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When Toji sneaks back into the compound reeking of blood and foreign cursed energy, Naoya thinks he’s well within his rights to storm into Toji’s room. Maybe it was stupid of him to think that his cousin would keep his promises, for once in his miserable life, but this is the same man Naoya had spent a year searching for then near-literally dragging back to the clan. Perhaps it isn’t surprising, then, that Toji would choose to disobey him again.
That doesn’t stop Naoya from smirking nastily when Toji half-turns to glare at him with one tired eye. It’s the next best thing, when Toji’s Heavenly Restriction makes startling him an impossible task, but Naoya’s dark pleasure only lasts until Toji scoffs and turns his back on Naoya.
Nobody turns their back on Naoya. It’s another lesson Toji should have learned… Another that Naoya will ensure Toji remembers, when he’s through with his stupid, rebellious dog.
“Toji,” Naoya purrs silkily, leaning against the doorframe to show just how unaffected he is by Toji’s… disobedience. “Care to explain where you’ve been?”
“No.”
Naoya’s mouth sags open — not that it matters, when Toji still isn’t looking at him.
“What did you say to me?”
“You heard me — I said no, ‘cause it’s none of your business.”
Naoya swells with indignation as he pushes off the doorframe, stomps over to Toji and wrenches at his shoulder. “What do you mean it’s none of my business? When I brought you home, Toji, you became my —”
Toji scoffs as Naoya abruptly falls silent and glares at him through one eye — just one, because his other is a hole in the raw, bloodied flesh that had once been a passably decent face. His shirt hangs loosely on his frame, which makes no sense when Naoya has seen the way his muscled chest and well-defined abs usually strain at whatever he wears… but did Toji ever own anything in red?
Naoya’s pretty sure he doesn’t. Toji is a man of monochrome colours, black tops and off-white hakama and the occasional pair of black slip-ons, but his shirt is dark red and his hakama is an uneven pinkish-red.
Something tells Naoya that Toji’s not soaked in the blood of a fallen enemy.
That something only grows louder when Toji winces at Naoya’s rough shake to his shoulder.
“The hell’s wrong with you? Menopause came early or something?” Toji smacks Naoya’s hand away with his one remaining hand, then winces again and mutters a curse under his breath. “Should be pretty obvious what happened if you’ve got eyes — now fuck off, will you?”
“Where you’ll just sit here and die, Toji?”
Toji gives him a genuinely baffled look. “You give me a bunch of shit about behaving myself after I got brought back against my will, restricted me from escaping or killing myself, use me as some sort of glorified dildo whenever you’re feeling pent up, and talk about how much you wished anyone without cursed energy should do the world a favour and die. Of all the assholes in your clan, you should be the happiest when I die.”
Naoya recoils, then grits his teeth and clenches his fists. Of all the things Toji could possibly suggest, he would dare think Naoya wanted him dead?
“I don’t — if anyone enjoys our little arrangement most, it’d be you! Who else would want to touch someone so filthy and, and a traitor to our good name?”
“Who indeed?” Toji’s interrupted by a bout of wet, wracking coughs, but still manages to smirk through the blood dripping from his lips and say, “Now fuck off already — and if you’re really lucky, you’ll never have to touch a filthy traitor like me again.”
That’s not what Naoya wants though. He’d thought he’d made it obvious when he brought Toji back and lectured him, then given Toji all the incentives he’d ever need to stay. Naoya’s attention, Naoya’s body, every night that Naoya spent inside the compound — Naoya wouldn’t have done that if Toji were anyone else, but Toji didn’t even appreciate his concessions or goodwill.
Well, if Toji didn’t want the things Naoya so thoughtfully gave him…
Naoya shakes his head sharply, then shoves his positive cursed energy into Toji’s body.
It’s not a comfortable or quick process, but why should it be? Naoya’s never bothered honing his limited talent in healing, not when it wasted so much of his reserves for so little gain, but he’s in one of the most secure locations in the compound — to anyone that isn’t Toji, sneaking out to pick life-threatening fights in some aborted attempt at escape.
Toji grits his teeth and refuses to make any sound though, only shaking in place from the excruciating agony of Naoya’s reverse cursed technique. It has to hurt, when Naoya’s cursed energy is scouring his veins and forcing his body to remember what it’s like to be whole, but he doesn’t even shed a tear as his eye regrows and his shirt begins filling out.
That won’t do.
That won’t do at all.
So Naoya takes back his energy before Toji’s body has finished repairing itself, leaving his face whole but his torso partially collapsed, and sneers, “If you wanted to die so badly, why didn’t you just ask me to do it?”
Toji, the utter bastard, shrugs and says, “Maybe I don’t want to fulfill all your stupid little fantasies.”
“My fantasies —”
“You don’t think I hear you mumbling my name in your sleep? You do that a lot, you know,” Toji adds, at the outrage Naoya can’t keep off his face. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you liked me. With the way everyone else in the clan talks about how much you love my dick? I might not even think you liked me — I might think you loved me instead.”
“That’s not — that’s not true. You’re just spouting malicious lies to anger me! Like I’d fall for anything so transparent!”
Naoya takes a shaky step back and hates himself for it immediately, then catches himself in time to keep his head from shaking. He doesn’t like or love or feel anything for Toji beyond condescending pity and towering disdain. He’s going to marry a biddable Zen’in woman when he’s the clan head and pass his technique onto his children, not tie himself down to a mongrel like Toji.
Toji, however, only laughs and nods at Naoya’s crotch. “You might wanna try that again when you’re not looking so aroused, Naoya.”
Naoya shivers, glares hatefully at Toji — then catches sight of Toji’s hakama, tenting obscenely for all his visceral mockery. It twitches beneath his glare and grows even larger before his eyes.
In that moment, something snaps in Naoya.
In the next, Naoya launches himself at Toji.
Toji goes down with a grunt that Naoya’s certain is pained. Whatever injuries he still has beneath his shirt reopen, warm and coppery beneath his fingers as Naoya scrambles to his knees, but Toji still manages to grin through his pallid features and say, “If you wanted to fuck from the beginning, all you had to do was ask.”
Naoya’s chest is so stuffy with anger that he could pass out from it. Instead, he takes a few deep breaths and fists his hands in Toji’s shirt, snarling, “If anyone’s asking for anything, it should be you.”
“I don’t know about that. ‘S not like I’m the one grinding my ass back against someone else’s cock.”
Toji laughs, hoarse and mocking, and keeps laughing as Naoya smashes their lips together.
Toji’s mouth tastes as awful and metallic as Naoya expects, for all that blood no longer flows past his lips. He pulls back to spit out a glob of something — likely congealed blood, with how concentrated the metallic taste is there — but dives back in when Toji tries to laugh again.
Why does Toji insist on being like this? Turning his back on Naoya, laughing at him to his face — Naoya would have kept the clan from bothering Toji and given him a reason to stay, when his drunken father and ugly uncles and all those useless others would never have. He should be grateful for Naoya’s favour, not… not act like this, mocking and cruel.
Naoya digs his fingers into Toji’s shirt and rips it off him, uncaring of the way Toji chokes and coughs up blood into Naoya’s mouth, then pulls back to hold Toji’s gaze and swallow.
“You should’ve been content with your lot in life,” Naoya says in a low and heated voice, flashing teeth that would no doubt be stained red. “You’d be nothing without me, worse than nothing if you’d stayed out there — you can think and say what you like, Toji, but don’t you dare look down on me.”
Toji opens his mouth again, something mean shining in his eyes, and Naoya smashes their lips together again. He drags Toji’s tongue into his mouth and bites, clawing his fingers into the flesh half-sealed over missing ribs, because Toji brought this upon himself.
If he can dish it out, then he can take everything Naoya’s forcing onto him — like his sudden nakedness when Naoya brings bloodstained fingers to his hakama and tears those apart too, and the too-tight pressure of his hands when he shuffles back to grip Toji’s cock.
Toji says something unintelligible (likely a curse, with how filthy his mouth is), but bucks into Naoya’s hands. It has to be more uncomfortable than usual, when Toji’s blood is sticky and drying on Naoya’s fingers and the last thing Naoya wants is to make this good for Toji, but Toji keeps thrusting and moaning like Naoya isn’t filling their mouths and slathering his dick in blood.
What more can Naoya expect, when Toji’s proven himself to be no better than a dog? He doesn’t even fight back when Naoya bites viciously into his lower lip, doesn’t do more than moan when Naoya swallows and sucks demandingly at his lips for more.
This is more than impure Zen’in genetics at play though. This is something etched into Toji’s soul, something that had broken or warped in him from the moment he’d temporarily left the clan (or even from the moment he’d emerged from that pit, the first time Naoya had laid eyes on his violent, headstrong cousin), and it burns Naoya. Even when he clenches a hand and tugs at Toji’s cock with increasingly harsher pulls, even as he tears at his own hakama and shoves a blood-coated finger into himself, Toji is almost too vibrant to bear.
In between Naoya’s lust and irritation and towering rage, Toji manages to extricate himself from Naoya’s mouth to laugh and rasp, “For someone who acts so high and mighty, you sure look like a bitch in heat right now.”
“I’m not,” Naoya hisses, even as he shoves another finger into himself. He hisses louder at the burn, ignoring Toji’s laughter and the way a calloused hand yanks at his kimono and gropes at his chest. “If you’re implying that I’m a useless woman —”
“You take dick like one, don’t you? Can’t even have kids either — I’d say you’re more useless than your useless women.”
“I’m not useless! Shut up, just shut up already!”
“What’re you gonna do, throw a tantrum?” Toji rolls his eyes and thrusts into Naoya’s hand, almost unseating Naoya from his lap. “Wow, I’m just shaking here.”
Toji is irreverent, but it’s just — too much. What more does he want when Naoya healed him, got him hard and gave him the edge of violence he always craved in their fucking?
Naoya’s cursed energy is nowhere near done healing Toji, not with the injuries he’s sustained and how little experience he has using it, but he withdraws it from Toji’s body with a tearing gasp and a spasmodic clench of his hand. Toji shouts at that — he must’ve clenched a little too tightly around Toji’s dick — but Naoya could hardly care less.
Toji’s still missing an arm and possibly half his internal organs, from the way blood keeps bubbling past his lips again, but he’s complaining from a hand clenching too hard on his dick?
Naoya scoffs, rips his fingers out of himself, and lines himself up over Toji with a breathless, “Shake a little more for me then, mongrel. Go on — I bet that’s what you did when half your body got destroyed doing goodness knows what.”
Toji laughs wetly at that, more blood gushing past his mangled lips, but it breaks off into a startled choke when Naoya drops down onto Toji’s cock. It’s difficult enough to take on a normal day, but today is anything but ordinary. With how little he’s stretched himself, the only reason Naoya isn’t screaming and clawing to get off Toji is because of the adrenaline coursing through his veins. Still, he has to draw in several deep breaths, ignoring Toji’s bark for him to fucking relax, your ass ‘s gonna rip my dick off, so he can get his shaky legs beneath him and start fucking himself back on Toji’s cock — using him like the glorified dildo Toji called himself earlier.
If Toji won’t do what Naoya wants and insists on being disobedient, then isn’t this all he’s good for?
Naoya’s features twist, but he manages to swallow back his bitter laugh. Toji doesn’t have cursed energy or even any standing to act unbridled and superior, but he’s just as Zen’in as the rest of their cutthroat clan — maybe more than Naoya himself.
(Not that he’d ever admit it, of course. It’s bad enough that he’s bottoming to Toji, when he’s the heir and Toji isn’t even worthy of being a spare.)
For all that Toji continues to bleed and shove at him with his one complete arm, helpless to do anything with the stub Naoya hadn’t bothered to heal, Toji’s heart isn’t really into pushing Naoya away. He wants it just as much as Naoya does, craves it beneath his veneer of mockery and ill will, because his body recognises what his mouth pretends to deny.
It’s not just Naoya who needs this. It’s not Naoya who bares his neck so teeth can sink deep into his throat or Naoya who moans when nails rake into and rip open freshly-formed scabs. He’s not the one who grunts out faster or harder or slams his hips up, powerful despite how sloppy it is from his injuries.
He’s not the one with injuries, who said something as useless and stupid as wanting to die, and Naoya snarls at the remembrance of it even as he tears harder into Toji’s skin.
Every inch of Toji belongs to him — it had from the moment he’d brought Toji back and staked his claim. It’s his to fuck himself on, his to bleed, his to heal and hurt and have.
Naoya rips his teeth from Toji’s throat, tearing flesh and something harder. He spits it out when it’s too tough and a little too slimy to chew, then allows his gaze to idle down in contrast to the frantic snap of his hips.
White bone — white cartilage — smears pink down a partially collapsed chest.
Only then does Naoya notice how warm and wet it is between them, blood pumping lazily from the rough gash Naoya tore in Toji’s throat. The squelches he’d thought were from their fucking is more immediate, choked gurgles bubbling from Toji’s mutilated mouth, but Naoya meets his dimming gaze and all he sees is vicious satisfaction.
“Na… o…”
Naoya stiffens atop Toji as his orgasm slams into him, cum splattering from his cock to stain the bloodied canvas of his stomach, and the light dims in Toji’s eyes with nothing more than a rattling gasp.
Toji is…
Naoya stops the thought before he can complete it, shuddering through the aftershocks of his sudden orgasm even as his fingers trail through cooling blood and across paling skin. Toji came back with half his body gone — the possibility he could succumb to this, just a little blood-letting and a little more violence than usual, is laughable.
“Stop pretending, Toji,” Naoya sharply orders, digging bloodstained fingers into the crevice beneath Toji’s glazed eyes. “You think you can fool me so easily? You haven’t even — you haven’t even cum yet, you can’t just —”
Blood wells beneath his fingernails as he presses deeper into Toji’s face, glaring at the eyeballs beginning to protrude from their sockets as he resumes bouncing on Toji’s lap. “Stop ignoring me, stop ignoring me, stop ignoring me…”
Even when Toji softens in him and his body sags against the bed, even when Naoya sinks his teeth into Toji’s throat and rips out more flesh, there’s no response. The blood drips sluggishly from his wounds — mocking him, after everything.
Toji can’t escape him though. Naoya brought him back once before — he can bring him back again.
Laughing wildly, unaware of the tears streaking down his cheeks, Naoya grabs Toji’s shoulders and buries his face into Toji’s cold, cold chest.