when the doors to the movie theater fly open, the laughter of two people filling the otherwise private theater. Mahito’s hand doesn’t so much as pause, seemingly indifferent to the intrusion at the front of the theater, but Junpei freezes like a loaded gun has been waved in his face.
“Shit.” Junpei whispers, and his hand clenches on Mahito’s thigh abruptly.
“What?” Mahito replies at normal volume, craning his head up to look around the theater, teasing a smile. “Did they call the polices after all?”
“Police. It’s already plural.” Junpei mumbles in response, temporarily sidetracked, before sliding down lower in his seat. “No, it’s not the police.”
“What are we hiding from, then?” Mahito asks, head cocking to the side as he copies Junpei, sliding lower in his chair with what was probably the help of a flexible-at-will spine.
“I know those girls.” Junpei mumbles again, voice pitching up slightly. Mahito might have commented on it, made some remark about his Junpei, but the fear he can smell from the human makes him instead turn with interest. He wants to see who had made his little Junpei so afraid, made his soul tremble ever so slightly, and then flare with the stronger emotion of hatred.
“Who?” Mahito asks, sitting up in his chair once more for a better view. He can see two girls had walked in- both in uniform, but with out of regulation sweaters over the top. His hand reaches out to find Junpei’s hair, tugging ever so slightly to raise Junpei up in his seat. “Those two?”
“Yes- stop it.” Junpei hisses back, hands batting at Mahito’s hand until it softens its grip, allowing him to sink back down again.
“Why do you hate them?” Mahito asks, fingers shifting to card through Junpei’s hair absentmindedly, oblivious to the scowl of discomfort from the human below him when his stitched hand brushes back the fringe hiding his forehead.
“I don’t. I just want to go.” Junpei whispers, but Mahito had already sunk back into his chair again, tugging Junpei back against his side.
“They must be pretty scary to make you afraid even when I’m here.” Mahito continues, hand pushing Junpei’s head towards his shoulder, all but forcing the human’s cheek into his poncho.
“I’m not scared.” Junpei whispers forcefully, annoyance flaring again and resisting Mahito’s hand, teasing games and casual touches forgotten. “I just don’t want them- I just want to leave, that’s all.”
“Oh, Junpei.” The words come out as an abruptly gentle sigh. A sound so delicate and mournful seems deeply wrong coming from the mouth of a curse. All the same, Junpei allows Mahito’s hand to guide his head, sinking his cheek into the soft material of the black poncho. “My sweet little Junpei. My good, good boy Junpei.”
Junpei’s cheeks flush despite knowing nobody else could hear the words, his mouth half open to tell Mahito to stop whatever he was trying to do.
“You should know by now not to be scared of anything. I can just kill them.” The words were delivered in the same cadence one might use for a frightened girlfriend. How many times had Junpei heard that tone before- saying things like “It’s just a movie, babe, don’t be scared.” He didn’t know how to feel about the same tone being used with him as the babe.
Mahito presses his fingertips against the side of Junpei’s forehead, cold skin barely brushing his scars. The curse must be reading some motion of his soul, and it makes Junpei feel painfully, transparently exposed before Mahito’s hand drops back, smoothing his hair back across the scars as if he got what he wanted from them. “They watched this happen, is that it? They were with those boys, so my little Junpei got scared seeing them.”
“Shut up.” Junpei demands, voice slightly louder in the darkened cinema before he remembers to lower it, tugging his head back from Mahito’s shoulder. “Don’t be an asshole, Mahito.”
“Such a strange metaphor. People need their assholes, don’t they? Otherwise they get all full of shit and die.” Mahito’s hand finds Junpei’s hair again, effortlessly forcing the human’s head back down onto his shoulder. “Isn’t that a funny thought, my little Junpei?”
Cheek back in Mahito’s poncho, Junpei squirms against the unyielding and significantly stronger hand in his hair. “It’s not.” He gets out in a forced whisper, hand moving to Mahito’s front to try to push him back. “And this isn’t funny, either.”
“Shh.” Mahito soothes from above him, and Junpei notices for the first time the fact that Mahito’s other hand is still stroking his leg, still holding him close. “I’m not mocking you, am I? I’m just saying facts- People die without assholes. You’re Junpei. You’re little. You’re mine. That’s all true, isn’t it?”
Mahito’s hand strokes his thigh, and Junpei feels the flush in his cheeks raise again. He wants to leave the theater. But Mahito’s poncho smells like his favorite blanket and his sutured hands feel almost warm in the chill of the cinema, and Junpei finds himself accepting the Curse’s embrace before he can rethink it.
“Mahito.” He mumbles, and it sounded so petulantly childish to his own ears that he almost doesn’t continue.
“Yes, my sweet little Junpei?” Mahito is doing it deliberately now, Junpei is sure. Using diminutives just to see how Junpei reacts. He’s sure that Mahito is watching his soul right now- watching it flicker between indignance and acceptance.
“I don’t want to be here with them.” Mahito’s hand in his hair softens slightly. He can probably move back now, if he wanted to. He ignores that fact in favor of pushing his face further into the Curse’s poncho, receiving a warm stroke through his hair in response.
“Of course.”
Mahito’s lips ghost over Junpei’s forehead again, and Junpei has a moment to consider the gravity of what he was asking- and more importantly, the gravity of Mahito following along. By all rights, it would be natural for Mahito to interpret his request in the worst possible way- By torturing the girls. First scaring them, then hurting them, then turning them into monstrous homunculi of their former selves before putting them out of their misery. And that’s if they were lucky.
Mahito would be just following his nature to unfold a scene worse than any horror movie. But somehow… Junpei doesn’t think he will. It defied all logic, but something deep within Junpei feels- all too similarly to their first meeting in the alleyway- that Mahito won’t. No, worse, he doesn’t just feel that Mahito won’t. He trusts he won’t. Junpei closes his eyes and exhales into the fabric underneath his face. Mahito’s hand leaves his thigh, the other hand still in his hair. Junpei doesn’t move. Prays he won’t hear screams.
One beat, then another.
And another.
On screen, the actress playing a love interest is talking to the detective, something about repressed love or something similar. Her voice is soothing, easy to tune out to. Junpei keeps his eyes closed. He can’t tell what Mahito is doing- can’t even tell if the body pressed against him was still Mahito’s main body, or if the curse split off. He tells himself he’ll check.. In a second. No, in ten seconds.
Before he reaches seven, Mahito’s voice is back, hand shifting again in Junpei’s hair.
“Oh-kaaay, you can look!” Mahito drags out the first word into two longer syllables, and when Junpei shifts up abruptly, eyes blinking open again, he can’t see the girls ahead of them anymore. Once again, it’s just him and Mahito in the theater.
“Did you kill them?” It’s probably not the politest thing to ask, and Mahito pouts as if to show his displeasure at the question.
“So rude, Junpei!” The curse beside him huffs, giving an exaggerated frown in the semi-darkness of the theater. “I won’t solve any more problems if you’re going to accuse me of things.”
“Sorry.” He says, even though he knows it’s ironic. He opens his mouth to repeat the question, then shuts it a second later. Does he care if Mahito killed them, really?
“But no, I didn’t kill them.” Mahito sighs, resolving Junpei’s question before he could be forced to confront it. “I just did what you asked, my sweet Junpei.”
In the low light of the movie theater, Junpei almost turns to face the curse, almost says something more meaningful, almost demands more details. Not killing someone still left a lot for interpretation. Mahito’s transfigured humans are technically not dead. The girls were probably stashed in Mahito’s pocket right now, trapped in shriveled transfigured form and writhing in the darkness. Junpei’s almost certain they are- if not worse. His guts turn again.
Junpei opens his mouth, and then closes it. The girls had been laughing. When he got cornered, pinned down and scarred, they had been there for all of it. They had laughed at the whole thing, and only Junpei paid the price for their apathy.
After a beat, Junpei sinks back in his chair with Mahito, words left unsaid. They didn’t care about the pain they had brought upon him, so he would return the favour. That’s fine, he thinks. We can all be ignorant, then. We can all ignore the cruelty we cause each other. That’s just fine.
After another second, Junpei inches his hand over Mahito's lap wordlessly. To his relief, the curse takes it, lacing their hands together easily. He’s pretty sure he feels a sixth finger. He starts to count, then stops that train of thought before it can develop further. It’s not worth thinking about things like that with Mahito.
Slowly, Mahito’s too-cold hand slides back to his thigh, and Junpei relaxes against it before he intends to. It’s wrong to ignore what happened. What might have happened. To ignore what Mahito was capable of. It was very wrong.
But rather than confront the curse, Junpei shifts closer to him in the low light of the theater, legs falling open ever so slightly. He doesn’t care, he realizes. He doesn’t care if the girls are dead or not, or if the theater attendant wakes up, or if Mahito really does kill anyone who might see them.
He almost giggles at the realization. There’s something intoxicating about being allowed to let go. Allowed to be cruel, because Mahito is worse. In the worst way, he feels free around the cursed spirit. In the worst way, he doesn’t feel bad when his own hand slips back to Mahito’s thigh, this time with purpose.
Beneath his hand, Mahito’s thigh tenses. For show, of course- the muscles of a curse don’t need blood flow in the same way a human’s would. Junpei isn’t even sure how Mahito knows to tense his thigh like a human would. Maybe it’s just an impulse.
His hand slides higher, emboldened, and Mahito sighs softly. It was another strangely soft sound from a curse, but this time Mahito didn’t follow it up with some remark or meaningless drivel. The curse leans into Junpei’s hand instead, and before he knows it, the human is out of thigh to slide up, hand brushing against the growing bulge in Mahito’s pants instead.
He had never figured out how much of the curse was clothing or reformed skin. Mahito certainly hadn’t seemed eager to share. He knew, at the very least, the poncho and black pants were clothing. Everything underneath that seemed to change, day by day. Time after time when they ended up like this together, in Junpei’s bedroom or Mahito’s underground hideout.
“Good boy, Junpei.” Mahito’s voice sounds breathless when the human’s hand finally slides under his waistband. It’s for show, again- Junpei knows that the curse doesn’t need to breathe. And yet Mahito seems to do so subconsciously, as if he never realized the gravity of the action.
Junpei makes a wordless sound of response that might have been affirmative, soft hand finally wrapping around Mahito’s cock in his pants. It’s as unnaturally cold as the curse is, sutures lining the base like a morbid version of piercings. Junpei almost shivers when his finger brushes one, phantom pains of a stitched-together penis hitting him even though Mahito has reassured him (multiple times, at that) that he felt no differently at his suture wounds than his normal skin. They weren’t even real sutures, anyway. All the same, Junpei’s index finger teases one for a second, almost nervously, before slowly running a hand up Mahito’s dick. He’s refamiliarizing himself, and underneath his hand the curse groans low in his throat.
He knows this must look insane to anyone who would happen to see them- some weirdo looking flushed, leaning over a chair, jerking off empty air beside them. He’d probably get the cops called on him. And then Mahito could kill them, like he said, and maybe finally this charade could be up. Maybe finally he could stop pretending like he was normal. Like he hadn’t seen the unseeable.
“Mahito.” He whispers, voice suddenly urgent.
“Junpei.” Mahito doesn’t sound nearly as teasing as he normally does, voice still slightly breathless with Junpei’s hand feeling up his dick.
“Can you.. can you talk?” It’s an indirect question, and normally Mahito would dance around the answer, making Junpei jump through hoops to get what he wants. Tonight, he must be feeling merciful.
“Why? Do you want me to tell you how good you’re doing, little Junpei?”
Junpei swears he wouldn’t have whimpered at the words of Mahito didn’t accompany them with a slow side of his hand up Junpei’s thigh.
“I’ll tell you.” Mahito reassures, and Junpei whimpers again when the curse’s too-cold hand strokes against the zipper of his jeans. He can feel it, even through the layers of clothing, Mahito’s fingers stroking slowly upwards, teasing where Junpei’s dick is starting to stir in his jeans. “But you have to behave, Junpei. You can do that, can’t you?” Mahito accompanies the words with a slow roll of his hand over Junpei’s bulge, and his human shivers beneath him again, hand still between Mahito’s legs. “You want to cum, you do it here.” Mahito sounds so pleased with himself that Junpei almost doesn’t immediately catch the words, head snapping over to the curse’s pale face a second later. In the light of the movie theater, his one silver eye seems to gleam, reflecting the light of the slasher claiming another victim on-screen.
“Mahito!” Junpei almost raises his voice above a whisper, his hand flying from Mahito’s cock to catch the curse’s wrist. Whatever words he was going to say next are wiped out when Mahito’s hand moves again, sliding over the tent growing in Junpei’s pants.
“Shh, good boy. I won’t even take your pants off, if you don’t want me too.” Mahito’s voice always seemed slick, but it seemed now to Junpei’s ears to be like an oil spill. A second later, an overly-cold finger slides under the waistband of his jeans.
“Mahito.” Junpei’s voice trembles, stomach tensing where Mahito’s finger brushes.
“Stay still.” Mahito’s sing-song teasing shouldn’t make Junpei’s stomach flutter. He definitely shouldn’t feel his heart skip a beat when the curse’s finger lengthens, warping like a reflection in a funhouse mirror until Mahito’s fingertip is tracing the base of his dick. His hand against Junpei’s cheek still feels cold to the touch, but with idle transfiguration, the curse’s affected flesh seems to heat up, passing human body temperature and jumping straight to the heat of touching a cup of boiling water. Unnaturally cold and unnaturally hot simultaneously. Junpei thinks it might be fitting for an unnatural not-human like Mahito. Not for the first time today, Junpei wonders what is wrong with him to find Mahito’s bizarre body morphing to be more funny than gross, more hot than terrifying.
“Mahito.” Junpei murmurs over the sound of the movie, breaths catching when the curse’s hand strokes the base of his dick again. “Are you sure nobody’s nearby?”
“Mm..” Mahito hums, eyes flashing to the side for a moment. Junpei wonders how the world looked to him, curiosity flaring just for a second before Mahito turns his face back to him. “Yep. Just us.” The latter half of the phrase is delivered with another curling note of amusement, and Junpei wonders when he stopped caring.
“Take.. take my pants off. Please.” He should be humiliated. Especially when Mahito obliges, undoing his fly and working his pants down to his knees, leaving Junpei with just his boxers for dignity. He should absolutely be humiliated. He isn’t.
“Good little Junpei.” Mahito’s voice is closer to his ear than he expects, and he jerks his head over in surprise, finding the curse leaning across the armrest between them, chin almost on Junpei’s shoulder. “You want me to tell you how easily I could kill anyone who saw you like this? How easily I could kill anyone you want?”
“No.” The word is delivered breathlessly, Junpei’s hands finding a hold on the armrest of the tacky movie seats as if bracing against some immense force. His head tenses forward, and then rolls back with a newfound sense of confidence. “I don’t care about that. Tell me how I’m yours.”
Mahito goes silent for a moment, and Junpei almost worries he said the wrong thing. Overstepped, somehow. Then the curse’s tongue is at his neck, lapping upwards with newfound passion, and his concerns dissolve into a wordless gasp.
“Junpei,” Mahito murmurs against damp skin, hand sliding further under Junpei’s boxers, to stroke the human’s dick with his whole hand. “Junpei, Junpei, Junpei. You’re so full of surprises.” His pigtails fall to the side, shielding his face from the light of the movie screen, and Mahito takes advantage of the darkness to twist a strand of Junpei’s soul between his teeth, relishing the way the human shudders underneath him, internal biology momentarily wound far too tight. A second more and he’s making a sound of pain, and Mahito releases his bite. He reasons that Junpei must know some aspects of what Mahito does to bodies- know that Mahito bit more than just the skin of his neck. If he does know more than that, though, Junpei doesn’t let on, hands still tense on the armrests, neck still tilted to give the curse access.
“Mahito.” Junpei gets out again, and it sounds higher pitched. Closer to the octave Mahito likes to have him in, breathless and almost squeaky in pleasure. Like some sort of a dog toy, he thinks. The thought makes him chuckle against Junpei’s neck, and the human gasps again. It gives him an idea.
“Hold still.” Mahito demands, lips pressing against Junpei’s pulse point momentarily. Giving the order is already a mercy- he could, after all, just fiddle with Junpei’s brainstem until the human goes limp, conscious but motionless. But he’s pretty sure Junpei would be mad at him if he did that, and lately he finds it more trouble than it’s worth to upset the human. “I want to try something.”
“Okay.” Junpei’s response is all the consent Mahito needed, but he lingers for a moment anyway, hand still wrapped around Junpei’s cock.
“It’s got to do with your dick.”
The words make the human pause slightly, and for a moment Mahito wonders what he might do if Junpei says no. Then Junpei bobs his head in nervous agreement, eyes open once more and this time looking at Mahito’s hand around his cock like it’s a live grenade.
“Promise you’ll change it back after?” It’s not a binding vow. Mahito is under no obligation to agree. All the same, he nods against Junpei’s neck.
“I promise.”
Given more time to reflect on the matter, Junpei might have weighed the costs and benefits of making promises with curses. He doesn’t think Mahito even understands what a promise is, outside of dictionary definitions. He knows that if the whim struck him, Mahito might never follow through with his promise to change him back. All the same, he nods again. Same as the girls earlier, he tells himself. It’s easier to trust the curse. If he had even more time to reflect, he might have reconsidered that notion.
But thoughts are time consuming, and Junpei’s cock is leaking when Mahito pumps his hand again, and suddenly continuing his line of logical thought seems less important. Instead, the human makes a soft noise, his cheek pressed against the blue-white hair of the curse beside him when he moans. “Okay.” He gets out, and he feels Mahito’s teeth when the curse grins against his neck.
“Hold still.” The curse repeats again, and a second later Junpei processes the feeling of red-hot transfiguration between his legs. It knocks the words out of his head and the breath out of his lungs- if touching Mahito when he transfigured was a too-hot teacup, this was the kettle. He can tell Mahito is trying to be gentle- at least he hopes so. It’s not pain, not exactly, but it feels like someone’s running a hair dryer inside his veins, making pins and needles shoot up and down his inner thighs. It’s the technique itself, he realizes. He’s never let Mahito transfigure him before, he wasn’t sure what to expect. Definitely not this. The strangled sound which emerges from his throat is met with a slight dulling of the intensity from below, and Junpei processes that he’s got his eyes screwed shut, head thrown back and entire body tensed against the intrusion. It feels wrong, even with his trust in Mahito, even with the fact it’s heat and not outright pain. He’s shivering, he realizes a second later, when the hair dryer inside his veins seems to withdraw, heat fading to just Mahito’s palm now resting on his thigh. The sweat across his forehead glistens slightly, and Mahito’s free hand wipes it away, licking Junpei’s neck again when the human shivers involuntarily in the chill.
“Good work, Junpei. Such a good boy.” Mahito’s voice is breezy, but his eyes are trained intently on Junpei’s soul. He had been delicate- so very delicate. Barely a tweak, really, in the shape of Junpei’s soul. All the same, a tweak could kill. Souls were delicate. To his relief, his Junpei is resilient.
A second later, the human seems to recover enough to speak. “What was that?”
“Look and see.” Mahito sounds more pleased with himself than Junpei has ever heard before. The words to comment on it are halfway to his lips when his eyes flick down, mouth falling open in shock.
“Mahito.” It’s the only word he can seem to muster, eyes fixed between his legs. In the dim light of the theater, Junpei keeps telling himself he might be imagining it, not seeing things fully correctly. But no, Mahito’s hand is tugging his boxers out of the way, fingers spreading across his-
“What do you think, Junpei? Of your pussy?” The grin in the curse’s voice is more audible than it is visual. He sounds pleased with himself- beyond pleased with himself. Like a cat who got the cream. In that scenario, Junpei is pretty sure what he is. “I’ve been watching a lot of human sex recently, you know. Lots of people hook up in alleyways and bars. There’s lots to look at. I think I did pretty well with this.”
Mahito is chattering again, but Junpei is still staring wordlessly at where his dick used to be. He can feel the panic stirring in his chest. The realization that Mahito could not change him back, and the surreal panicked feeling of his body not being his own. It felt dizzying, seeing nothing where he had always seen something. He might throw up. Then Mahito’s fingers are sliding across his newly formed vulva as the curse admires his work, and when his fingers twitch upwards to brush against his clit, Junpei moans.
“Oh, I got that right!” Mahito’s gleeful voice almost breaks the trance which has kept Junpei’s hands locked on the theater armrests. “They’re complicated parts, you know. I had to be really careful. But it looks like I succeeded- this doesn’t hurt, does it?” The curse’s fingers are circling his clit again, and the feeling is so sudden that Junpei shivers another moan, prompting Mahito to let out another gleeful laugh.
“No way! It’s really accurate.” The curse seems fascinated, fingers circling Junpei’s clit again before running down again, gliding lower. Junpei hitches a breath involuntarily when he feels the fingers brush over something he couldn’t put a name to. Mahito’s hand shifts, thumb brushing his clit again as one finger dips experimentally inside.
“Wait. Wait, Mahito.” Junpei’s words come suddenly, so suddenly that he’s almost surprised to find that Mahito’s hand is withdrawing before he finishes speaking.
“What’s wrong?” Mahito sounds genuinely concerned, free hand shifting to Junpei’s forehead. “It doesn’t hurt, does it?”
“No.” Junpei gets out, shaking off the question and Mahito’s hand with one motion of his head. “It’s just.. this is...” a lot, he wants to say. Insane, he might have settled for. Instead, he searches for breath again, hands tensing then relaxing ever so slightly on the armrests. “It feels weird.”
“Oh, I’m going too fast.” Mahito’s words come as a breathless chuckle, and Junpei wonders again where Mahito learned to sound so human-like. So distinctly normal, even when he was so clearly not. So clearly abnormal, as the situation between his legs right now would attest. “Sorry, sorry, my sweet little Junpei. Let me slow down.” Mahito shifts, just marginally, free hand wrapping around Junpei’s waist and other hand settling between his legs again, nudging Junpei’s boxers down further. “I forgot this is new for you. Do you want to look, first?”
Junpei might have commented something about it being a little too late for that, but he’s glancing down anyway, stomach squirming with vertigo again when he finds the lower half of his body so distinctly unlike what it’s been his whole life. Vertigo and something else. He can’t quite put a name to it. He isn’t sure he wants to.
“You’ll.. you’ll change it back, right?” The words sound hesitant, even to him, but Mahito’s chuckles subside, and curse’s voice seemingly uncharacteristically sincere when he replies.
“I’ll change it back. I swear.” Mahito sounds so genuine that it almost makes Junpei suspect another lie. He should probably demand Mahito change it back now. He should probably take a reality check about his situation- pants almost at his knees in a movie theater, lower anatomy toyed with by a Curse’s whims, said Curse’s hand currently between his thighs. He definitely shouldn’t want those fingers back inside him.
“Okay.” Junpei croaks out rather than do anything he should, shifting his legs almost experimentally. He can feel it, the change in anatomy. When his pelvis tenses, he feels an odd tension internally. “It’s different than having a dick,” he comments, lamely, before feeling a flash of embarrassment for the obviousness of his realization.
As if he knows Junpei’s train of thought, Mahito’s fingers slide over his thigh reassuringly.
“It’s a good observation. You’re probably the only human to switch between them, you know.” Mahito’s got a point, but thinking about that almost gives him vertigo again. “Do you want me to change it back right now?”
Junpei doesn’t answer for a long moment, tongue sliding out across his bottom lip. Mentally, he knows he should say yes. This is bordering on ‘too-weird-even-for-Junpei’ territory. But Mahito’s hand seems reassuring on his thigh, and the cinema air feels far too cold on his new anatomy... and Junpei is having fun. The last realization comes slowest but hits hardest. He’s having fun. He’s had his most intimate body part completely reformed by a curse. Mahito could definitely kill him right now. He could get the cops called on him, end up in jail for god knows how long for public indecency. And he’s having fun.
“Do what you did earlier.” It’s a whispered demand, but Mahito seems to hear. He smiles, silently and hugely, as he dips one finger back down, parting one fold before brushing the same spot which made Junpei moan originally. The sensation of a hot fingertip on his clit makes his breath stutter in his chest, and Junpei barely processes that his legs have shifted wider apart. “Mahito.”
“Good, Junpei. Such a good test subject.” Mahito is coaxing him, voice low in his ear, fingertip circling his clit, shifting back and then flicking, keeping him guessing. Junpei’s toes curl in his shoes.
“Mahito.” He repeats again, and the curse obliges to the silent demand, hand stroking lower, fingertip just teasing the entrance rather than sliding inside this time.
“Don’t worry, I won’t let anyone see you like this.” Junpei realizes that Mahito has leaned over the armrest fully, close to encompassing Junpei despite them originally being side by side. “I’ll protect you, my little Junpei. My sweet, good little Junpei. You just behave and be mine.” He’s not sure if it’s the finger thumbing his clit again or Mahito’s words, but Junpei nods along before he can think twice. A second later and he chokes out a gasp when Mahito’s finger slips inside.
“Shh, tell me how it feels. Be good, Junpei.” Mahito’s voice seems to curl around his ears, coaxing out any embarrassment left in his body.
“It.. feels different.” Junpei rushes to add more. “Feels like.. it’s warmer. I think.” Mahito hums, finger curling slightly, and Junpei’s breaths hitch again when he feels the finger tremble inside him. “It- Mahito.”
“Good boy.” Mahito reassures again, and Junpei isn’t sure if it’s the praise or the physical sensation that makes him gasp.
“Feels.. add another.” He might have been embarrassed about the sound which was being drawn from his throat, if not for the fact Mahito is obliging, another finger slipping in beside the first. He’s doing something- Junpei can’t quite feel what it is, but he feels more full inside. Mahito’s probably elongating his fingers again. Or maybe thickening them. Then Mahito half-withdraws his fingers, and Junpei realizes with a shudder of pleasure what it is.
He’s seen dildos before. He knows some of them have lines along them, ridges, veins or bulges. For texture differences, he assumed. He never really understood the difference before this moment. But when Mahito withdraws his fingers, they’re ribbed with stiff lines, and every change in texture seems to make Junpei’s thighs go weak. The sound he makes is more like a wordless shudder of a moan than anything resembling a word, but Mahito seems to understand anyway. He plunges his fingers back inside, leaving the wind knocked out of Junpei before he rocks the same two fingers, and Junpei is a mess again. The ridges are shifting, moving ever so slowly against his inner walls. He wasn’t even aware Mahito had given him inner walls, let alone what it felt like. Sensitive, like velvet. And like having someone poking around behind his bladder, fingertips nudging his organs. He’d have to tell Mahito about it. He’d have to tell Mahito a lot of things. He succeeds in making about two syllables of the curse’s name before the ridges are moving again, and it feels like Mahito must be winding up his soul with how quickly his body reacts.
“Hmm, that’s interesting.” Mahito’s thumb is flicking his clit again, fingers fucking him from the inside, and Junpei can barely string two words together. He doesn’t think there’s anything worth saying right now, anything worth distracting a single second of time from the sensations he’s feeling. He twists his head to press his face into Mahito’s poncho, muffling his whimpers and shudders of pleasure. “You’re way more reactive like this. I might’ve overdone it on the sensitivity.” Mahito’s voice sounds casual, too casual in the face of the fact Junpei feels like he’s having his mind blown.
“No.” Junpei demands, urgently, and it feels like the most important thing in his life that Mahito do anything except stop right now. “Turn it up.”
Mahito laughs, and the ridges of his fingers swell again, pressing against a spot just inside Junpei’s entrance. Junpei gasps, legs tensed and one hand clutching Mahito’s poncho, and he processes that he’s definitely getting too loud. “More sensitive?” Mahito asks. He’s toying around with Junpei’s soul again, tweaking things, and Junpei shudders in ecstasy. He doesn’t know what Mahito is changing, what Mahito is shifting around inside him. But the curse’s fingers are moving firmer against the same spot just inside his pussy, and Junpei barely manages to choke out a sound of pleasure before he’s cumming.
It’s different. So different from shooting a load, Junpei realizes. It’s like the sensation of burning warmth up through his stomach, hitting him the same way a regular orgasm does. But better. Better, hotter, wetter, it’s like his body is beyond his control for a moment, muscles tensing to the point of shaking, leaving him clenching down around Mahito’s fingers and trembling. He’s choking for air, mouth open and panting, and he realizes Mahito is still moving. Firmer, his thumb flicking across Junpei’s clit, his fingers still stirring that same spot right inside his entrance. His lips are still tangled in Junpei’s soul, making him feel like a live wire. It should be overstimulating, it would hurt if Mahito was doing this to his soft cock after cumming. But this is... Different. He realizes. The wave of pleasure which took control of his body is gone, but it’s already rising again. He’s shifting his hips into it before he realizes, riding Mahito’s fingers, grinding against Mahito’s thumb.
He’s in public, Junpei realizes, distantly, through another heavy gasp. In public, with his pants down, riding a curse’s fingers.
“Mahito.” He chokes out, and he isn’t sure whether to feel embarrassed at the fact he hasn’t stopped grinding his hips, hasn’t stopped the increasingly urgent motions to get Mahito sliding in and out of him. “Mahito, if- if the guy running the projector. If he wakes up, kill him.”
It’s the first time Junpei’s ever asked Mahito to kill someone. It should be sending cold shocks through his whole body to realize how far he’s fallen, to realize the sheer depravity of his actions. It should make him want to be sick. It shouldn’t make him groan when Mahito twists his soul again, when the fingers inside him shift firmer in response.
“Yes, Junpei. I’ll kill him.” Mahito promises, and he sounds like he’s in ecstasy. “My good, good Junpei. I’ll kill him.” It’s not dirty talk, but Mahito is reacting like it is, and Junpei barely has the words to point out that he only said to kill the employee if he wakes up. It’s not worth moving back, not worth detracting a single moment from riding the fingers inside him.
“I’ll take care of it.” Mahito promises, exhaling breaths that he doesn’t need against Junpei’s neck when the human shudders in pleasure, muscles starting to tense all over again. The same heat is starting at his thighs, growing through his gut, starting to crescendo.
“Mahito.” Junpei chokes the curse’s name in one short gasp, hips still moving for all he’s worth as the same delicious rush of ecstasy covers him. He’s gasping for air, one hand clenched on the curse’s poncho and legs shaking in pleasure. Inside him, he can feel Mahito still moving, right against the spot inside him where his inner walls seem roughest. Every movement seems to be sending shockwaves through his gut. He’s still rocking his hips, choking wordlessly when he lets that tidal wave of pleasure crash down over him for the second time.
In the aftermath, Junpei realizes that he’s definitely made enough noise to wake the theater attendant above them. He wishes the idea made him feel more horror, instead of satisfied, breathless pleasure.
“Good boy, Junpei.” Mahito sounds more impressed than Junpei’s ever heard him, and despite his intentions otherwise it makes him feel distantly pleased. Proud, even. Like he did the right thing for Mahito. “That was incredible.”
“It was- that was. A lot.” Junpei manages. It feels like his brain has been partially cooked. Like someone’s stirred his frontal cortex into a stew of sex hormones and dopamine.
“I’m sure.” Mahito sounds amazed, turning to examine his own fingers when he finally withdraws them from inside Junpei. Junpei shudders before he means to, and realizes belatedly that he’s soaked his boxers. He gapes, slightly, at the stickiness dripping from Mahito’s fingers, the damp spot of his underwear. He somehow- he somehow didn’t think it was this messy.
Distracted as he is with the soaked spot on his boxers, Junpei almost doesn’t hear Mahito lapping at his own fingers, licking his hand clean. It isn’t until Mahito hums, low and content, that the human finally looks over, cheeks flushing red when he realizes what the curse is doing.
“Mahito!” Junpei protests, and the curse pops his fingers free from his mouth with an amused grin.
“Tastes like Junpei.” He decides, and Junpei makes a face of equal disgust and embarrassed laughter.
“Ew, don’t do that in public.” He protests. It’s the most hypocritical thing he could say, but Mahito seems to let it slide.
“Sorry.” The curse says, rather than point out that Junpei was the one riding his hand. “Do you want me to change everything back, now?”
Junpei opens his mouth to agree, but stops the words at the last moment. He should say yes, he knows. But getting transfigured was uncomfortable, and he doesn’t know if he’ll let Mahito do this again- maybe it’s worth it to wait, just for a minute. To experiment some more. To..
“Or do you want me to fuck your new pussy before I change it back?” Mahito’s voice is low, teasing beside his ear, and Junpei flushes red before he can say another word.
“I.. “ He gets out. “Well.. it’s. It’s like you said, I’m your test subject. For research.” He’s stuttering, almost giggling through his own paper-thin excuse. Maybe it’s the post-sex dopamine, or the bizarre situation finally cooking his brain. But he barely manages a flushed grin at the curse in the dark theater.
“I agree.” Mahito says, and Junpei barely has time to get his pants halfway back to his hips before Mahito is picking him up, ignoring the human’s yelped laughter in fear of being dropped. “Let's go make use of that projector-er room.”
It really is freeing, Junpei decides, letting Mahito carry him towards the back of a theater as a giggling mess, ready to put him down on the floor of the projector room and fuck the pussy he just created. It’s freeing, being like this with Mahito. Knowing he can do what he wants, because Mahito will always be worse.
Junpei laughs with the curse when Mahito staggers through the staff-only door, sending them from the dark theater into the even-darker stairwell to the projector room.
He wonders if an outside viewer could tell who the curse was between the two of them.