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Megumi hasn’t been anywhere like this before.
All he sees is red. All he feels is red. It glows upon his skin, cloaks him in heat, and a shiver travels up his spine and grips his neck. He shakes his head, closes his eyes for a moment and opens them to see the world turning a deeper shade of crimson. Something in the air feels heavy and seeps into his lungs like blood through a piece of cotton. He closes his eyes again, this time with a sigh and his fingers curling into fists at his sides. It rattles him from the inside, this strange air, gripping his limbs and curling around his throat. It’s only then that he realizes that it isn’t just the red world raising goosebumps on his skin and it isn’t just the thick air tightening around his neck. Megumi can sense it in a flash, exploding the color of spilled wine behind his eyelids, specks of gold peppered in. He knows it before he opens his eyes.
It’s not the touch of just any curse pressing into his pulse. It’s not the empty eye sockets he’s exorcised for years staring into him.
His voice escapes him in a whisper that sounds foreign and small and rough around the edges. A single name wipes away every word of his vocabulary and every thought in his mind.
Sukuna’s lips curl into a smirk and his fingers curl around his neck. Megumi doesn’t think of trying to pull away from Sukuna’s grasp: when his fingers tighten around the ink on Sukuna’s arm, another sigh escapes him, another shiver runs down every bump of his spine. Sukuna’s thumb presses into his chin, tilts his head up almost delicately. Sukuna touches his bottom lip and pushes down, slowly, methodically; he does it again with a hum and a crushing weight atop Megumi. He licks his lips, tracing the outline of Megumi’s jaw and the swell of his Adam’s apple. It’s not until Sukuna pulls his finger away that Megumi can breathe again.
Megumi whispers his name once more through the trace of warmth left on his skin; he whispers his name, “Sukuna,” something familiar that has been dancing on the tip of his tongue for years. Sukuna lays him down like an offering upon an altar and envelops him in crimson and heat. He holds his jaw, gives Megumi two pairs of narrowed eyes, two pairs of doting hands, and a quiet laugh that resonates deep in every blurry corner of this world.
This curse speaks his name like honey laced with poison. Its echo swallows him whole. Megumi chokes on a gasp and the curse’s fingers press into the bare skin of his chest as if they wanted to pry a proper sound out of his bones.
Sukuna speaks his name again and his body reacts through the haze: his back arches off the white sheets and his thighs spread to make room for the hungry king. Sukuna smirks. It’s devastating.
On instinct, Megumi narrows his eyes and parts his lips for the curse.
Sukuna’s fingers tighten around his arms, sink into his flesh hard enough to lay their claim and leave a trace for all to see. Ten finger-shaped bruises around the pale skin of his arms, five around his neck, five around the side of his waist. Each one tapping into something buried deep inside Megumi, something he refused to see before Sukuna cracked him open and swallowed his secrets straight from his tongue. He melts under the taste of sulfur and copper in Sukuna’s kiss, blood and fire, igniting a need inside him that could—will—consume him until only his ashes remain.
“Fushiguro.”
Megumi wants to burn.
Sukuna settles between his legs and stops his writhing with a pair of hands pressed against the expanse of his ribcage. Megumi can feel his claw-like fingernails teasing at the soft hollows between each bone and stroking the shape of them with a touch like needles threatening to break his skin. He keeps the blood of the atmosphere still inside his lungs. Heat pools in his lower stomach and tingles behind his ears and across his chest; Megumi doesn’t know how long his lungs remain static, waiting, frozen, while Sukuna traces the outline of his throat and the curve of his waist simultaneously, until the curse speaks again and Megumi chokes, and his will and his resolve come crumbling down.
“Megumi.”
Breathing, panting, keeping his legs wide open. Megumi trembles at the feel of Sukuna’s hard cock sliding against him and a pathetic, trembling whimper escapes his lips. His heart pounds like war drums inside his chest, his blood runs scorching hot inside his veins. His hips jerk up, his chest follows; he clumsily grabs at Sukuna’s shoulders and desperately searches for friction, for any semblance of release. Megumi doesn’t want to beg.
It’s all that he can do.
“Please—”
Megumi catches a glimpse of Sukuna’s teeth, sharp as knives in the dim, red light. Sukuna’s hands grip his waist shoulders, lifting his hips off the sheets and pulling them effortlessly against himself. The need inside Megumi grows and throbs and pulls sobs out of him until he’s close to drowning. Biting his lip hard enough to taste blood, Megumi tilts his head back to look into the face of the curse touching his skin like a frail, sacred object, branding it as his property with every bruise, and he trembles. Sukuna’s monstrous hands claim his chest, his arms, the sharp bones of his hips and the soft skin of his thighs; they dig into the small of his back and bring a wider smile to Sukuna’s lips when they wrap around his throat and squeeze. Megumi’s moan is loud, cracked, pathetic in the neediness it betrays. His fingernails dig into Sukuna’s arms, into his shoulders and the hard angle of his collarbones.
“Say it again,” Sukuna demands, guiding Megumi’s hips to grind against him and releasing the grip on his neck. Sukuna moves Megumi again, gives him friction, offers him a meager taste of relief to keep him painfully hard, painfully wanting.
Megumi’s body helplessly jerks upwards, craving Sukuna, aching for all of his touch and all of his scorching heat, for the sharp edge of every blade, but he remains silent out of a sick sense of survival.
“Say it again,” Sukuna growls, louder, harshly pulling Megumi against his body just to show the effect he has on him. Shouldn’t Megumi feel powerful? Sukuna’s skin feels burning hot, his eyes are narrowed and wild, filled with lust and hunger; hard flesh is pressed tightly against Megumi’s hip, and it's all because of him. The King of Curses wants, and he wants for him alone. Shouldn’t Megumi be honored?
“Say it,” Sukuna insists, this time baring his teeth like a wolf before its prey, effortlessly lifting Megumi to push him higher up the sheets, moving him, aligning himself with his entrance but holding his meager weight still.
Megumi whimpers, fruitlessly trying to take what he wants with a hand on Sukuna’s shoulder and the other on his waist. He watches the grin on Sukuna’s face grow, something close to mirth making the red in his four eyes glint like rubies, the wolf’s grin sharp and ready to tear into his flesh. Megumi wants it. He wants the teeth, the bite, the brutality of Sukuna’s need and the poison that drips from his lips. He wants the pain, the sting, the proof that the hungry king has taken him and branded him with bruises and bites all across his body. He wants the mark of this beast laid bare on his skin for the world outside to see. He wants the fear. He wants Sukuna.
“I’ll give you everything you want if you do as I please,” Sukuna speaks into his ear, licking the shell and the side of his neck with his dagger of a tongue. He buries his fingers inside Megumi, reveling in the broken cry and the pleasure setting his skin alight. His voice drops lower. “I’ll give you anything if you let me devour you.”
“Please,” Megumi cries out, his chest heaving.
With a grin and a snarl, Sukuna thrusts inside of him. He moves and pushes in, hot and thick, filling a void Megumi didn’t even know existed, once and again. Sukuna doesn’t stop to give Megumi time to adjust to the intrusion. Sukuna takes. A pair of hands lift Megumi’s thighs and hold the backs of his knees hard enough to bruise, the second pair presses into his collarbones and curls around his shoulders. Sukuna fucks him harder and deeper with every thrust, keeping him still and snarling with every loud cry.
Megumi takes it. Wine and gold burst behind his eyelids again and his skin lights up with electricity. For a moment, he tries to do the same for Sukuna: he tries to move against his harsh, steady rhythm, tries to make it good for the king, but it’s fruitless. Sukuna reads him like a map, knows where and how to touch, how to move inside of him to make him dissolve into moans and gasps. Megumi falls limp onto the sheets and lets Sukuna take him in whatever way he pleases. It’s everything Megumi didn’t know he wanted. It’s everything he’s longed for, maybe for longer than he would care to admit.
“My treasure,” Sukuna mumbles, wrapping a hand around Megumi’s neck and pressing his fingers into his pulse to feel every frantic beat of his heart. “All mine.”
Megumi cries out, one last time, grabbing Sukuna’s wrist as he crumbles. Wave after wave of pleasure tear inside him in ways he didn’t know were possible. His climax isn’t a furious ocean the way it has been with people, this time it is a wildfire, burning out of his control. Every muscle in his body tenses up, he trembles, gasps; his heart pounds against his ribs and his lungs feel heavy with the thick air of this world, but Sukuna doesn’t stop. The king takes, and takes, every sharp breath and every spasm until his name is the only thing Megumi knows is real. He holds Megumi's writhing body, his hips and waist, his shoulders, and continues to fuck into him as hard and fast as he did before.
“More,” Sukuna growls, squeezing the lower half of Megumi’s face, forcing him to open his eyes. “More.”
Megumi sobs, squirming, nodding, trying to pull away from Sukuna’s wild eyes and into his harsh thrusts. It’s too much, he still wants more; he claws at Sukuna’s four arms in a frail attempt to ground himself, claws at his neck and his chest and sobs when the curse’s laugh rumbles inside his chest. Megumi comes again, a weak little spurt, and he presses his hand to Sukuna’s face.
“Sukuna,” he sighs. “Sukuna,” he moans.
The king squeezes his throat.
+++
Megumi snaps his eyes wide open and sits up on his bed as if someone had put a spring underneath him. He takes in a sharp, deep breath and swears his heart will explode before his lungs give out. He can’t catch his breath. He blinks and rubs sleep off his eyes, surprised that there’s no red light glowing above him, only the pale light of a rainy morning coming in through the window. A pretty, pleasant little sight he doesn’t always take the time to appreciate. Dew glistening on the leaves, the chirp of a few birds there and there, the grey sun in the distance. Nothing more.
“What—” he sighs. "Damn it."
The mess between his legs is painfully obvious and too uncomfortable: he didn’t recall having an embarrassing wet dream like this since he was in school. Even then, he doesn’t remember anything quite like this. His thighs feel sore, his skin feels sticky with sweat and cum and he winces when he shifts on the bed to start getting up. His muscles ache, as if he’d gone and run a marathon. He wants to shower immediately.
Megumi stretches his arm towards his bedside table to get some tissues and attempt at least some half-assed clean-up, but just as he does, an image of the dream flashes through his mind, sharp and clear. Sukuna, on top of him, inside of him. Smirking, laughing, growling into his ear. Megumi feels a rush of blood run cold through his veins and another one down towards his cock. He touches the skin around his neck, longing for the soreness of a bruise and dreading the thought of it just as much. He looks down, hoping to see the finger-shaped marks on the inside of his thighs and feeling sick to his stomach at the clarity of his desire. At how much he wants. He swallows a lump in his throat, feeling his heart race in his chest.
His phone chimes with an incoming text, and he sees a silly picture of Yuuji with a quick glance. That shame runs up his chest towards his face, tinting it red, and forcing him to look away.
It was just a dream, he tries once and again to convince himself. It doesn’t have to mean anything.