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Yuuji had been talking about Megumi for weeks before he finally showed Sukuna the Instagram.
It was a Tuesday night, both of them slouched on the apartment couch, Sukuna halfway through a can of beer and barely listening. Or so Yuuji had thought. Yuuji unlocked his phone and turned the screen toward his brother with the sheepish casualness of someone who had rehearsed the gesture a dozen times. "That's him," he said. "Megumi."
Sukuna took the phone. He scrolled. There was a photo of Megumi at a park, dark hair falling across his forehead, expression guarded but somehow still soft. Another where he was reading, chin tipped down, the afternoon light making something luminous of the line of his jaw. Sukuna let out a low whistle. "Cute," he said.
"Right?" Yuuji practically vibrated. "He's in my sociology lecture. He sits two rows ahead and one seat left and he always has this pencil he twirls between his fingers when he's thinking and I keep meaning to just... talk to him, you know, properly, but every time I get close I just..." He made a strangled noise. "Nothing comes out."
Sukuna handed the phone back. He looked at Yuuji the way older brothers sometimes look at younger ones: with a kind of amused, almost tender condescension. "I'll help you," he said.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." He took a sip of his beer. "Leave it to me."
Yuuji went to sleep that night with a warm, uncomplicated happiness spreading through his chest. He had the best brother in the world. He was sure of it.
A few days later Sukuna came home with three tickets fanned between his fingers. "Exhibition on Saturday," he said, dropping them on the kitchen table. "The three of us."
Yuuji picked up a ticket and turned it over. "Why are you coming?"
"I like exhibitions."
"You've never been to an exhibition in your life."
Sukuna smiled. "I'll help you with conversation. You freeze up around him, right? I'll give you an in. After that you're on your own."
Yuuji texted Megumi that evening, fingers fumbling twice over the words. Megumi responded quickly, a simple sounds good, I'll see you there, and Yuuji read it four times before putting the phone down.
The exhibition was, objectively, very boring. Vague washes of color on large canvases and unsettling lumpen shapes rendered in plaster, accompanied by wall text that explained nothing useful. Yuuji stood in front of a painting the color of old mustard and tried to feel something. He was about to give up and fake interest in the plaster shapes instead when Megumi appeared at his elbow and asked, quietly, what he thought of it.
Yuuji's brain went blank. He opened his mouth. He closed it.
Sukuna materialized on Megumi's other side. "It's anxious, isn't it," he said, looking at the mustard canvas with genuine-seeming attention. "The proportions. There's too much empty space on the left. Like something should be there and isn't."
Megumi turned to look at him. Something shifted in his expression. Interest? Surprise? The beginning of animation? "Yes," he said. "Exactly that." And he started talking.
For the rest of the exhibition Yuuji trailed a few paces behind his brother and his crush, watching the back of Megumi's dark head as it tilted toward Sukuna to murmur observations. Sukuna kept pace easily, responding, asking questions, drawing Megumi out with the unhurried competence of someone who had never in his life struggled to form a sentence. Yuuji might have felt excluded if Megumi hadn't been smiling. Genuinely smiling, the guarded quality dropping away from his face entirely, something underneath it open and bright.
In the car on the way home Sukuna said, "Sorry, I might have taken over a bit back there."
"Are you kidding?" Yuuji said. "He smiled the whole time. Thank you."
Sukuna just nodded and kept his eyes on the road.
It kept happening. Cinema: Megumi sat between them in the dark, and at some point in the second act he leaned toward Sukuna to whisper something, shoulders shaking with quiet laughter at whatever Sukuna whispered back. Restaurant: Megumi and Sukuna discussed the wine list with the seriousness of a debate, Megumi's brow furrowed, Sukuna leaning forward on his elbows, and Yuuji ate his spaghetti and watched Megumi's hands move when he talked. He was happy. He was genuinely, almost embarrassingly happy just to be at the same table, to be this close, to watch Megumi be so animated and unselfconscious. That was something. That was enough for now.
He thanked Sukuna in the car after every outing and Sukuna always said the same thing: always.
By the time Sukuna announced the ryokan, what Yuuji felt for Megumi had long since outgrown the word crush. He wasn't sure what word fit it now. He just knew that it lived in his chest like something warm and pressurized, and that Megumi's name in his phone made his pulse jump.
"Onsen ryokan," Sukuna said, setting his phone on the kitchen counter. "Three days from now. Private room, private bath."
Yuuji blinked. "For the three of us?"
Sukuna looked at him with that particular older-brother expression, the one that managed to be both smug and fond. "I think it might be the night, little brother."
Yuuji's face went hot all the way to his ears.
Megumi sat in the back seat for the drive, and Yuuji kept glancing in the rearview mirror and then looking away before getting caught. The ryokan was two hours out of the city, rice paddies giving way to forested hills, the late afternoon light going gold through the car windows. When they arrived and were shown to their room, the sleeping arrangement resolved itself without discussion: a neatly made bed for two, a floor futon against the far wall, and Megumi already settling onto the futon with his bag as if the situation were obvious. Which it was, Yuuji told himself. The brothers would share. Of course. He tried not to mind too much.
They went to the private onsen in order. Megumi first, then Yuuji, then Sukuna was meant to go after. Yuuji undressed in the changing room with the suppressed nervousness of someone about to do something mildly consequential and walked into the warm cedar-scented steam. Megumi was already submerged to the shoulders, dark hair damp, eyes closed. He opened them when Yuuji came in.
Yuuji had rehearsed casualness. He tried to deploy it. He took off his towel and stepped into the water and sat down across from Megumi and managed to say nothing at all, which was perhaps worse than saying something awkward. Megumi said nothing either. They sat in the mineral-smelling water while Yuuji tried not to stare and stared anyway, catching the angle of Megumi's collarbone above the waterline, the way the steam made tiny droplets gather along his hairline.
Then Sukuna arrived.
Yuuji registered his brother's entrance the way he registered most things at that particular moment: peripherally, because his attention was mostly on the water. But Megumi's reaction was harder to miss. Color flooded Megumi's face with a suddenness that had nothing shy about it. His eyes skipped up to Sukuna and then dropped immediately to the water as if the water had become suddenly fascinating.
Yuuji looked over. He understood, on some abstract level, that his brother was good-looking. He had always known this the way you know general facts about the world: not personally relevant, simply true. But Sukuna standing at the edge of the bath with the towel around his hips was a different category of acknowledgment. The muscle under the skin was precise and specific, shoulders broad and squared, chest and abdomen clearly articulated, the proportion of him filling up the space. Then he dropped the towel, and Yuuji, who had a limited empirical basis for comparison, felt a strange, slightly vertiginous sensation looking at his brother's cock. It was large. It was, even soft and heavy in the warm air of the bath, unmistakably, disconcertingly large.
He thought about a summer when they were kids, a deserted lake, the same comparison occurring to him with the innocent puzzlement of a child, asking his brother why, and Sukuna laughing and saying you'll catch up. He had not, quite, caught up. He looked away from Sukuna and looked at his own hands under the water and thought about something neutral.
Sukuna stepped into the bath with an unhurried ease and the three of them sat in silence.
It was Megumi who left first. He rose out of the water without apparent self-consciousness and reached for his towel, and Yuuji, because he couldn't always govern his eyes, saw the water streaming down the pale lines of Megumi's body, the soft curve of his waist, and lower, the neat and delicate slit of his pussy. Yuuji's face went scalding. He stared at the far wall until he heard the changing room door close.
"Stop drooling," Sukuna said without looking at him. "He'll be yours soon."
Yuuji exhaled.
Sukuna laid it out simply: he would set the mood, create an opening, and then remove himself and let Yuuji and Megumi have their time together. He'd been building toward this for weeks. Yuuji just needed to be ready to step in.
Yuuji nodded with the grave attentiveness of someone receiving important instructions. "Okay," he said. "Okay. Yeah."
"Don't panic," Sukuna said.
"I'm not panicking."
"You look like you're panicking."
"I'm fine," Yuuji said, and he was. He would be. He had the best brother in the world.
The room was warm and dim. Sukuna had turned on the television to something neither interesting nor demanding. Some film whose genre Yuuji couldn't pin down except that it had a low throbbing score and a lot of close shots of mouths and hands. Atmospheric, was the word for it. Atmospheric was clearly deliberate.
Megumi sat in the middle of the bed, back against the headboard, a pillow hugged loosely to his chest. Yuuji sat on his left, acutely aware of the three or so inches between his knee and Megumi's. Sukuna sat on Megumi's right with the relaxed possession of someone who had claimed territory without announcement.
Yuuji tried to watch the movie. He registered approximately none of it. The warmth of the room and the mineral-faint smell still clinging to skin and hair and the low music from the television all conspired to make his pulse do something complicated. He was aware of every millimeter of the space between himself and Megumi's shoulder. He was aware of every breath.
At some point—ten minutes in, maybe, twenty, time had become elastic—he noticed Megumi breathing differently. A slight catch at the top of each inhale, a slower, less controlled exhale. Yuuji glanced sideways without moving his head.
Sukuna's hand was resting on Megumi's thigh. Not urgently. Just resting, heavy and warm through the thin material of Megumi's shorts. Megumi had gone very still, the way animals go still when they are deciding whether to run. Then, incrementally, he did not run. He leaned, barely perceptibly, into the pressure.
Yuuji turned back to the television. His heart was doing something irregular. He understood that this was Sukuna working on the plan. Setting the mood. He'd said that. He would help, and then he would leave, and then.
Sukuna's hand moved in a slow stroke from Megumi's knee toward his hip. Megumi's fingers tightened on the pillow.
Then Sukuna glanced at Yuuji and nodded, once. A small, deliberate acknowledgment. Be ready. Yuuji felt the nod like a starting pistol, all the anticipation that had been building for weeks consolidating into a single bright point of readiness. He was ready. He was absolutely ready. He watched Sukuna's hand continue its patient work and waited for his cue. He watched Sukuna's fingers slide under the hem of Megumi's shorts.
Megumi made a small sound: surprise, maybe, or the effort of suppressing a reaction to something unexpected. His face had gone red from his cheekbones down his throat, and his eyes were on the television with the slightly unfocused look of someone trying to process two things at once.
Yuuji's feelings at this juncture were complicated. There was something uncomfortable watching his brother touch Megumi like this, some protective flutter in his chest, but he pushed it aside. Sukuna knew what he was doing. Sukuna was setting the mood. In a few minutes he would step back, and...
Megumi bit his lip. His hips shifted. The pillow he'd been holding slid to the side and he pressed back against the headboard as if trying to stabilize himself, and the sound he tried to keep inside came out anyway: a small, cut-off exhale that had nothing innocent about it.
Yuuji sat very still and looked at the television and felt the blood moving in his body.
"You're dripping," Sukuna said pleasantly, to nobody in particular. "Better lose the underwear."
Megumi's head turned toward Yuuji.
Yuuji interpreted this as a request for permission and tried to arrange his expression into something reassuring. He nodded. He kept his voice even. "It's okay," he said, which was perhaps not the most romantic construction but was the best he could manage given the circumstances. Yuuji trusted Sukuna and needed Megumi to do the same for him.
Megumi looked at him for a moment with something in his expression Yuuji could not quite read—not reluctance, not quite relief—and then he lifted his hips slightly and let Sukuna ease his shorts and underwear off his legs and drop them at the foot of the bed.
Sukuna looked down at Megumi's pussy with an expression of open, unhurried appreciation. He studied it the way someone looks at something they have been thinking about for a long time and said how pretty it was that made Megumi's blush deepen past red to something almost painful-looking.
Yuuji filed this away for future use. For when it was his turn. He noted, distantly, that Megumi's thighs were very pale and that they were very close to him and that he could not quite look directly at what Sukuna was looking at without his face doing something embarrassing. He helped when Sukuna said to help, reaching for the hem of Megumi's shirt, drawing it up and off, keeping his hands gentle and unthreatening.
Megumi said, quietly, that he felt strange being the only one naked.
This was the opening Yuuji had been waiting for. He undressed with slightly more haste than dignity, pulling his shirt over his head, and became aware in the same moment that Sukuna had also undressed. He was aware of this because the room suddenly contained Sukuna's body in its entirety, and Sukuna's body contained, in particular, Sukuna's cock, which was not soft anymore. It was not fully hard yet either but it was thickening visibly, the veins beginning to stand, the sheer length and girth of it even in this intermediate state arriving in Yuuji's peripheral vision with the mild quality of a natural disaster. Something you could see coming but could not do much about.
Yuuji looked at his own lap. He was hard. He had been half-hard for twenty minutes and now he was fully, problematically hard, and the comparison between what he could observe in his own lap and what he could observe in his brother's was not a comfortable comparison to make. His own cock was fine. It was normal. It was manageable. Sukuna's was something else entirely, and Yuuji pushed the observation away before it could settle. None of that mattered. In a few minutes Sukuna would leave, and...
"He needs to be prepared properly," Sukuna said, to Yuuji specifically. "For his first time. You know how to do that?"
Yuuji did not know how to do that. He knew the theory of it but the theory and the practical were, at this particular moment, separated by a chasm his confidence could not quite bridge.
"I'll do it," Sukuna said, and settled between Megumi's thighs before Yuuji had formulated a response.
Yuuji sat on the edge of the edge of the bed and watched his brother lower his head between Megumi's legs. Yuuji watched Megumi's hand fly up to his own mouth and back arch on a sharp, disbelieving inhale the moment Sukuna's tongue made contact with his pussy.
After that the sounds of the room changed. Sukuna was unhurried and thorough. He licked a long, flat stripe up the length of Megumi's pussy first and just that made Megumi produce a squeal through his fingers. Like the sound had been punched out of him. Then Sukuna went to work properly: his tongue circling Megumi's clit in slow, deliberate strokes while two fingers pressed at his entrance, not pushing yet, just pressing, learning the resistance there. Megumi came apart in small steps. First, the careful stillness gave way to restlessness, hips shifting upward toward Sukuna's mouth, fingers knotting in the duvet. Then, the attempt at quiet gave way to small sounds that kept cresting and being swallowed back. Next, even that control gave way entirely as Sukuna slid one finger inside and crooked it and found something that made Megumi's thighs try to close involuntarily around his head.
"Don't," Sukuna said, against him, which sent a vibration through Megumi's clit and made him whimper. He pressed Megumi's thighs back open with his palms and went back to it.
Yuuji sat twelve inches away and watched and felt his own leaking erection press with increasingly desperate and unhelpful insistence against his stomach .
Sukuna worked a second finger in alongside the first, slow and patient, fucking them in and out while his tongue stayed on Megumi's clit. And the sounds coming from Megumi had lost any pretense of composure. His pussy was embarrassingly wet, slick on Sukuna's fingers, glistening in the low light of the room.
And Sukuna commented on it. "God, you're tight," he said, pulling his mouth away just long enough for the words. His voice had a specific quality to it: low and deliberate, directed at Megumi like something personal. "And you taste…"
"Don't," Megumi managed, face turned away, burning.
Sukuna laughed against his pussy, which sent another vibration through his clit and produced a noise from Megumi that was almost a sob, and went back to what he was doing.
Yuuji's chest hurt. He pushed the hurt down. He pushed it down in the same place he had been pushing all the small accumulating discomforts of the past few weeks: the exhibition, the cinema, the restaurant, Megumi's face going bright and open in a way it never quite went for Yuuji. He pushed it all down and held himself ready and told himself that this was almost over, that in a few minutes Sukuna would be gone and Megumi would be warm and open and ready and it would finally, finally...
"Don't close your legs," Sukuna said, almost gently, pushing Megumi's knee back out with his free hand while his fingers kept their rhythm inside him. Megumi whimpered. "I'm not done."
He worked a third finger in, slowly, stretching Megumi's pussy around them, and Megumi made a choked sound and grabbed the duvet with both fists. In steady, relentless circles, Sukuna kept his tongue on Megumi's clit through all of it and watched Megumi's face while he did it with the focused attention of someone cataloguing everything for later use. His fingers curled on each thrust inward, pressing against the front wall. And whatever he found there made Megumi's hips buck hard enough that Sukuna had to pin them down with his forearm.
"There," Sukuna said, quietly, doing it again.
Megumi said something that was not a word.
Yuuji's erection had passed from urgency into something almost painful. At his best ability, he was holding himself very carefully to avoid making any sound or movement that would pull attention toward the painful comedy of his situation. He was sitting twelve inches from Megumi's spread thighs and Sukuna's head moving between them. The wet sounds of Sukuna's fingers and mouth were the loudest thing in the room, and Yuuji could see Megumi's clit swollen and slick under Sukuna's tongue. Yuuji could see the way Megumi's pussy gripped and released around Sukuna's three fingers with each thrust. And his own cock was hard and useless and he was not part of any of this.
And then Megumi came. Yuuji knew when it happened because Megumi grabbed a fistful of the duvet and made a sound that seemed pulled out of him from somewhere very deep. His thighs shaked, his hips rolled up against Sukuna's face with the abandon of someone who had stopped caring about anything except the feeling. Sukuna did not lift his head. He kept his tongue moving on Megumi's clit through the whole thing, slower now, drawing it out, until Megumi was shaking and oversensitive and pulling weakly at Sukuna's hair with one hand.
Sukuna finally raised his head. His mouth was wet. He looked, briefly, satisfied. He licked his lower lip. "Now the main part," he said.
Yuuji moved forward.
Megumi's voice, slightly unsteady: "Can we... a condom?"
Sukuna looked at Yuuji. The pause that followed had a specific, horrible texture.
Yuuji had not bought condoms. It had not occurred to him to buy condoms. He was aware, distantly, that this was exactly the kind of thing that should have occurred to him, that a person with more experience or more foresight or simply a brain that had been functioning normally for the past several weeks instead of running on a constant low-grade static of anxious longing would have thought of. He had not thought of it. He looked back at Sukuna with the expression of a person who has arrived at an important exam and left their notes at home.
Sukuna shook his head slightly, not unkind, but not particularly generous either. "I have just one," he said. "In my jeans." He looked at Yuuji again. "You should use it," Sukuna said. "Go ahead. Take the shot."
And there was something so genuinely brotherly in this, offering the only resource available, stepping back, making space, that Yuuji felt a rush of gratitude so acute it nearly made him emotional on top of everything else. He climbed off the bed and went to the pile of clothing near the door. Yuuji was turning over Sukuna's jeans, checking pockets, aware of Megumi behind him still breathing in an effortful, slightly dazed way.
He heard Sukuna's voice behind him, low and easy, and heard Megumi make a small sound, a sigh, or something closer to a whimper. But Yuuji didn't turn around because he had found the packet now, the wrapper crinkled at one corner, and he was tearing it open with hands that were steadier than he expected.
He got back onto the bed. Megumi was flushed and slightly unfocused. And when he looked at Yuuji there was something in his expression that Yuuji read as urgency. So Yuuji hurried. He rolled the condom down and...
It didn't fit. That was the plain fact of it. It didn't fit the way a coat doesn't fit when you've tried on someone else's. It was too large, the latex loose and bagging, refusing to anchor regardless of how he adjusted it. The condom had been bought for Sukuna's cock. Yuuji's cock was not Sukuna's cock. These were two facts that, placed side by side in his brain, produced a third fact he did not want to think of. He tried to make it work with the logic of someone who wants very much for a thing to be true and so keeps attempting the same action expecting a different result. He rolled it up and smoothed it and tried to hold it in place and it slid. He was aware that Sukuna was approximately three feet away, sitting with his back against the headboard, his half-hard cock resting against his thigh. He was aware of the specific dimensions of that cock. He had been aware of them, or had been trying not to be aware of them, since the bath.
And then, looking at Sukuna, at the very specific geography of Sukuna's body, at what lay between his thighs, thick and heavy even at rest, at the comfortable ease of a man who had never in his life had cause to feel inadequate about this particular fact, Yuuji lost his erection. It happened with a kind of awful swiftness, like a tent collapsing. One moment he was hard and trying to work through the condom problem and the next he wasn't. And the condom that had been too large before was now frankly absurd, hanging loosely off something that would not, regardless of how hard Yuuji concentrated, cooperate with his intentions.
He tried. He sat on the edge of the bed with the useless condom in his hand and tried, joylessly and with growing shame, to coax his body back to something functional. He looked at Megumi. Pale throat, dark lashes, his pussy still wet and swollen from Sukuna's mouth, the soft inside of his thighs. And Yuuji still felt exactly nothing below the waist. Because the part of his brain that would normally have translated visual information into physical response had been entirely occupied by the image of Sukuna's cock and the loose, sliding condom. The arithmetic that image performed on every idea Yuuji had ever had about himself was crushing.
"I don't care about a condom," Megumi said quietly but with conviction, shifting his hips against the sheets. "I don't... I just..." He exhaled, the sound of someone running out of patience with their own body's need. "I just want to be fucked."
Sukuna looked at Yuuji. Yuuji tossed away the condom. He tried again. Nothing. The image was imprinted: the comparison, the loose latex, the specific mathematics of the situation presented in terms he could not unknow.
Sukuna looked at him for another moment. Then he shook his head, slowly, almost imperceptibly, and moved between Megumi's legs. Yuuji sat on the edge of the bed.
Sukuna pressed the head of his cock against Megumi's pussy and did not push yet, just held it there, and Megumi's breath went ragged immediately. Sukuna was fully hard now, thick and long in a way that looked, positioned against Megumi's small wet entrance, genuinely improbable. Megumi was a virgin. Yuuji had known this. He had thought he understood what it meant. Looking at it now he understood it differently.
"Breathe," Sukuna said, quiet and even, one hand spreading flat on Megumi's hip. "I'm going slow." Megumi nodded, eyes closed, and Sukuna pushed forward.
The sound Megumi made was not quite pain and not quite pleasure but something that lived in the narrow space between them. A sharp, concentrated noise from behind his teeth as the head of Sukuna's cock pressed into his pussy and began to stretch it. Megumi's hands flew to the sheets. His back arched. Sukuna stopped, barely inside, and held still, and said something too low for Yuuji to hear entirely. Megumi nodded again, more deliberately this time, and Sukuna pushed deeper.
"So fucking tight," Sukuna said, and he was not talking to Yuuji. He had not said a single word to or about Yuuji since moving between Megumi's thighs. And somehow this exclusion was worse than any attention would have been. He existed, in this room, as furniture. He was watching his brother push his cock slowly into his crush's virgin pussy while his own cock lay soft and useless in his lap, and no one was thinking about him at all.
Then Sukuna's cock met the resistance of Megumi's hymen. He paused there. He said something quiet, and Megumi pressed his lips together and nodded, and Sukuna pushed through.
Megumi cried out, a real cry, loud in the quiet room. And then it dissolved immediately into something else, something that was not a cry of pain but threaded through with an unmistakable pleasure.
Yuuji watched blood well up around Sukuna's cock where it split the last proof of Megumi's virginity, watched it smear red against the pale skin of Megumi's inner thighs, and felt something in his own chest tear along a similar fault line. That blood belonged to him. That first time belonged to him. He had been building toward it for months, and he was sitting on the edge of the mattress watching it happen three feet away, soft and invisible, while his brother took it without ceremony or apology.
"You're okay," Sukuna said, stroking a thumb across Megumi's hip. "You're okay. You took it. You're not a virgin anymore."
"More," Megumi said, which was not at all what Yuuji had expected him to say.
Sukuna obliged. He pressed deeper, and deeper again, and Megumi's pussy stretched around him. Visibly, obscenely. The small pink entrance pulling taut around Sukuna's girth in a way that should not have been possible and yet was. Megumi's body was giving way inch by inch and taking all of it. The blood was still there, thin and red on Sukuna's cock, and Yuuji could not look away from it. He tried. He looked at the ceiling. His gaze came back down.
When Sukuna finally bottomed out, his hips flush against Megumi's, every inch of his cock buried inside, Megumi made a sound that had no coherent language left in it. His back bowed. His hands clawed at the sheets. And then, impossibly, visibly, the flat plane of Megumi's lower stomach pushed outward in a subtle but unmistakable swell. The outline of Sukuna's cock pressing through from inside. And Megumi looked down at himself with an expression of overwhelmed, almost terrified wonder.
Sukuna placed his palm flat over the bulge. Pressed down, gently. Megumi came. He came immediately and explosively, thighs shaking, pussy clenching around Sukuna's cock in rhythmic pulses, a long, wordless sound breaking out of him that started high and descended into something almost hoarse. Just from being filled. Just from having Sukuna all the way inside him, the belly bulge of his cock visible from the outside.
"That's it," Sukuna said softly, watching Megumi come apart. He held still through every pulse. "Good. That's it."
How deep he is, Yuuji understood, distantly and with precision. He's telling him how deep he is. Yuuji sat on the edge of the bed and his cock was soft and he did not exist.
Then Sukuna started to move. He withdrew partway and pushed back in, slow and deliberate, and Megumi's breath left him in a rush. He did it again. And again. Each thrust pressed that obscene bulge visible in Megumi's lower stomach. Sukuna's cock was a presence inside him that could be seen from the outside. And Megumi watched it happen to his own body with the stunned expression of someone watching something they had no framework for.
The blood on Sukuna's cock smeared and spread, thinning as Megumi's arousal diluted it. The sounds coming from Megumi changed with each thrust: first a bitten-down gasp, then something more open, then, as Sukuna found a rhythm, an unguarded moan that Megumi did not bother to suppress.
Yuuji tried, twice, to look at something else. The ceiling. The window. His gaze came back to the bed both times. He could not look away in the same way he could not look away from anything that mattered too much.
Megumi was being taken apart. That was the only honest description. Sukuna fucked him with the steady, deliberate focus of someone who had a goal and the patience to reach it. Not fast, not rough, just deep and relentless, each thrust bottoming out until that bulge reappeared and Megumi's voice broke on the pressure of it. Megumi's whole vocabulary reduced to moans and fragments and Sukuna's name, occasionally, said in a voice that had no defenses left in it at all. Not Itadori. Not anything else. Sukuna. Like a word he'd been holding in his mouth for a long time.
His name, Yuuji noticed. He filled it in the same place where all the other observations had been going, the place where he kept the cinema and the restaurant and the way Megumi had smiled at the exhibition.
Sukuna reached between them and pressed his thumb to Megumi's clit while he fucked him. Megumi made a noise like he'd been struck, his hips lurching up into the touch. Sukuna kept his thumb moving in slow circles on Megumi's clit while his cock worked in and out of his pussy, and Megumi's whole body went taut.
"Too much," Megumi said, "too much, it's too..." He came again. His pussy clenched so hard around Sukuna's cock that Sukuna grunted and stilled for a moment. He just held inside, his thumb still working Megumi's clit through the orgasm while Megumi shook and keened and said stop and don't stop in the same ragged breath.
"Good," Sukuna said. "That's it." Like Megumi was doing something for him personally.
Yuuji's chest felt strange. Not the warm pressurized thing that had been living there for weeks. Something with more edges. Something that cut when he breathed. He told himself: in a minute Sukuna would stop. In a minute Sukuna would step back and...
But Sukuna did not stop. He kept going with the implacable patience of someone who was not finished, varying his pace occasionally. Slower sometimes, working deep and grinding, which made the belly bulge most visible and made Megumi least coherent. Then faster, the wet sounds of his cock moving in Megumi's pussy filling the room, Megumi's moans going high and desperate. He leaned down to speak against Megumi's temple, words Yuuji couldn't hear, and Megumi turned his face toward Sukuna's mouth on instinct like a plant turning toward light. Sukuna reached between them again, two fingers spreading Megumi's pussy around his cock where it stretched him, feeling the shape of himself inside, and Megumi's words dissolved entirely.
"Can't," Megumi managed, at some point, which might have meant he couldn't take any more or couldn't stop or just couldn't.
"You can," Sukuna said, and Megumi did.
Yuuji sat on the edge of the bed and something in his chest had begun to bleed quietly, the way things sometimes bleed before you quite feel them.
Sukuna fucked Megumi until his voice was gone, until his responses had simplified to breath and small reflexive sounds and the helpless clenching of his pussy around Sukuna's cock each time he bottomed out. Megumi lay under Sukuna with the boneless quality of someone who had been completely undone. Who had given up anything that might be called resistance not because it was taken but because he didn't want it back. At some point he had stopped gripping the sheets. At some point his hands had found Sukuna's hair, and they were there still, holding on, pulling him closer rather than pushing him away.
Yuuji had not noticed when they'd gotten there. Then Sukuna leaned down and kissed him. Yuuji watched this happen. He watched Sukuna lower his mouth to Megumi's and Megumi rise to meet it, watched their mouths open against each other with the unhurried intimacy of people who are in the middle of something that has been building for a long time and have finally run out of reasons to wait. Megumi kissed back. There was nothing tentative in it. Megumi kissed Sukuna like he had been wanting to since before this room, before tonight, his hands tightening in Sukuna's hair and his throat making a small sound that went into Sukuna's mouth. Sukuna kept fucking him through the kiss, slow and deep, the belly bulge of his cock pressing visible each time, and Megumi moaned into his mouth and pulled him closer.
Something cracked open in Yuuji's chest. He did not cry loudly. He was not sure, at first, that he was crying at all, and then he felt the warmth on his face and understood that he was. He did not make a sound. He sat on the edge of the bed while Sukuna and Megumi kissed, their mouths moving together slowly even as Sukuna kept moving inside him. And the thing that had been living warm and pressurized in Yuuji's chest for months was doing something else entirely now, something that could not be named and could not be pushed down.
He had thought about Megumi's first kiss. He had, in the unsupervised privacy of his own head, thought about it many times. He had imagined being nervous about it, imagined Megumi being nervous, imagined something tentative and significant and his. He had not imagined this. He had not imagined Megumi's hands certain in someone else's hair. Or the specific quality of the sound Megumi made into someone else's mouth. Or the way Megumi's hips moved up to meet each thrust like his body already knew the rhythm by heart.
Sukuna had not taken anything. Yuuji understood this, dimly, through the blur. Sukuna had not taken anything that Megumi hadn't wanted to give. Megumi had been giving it this whole time. Megumi had been giving it since the exhibition, turning toward Sukuna in the dark of the cinema, leaning in at the restaurant table, flushing in the bath. This was the thing Yuuji had been watching all along and had not understood because he had been too busy looking for evidence that it was aimed at him. This was somehow worse than the alternative of just being rejected. Being rejected in favor of his own brother. The brother who swore to help Yuuji with everything.
Sukuna came. He broke the kiss to press his forehead to Megumi's, breathing hard, and pushed in deep and held there, his whole body shuddering. And on being filled, Megumi made a long, soft, shattered sound. Sukuna pumped his cum into Megumi's pussy in waves, buried to the hilt, and Megumi's stomach swelled slightly further with it, visibly full, visibly his. Sukuna's hips jerked through each pulse, riding it out, his hand pressed flat to Megumi's belly like he was holding him together. Megumi came again on the feeling of it, a small helpless orgasm, his pussy milking the last of Sukuna's cum as his body shook through it.
When Sukuna finally pulled out, he did it slowly, and the physical evidence of what had happened spilled out behind him: cum, and the faint pink trace of blood, leaking out of Megumi's ruined pussy onto the sheets. Megumi's entrance was red and swollen, stretched wide and then released, gaping slightly with the memory of Sukuna's cock. The neat, delicate thing Yuuji had looked away from at the onsen—the private, untouched thing he had imagined being the one to open—was gone. In its place was this: the proof of what Megumi had wanted, who he had wanted it with, how completely he had wanted it.
Nothing like what it had been. Nothing like what Yuuji had imagined.
Sukuna sat back. He looked at Yuuji, and his expression was, somehow, still capable of being fraternal. It contained a kind of apology that sat alongside something else, something deeply satisfied, and the combination was its own specific punishment.
"Sorry, bro," Sukuna said. His voice was low and quiet. "He's pretty tired. Maybe next time."
Yuuji nodded with the blank agreeableness of someone whose capacity for objection has been cleaned out.
"You should take the floor tonight," Sukuna added, lying on the bed beside Megumi's wrecked body.
Obeying, Yuuji stood up from the edge of the bed and retrieved his clothing from the floor. He dressed in the dim llights, found the futon against the far wall, and lay down on it. He reached up to turn off the lamp.
In the last half-second before the room went dark, he saw it: Megumi turning, unhurried and deliberate, pressing himself against Sukuna's side, fitting against him with the ease of something that had been finding its own shape for a long time and had finally arrived there. Sukuna's arm going around him without hesitation. Megumi's belly, still faintly swollen with Sukuna's cum, pressed against the soft weight of Sukuna's cock as he settled into sleep. The cum still leaking slowly out of Megumi's pussy, wetting the sheets beneath him. Megumi's face against Sukuna's chest, his eyes already closing, his hand curled against Sukuna's ribs like he had always intended to put it there.
Not a man too exhausted to choose. A man who had chosen. A man who had been choosing, Yuuji now understood, for weeks.
Yuuji lay on the futon in the dark and stared at the ceiling and thought about all the times he had watched Megumi's face change in his brother's presence. A hundred small moments he had mistaken for social warmth, for the charm of a good conversationalist, for the ordinary business of his brother helping him out. and Yuuji understood that he had been watching a love story the whole time. He just hadn't been in it.
Maybe, he thought, lying very still in the dark with the sound of Megumi's quiet breathing carrying across the room, maybe Megumi had never been his to take. Maybe there had never been a next time to wait for. Maybe the only thing that had ever been true was that Megumi had smiled, and the smile had not been for him.
He closed his eyes. He lay still in the dark. He did not sleep for a very long time.