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Masking His Feelings

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“Would you put some clothes on…”

The only sign of expression from behind the man’s mask are his eyes, but even those are usually half-shut with apathy. He holds out the bathrobe like a reluctant coat rack as he stands next to the other man, who happens to be naked. The two of them are in front of the large bathroom mirror, and the eyes behind the mask barely refrain from rolling in annoyance.

To be fair, Karamatsu did just get out of the shower. He sits on the counter next to the sink, luckily for him a large, marble surface that’s vast enough for him to lay his whole body upon to stare at himself, if he wants to. Which is exactly what he does; just with his body upright instead of longways, turned around to admire himself. His legs dangle over the edge of the counter, crossed. At least the man in the hockey mask seems relatively unfazed.

“My deepest apologies, Jason. It seems my one true duty in life is to lavish my body with its own eyes’ lustful gaze, but even I can admit when it’s gone too far!” He grabs the offered robe and drapes it lazily over himself, his shoulders and legs remaining exposed. A single gold chain is the only other thing he has on, and his ruffled hair retains little droplets of water from his shower. Looking to the man, ass seemingly glued to the counter as he turns, Karamatsu tears his eyes away from the mirror. “I’ll let you know when that happens,” he says, winking. Jason, or so he’s called, long since used to the nickname, lets him drone on… this is typical of Karamatsu, he knows, and if he listens long enough, he may be rewarded. Sexily.

“Say,” Karamatsu adds, “why won’t you tell me your real name?” Jason’s eyes go wide beneath his mask.

Of course Ichimatsu isn’t gonna tell Karamatsu he’d been fucking his brother for about three months now.

“I, uh,” he says, eyes darting to the side and back. “Have commitment issues.” Ichimatsu’s eyes continue to be the only indication of an expression as he watches Karamatsu throw himself down from the counter in order to readjust his bathrobe. The peeks of pale and rosy skin are nothing Ichimatsu hasn’t seen before, and he doesn’t even try to hide the way he ogles the momentary flash of Karamatsu’s dick from behind the white cotton.

Karamatsu notices that, too, his lips curving upward, mirroring the way his eyelids lower, dripping in lust as he draws toward Ichimatsu. Footsteps make a soft tpping sound as his bare feet meet the ceramic floor, and it isn’t long before he presses up against his semi-permanent guest.

Ichimatsu lets himself be a little taller than Karamatsu these days, allowing his shoulders to relax a long way away from his neck instead of the hunch everyone had come to love and expect from him. His hands trail automatically down from Karamatsu’s obliques to his backside as he stares down at his taboo lover, cupping perfect asscheeks from underneath the fabric of the robe. Karamatsu rests his weight into him, safe and warm as his arms brace against him. “That’s okay. I wouldn’t dream of robbing you of your freedom,” he says, an idle finger drawing circles against his broad chest.

Nuzzling into the embrace, Karamatsu’s soft hair contrasts nicely with Ichimatsu’s hardening erection then, and his only response is to groan quietly while he enjoys the feeling of the smaller body indulging his arousal. Ichimatsu kneads that juicy ass with big, rough hands and thinks to himself, ‘This is so fucking wrong,’ while Karamatsu bites his lip. But if he’s too empty-headed to realize he has an accidental brother complex, then it’s no skin off Ichimatsu’s nose.

Not that Karamatsu would ever see it anyways.

A flash of Karamatsu’s shoulder contrasts against the white robe as it falls down again, so he teases Ichimatsu with the sight of it, grinding his hips against him in a way that has Ichimatsu’s hands moving towards the front of the robe to try and sweep it out of the way. But Karamatsu grabs his hand and stops him.

With a playful look, he says, “Non, non! Unfortunately, there’s no time for that. Today we have an important duty!”

Ichimatsu’s proverbial ears perk up at the word “we”. Normally, he’s the one doing chores for Karamatsu, who’d “hired” him a few months ago to "help out" around the vast estate he’d acquired.

He curses whatever menial task could possibly distract Karamatsu from the best (and somehow worst, if you counted the whole incest thing) dick of his life, but before he knows it, a gardener’s hat and a wooden bucket are shoved into Ichimatsu’s hands.

“The strawberries have finally revealed their true love to one another… each ripened fruit bears a red more saturated than the next. We must harvest them while the feelings are fresh!” Karamatsu’s smile is blinding.

Ichimatsu rolls his eyes. He doesn’t even like strawberries. But if it means he might get his dick wet later, then he’ll put up with it.


The sun is warm outside, the air a refreshing kiss against Ichimatsu’s sweaty cheek as it carries the last of its spring winds to the estate of Karamatsu. It’s the perfect time to harvest the small portion of his garden that blooms precious strawberries, since the next harvesting season won’t be for another half a year after this. Ichimatsu manages to wrestle the gardening hat onto Karamatsu’s head rather than his own, insisting that he doesn’t need it since he already has a mask on. The only way he gets Karamatsu to agree is if he at least slathers on some sunscreen before they go outside, Ichimatsu biting back a comment about how Karamatsu would need it more due to his robe’s tendency to fall right off.

The two make light conversation, their backs to each other as they face opposing plants in parallel rows of strawberries, picking them and sticking them in the bucket between their bodies.

“So what do you like, Jason?”

Some questions are easy.

“Ah? I like confe—sweets. And I like Halloween,” Jason says, squishing a dead berry between two of his fingers. Karamatsu chuckles behind him, mentioning something about how he could tell, due to his refined taste in masks…

“What did you do before this?” Karamatsu asks next, a light blush spreading across his cheeks. His fingers play with one of the red berries for a moment before he plucks it, gingerly placing it in the bucket behind him.

“Not much.” Ichimatsu stretches out his curved back, popping his shoulders and vertebrae. “I wasn’t really good at keeping jobs before this one. I’m, uh. Glad. To be here.”

The gentle interactions and genuine aura surrounding them are enough to keep him through the questions that aren’t so easy.

“What’s your family like?”

An ice pick instantly goes through Ichimatsu’s chest. His eyes dart to the side, hands frozen as they reach for more fruit. Keep it together, he tells himself… “They’re… a wild bunch. I haven’t seen some of them for quite some time… you know how it is.” It’s not a lie, at least. But it can also probably be said of any generic fucker with a family.

The answer seems to satisfy the other man, however, so there’s no need for Ichimatsu’s high state of alarm. Karamatsu sighs and it sounds almost sad, but he doesn’t linger on it before asking his next difficult question. “Why don’t you ever take off your mask? It gets hot, does it not?”

Aware that Karamatsu is looking at him now, Ichimatsu turns and sees him start to reach for his face. For a moment, he briefly considers reaching for the knife he keeps tucked in his pants behind him, but then the saving grace of a cat’s distressed meow somewhere in the fields stops both of their actions.

Ichimatsu darts out of sight for twenty seconds, thanking the gods for saving him, while Karamatsu watches with his head tilted. When he comes back, a small gray kitten covered in dirt is clasped between his hands. It looks scared but starts purring when Ichimatsu’s large thumb strokes the top of its head.

“He fell down a hole,” Jason mutters, the words muffled behind his mask. He sweeps off the tiny kitten’s forehead with little flicks to remove the dust, who in response tilts its head up with its eyes closed. A trusting gesture. It’s adorable.

“Huh,” Karamatsu says, crossing his arms and holding his chin up with one hand.

Ichimatsu panics, asking him what, what is it?

“Nothing!” Karamatsu says, waving him off with his free hand. “I just didn’t expect you to be the animal-loving type.”

“Well I’ve fucked you enough, haven’t I?”

Karamatsu laughs and Ichimatsu breathes a sigh of relief, shoulders dropping all of the tension that had built up in just this one trip outside. The last thing he needs is for his brother to figure out his identity and speed up their guaranteed course to Hell.

Ichimatsu walks the kitten to a safer area of the field and scoots him along to play before returning to his spot beside Karamatsu. He bends down to his knees so they can both get back to work, basking in the warm sun and separating good berries from bad.

He doesn’t notice the way Karamatsu’s eyes glance back at him over the next two hours while they harvest in comfortable silence, not speaking to each other at all.


What better to do with freshly picked strawberries than to share them with your loved ones?

Well… love’s a scary word. Let’s just say to share them with your well-fucked ones, at least, since that’s how the two spend most of their time.

When they’d made it back inside, the strawberry field sufficiently cleaned out, Karamatsu is the one who puts the idea on the table. Let’s feed each other!, he’d said, and he was just too enthusiastic and adorable to deny. Ichimatsu isn’t so hot about the idea of eating in front of him, though, because that would mean moving his mask. So instead, Ichimatsu is allowed the pleasure of sitting next to Karamatsu on one of his loveseats and hand-feeding him the delicious fruits, one by one.

And accidentally getting juice all over him.


Karamatsu doesn’t seem to mind, pursing his wet, strawberry-flavored lips at Ichimatsu, winking, blowing kisses.

“You’re so messy,” Ichimatsu says, a little too much breath in his voice as he purposefully lets juice drip down Karamatsu’s chin to his collarbones. Ah… there that robe goes again, falling away from him.

“I suppose I’ll just have another shower, then.” Karamatsu inches toward his helper, legs crossed as he holds himself up with two hands on the seat cushion.

“Too many of those and you’ll dry out your skin.”

“Perhaps my cute helper can lotion me back up with a sensual massage afterwards.” He leans forward and his robe slides down his entire arm, giving Ichimatsu the prime real estate view of his perky nipples, the gold chain like a crown of royalty above them. What was that damn robe even for? Karamatsu squeezes his pecs, giving him a tiny hint of cleavage, and Ichimatsu can no longer resist.

“I have a better idea,” he says, yanking Karamatsu forward by that gold chain which earns him a yelp. With his free hand, Ichimatsu pushes up his mask just enough to expose his mouth and starts licking and sucking on Karamatsu’s shoulder, pink tongue lapping at all the wayward juice they’d spilled earlier. Karamatsu keens, a big talker but truly weak beneath Jason’s ministrations. His legs crumble and fall from their crossed position, rubbing together like a cricket does at night to conceal his growing hard-on. As Ichimatsu works, his tongue dancing from perfect shoulders up to sensitive neck, Karamatsu clutches at his back, fingers digging into the cloth of his tattered shirt, holding Ichimatsu closely and desperately while the hot sensations lavish his body.

“Eh?” Karamatsu stops when he grabs at something foreign behind Ichimatsu’s back, tucked neatly into his waistband. “What’s this?”

“Hey—” Ichimatsu says half-heartedly, pulling away to see what Karamatsu’s extracted from him.

“Knife?!” Karamatsu drops the weapon, fear flooding into his veins. The knife falls to the ground with a heavy, plastic-sounding flop, which Karamatsu tilts his head at. “Knife?” Bending over, he picks it up and discovers that it’s not even real. The sharp tip of it is the only thing that hurts, but only in that way that scratchy seams of unfinished plastic do when someone uses a cheap Halloween prop instead of the real deal.

He drops the knife again, intentionally letting it fall to the ground this time, and squeezes a seething Ichimatsu in his arms, embracing him.

Jaaasooon!” he drawls in an adoring tone, unaware of Ichimatsu’s furrowed eyebrows and grit teeth beneath his mask. “I’d no idea you were so soft-hearted!” By this point, he also can’t see Ichimatsu’s blush. But Ichimatsu is only full of a confusing blend of lust and hate for Karamatsu right now, but mostly hate, so he growls, “Say some stupid shit like that again and you’ll have a really fun time fathoming whether my knife is real or not.”

Karamatsu pulls back and lets his eyes close halfway, simply stroking the cheek of Jason’s mask. “Don’t worry, Jason. I won’t tell a soul.”

But when Ichimatsu huffs and drops the issue, returning to Karamatsu’s body in order to lick it clean again, Karamatsu for some reason can’t stop looking over his shoulders at the discarded, plastic knife.


It’s dark out, Karamatsu and Ichimatsu both having a tendency to stay up a bit later than the rest of the world. They’re sitting on a couch in the living room together, Karamatsu reading a book with his legs folded beneath him. Red wine sits in a glass on the little coffee table in front of them, and potted plants frame either side of the couch. Aside from the chandelier above them perhaps being a little too dim for Karamatsu to read properly, there’s nothing out of the ordinary. Except, maybe, for Karamatsu casually stroking Ichimatsu’s exposed dick, standing full mast outside of his pants while he remains otherwise fully clothed—but honestly? Even that isn’t odd for them.

Ichimatsu is calm, just staring forward with his hands doing nothing while Karamatsu works at a relaxed pace, like he’s using Ichimatsu’s cock to keep his other hand busy rather than to get him off. Not that Ichimatsu minds. It still feels fucking amazing.

“So… why am I here?” Ichimatsu always feels a little guilty when he’s the only one getting any attention. He watches Karamatsu’s smile twitch.

“Just to keep this lonely heart from bleeding.”

“How can you be lonely? I’m always here,” he says softly, meaning a different “here” this time. Karamatsu looks sad when he says that.

But instead of answering, Karamatsu offers Ichimatsu a drink.

“Oh… nah… I’m trying to sober up. I get a little…” He notices the red, wet tinge of Karamatsu’s lips, the blush coloring his whole face like the handiwork of a toddler who didn’t know where the lines in a coloring book stopped. “Weird. When I drink.”

“No weirder than letting someone who doesn’t know your name stroke you off in the middle of his living room?” Karamatsu breathes, tightening and quickening his pump.

Ichimatsu’s grip mirrors his brother’s, knuckles tight against the edge of the cushion, but he perseveres. “R-right.” He bites his lip.

Karamatsu strokes just a couple of times but then lets go, clapping his book shut in one hand and throwing the other up to frame his forehead daintily with his wrist. “Oh, Jason,” he sighs dramatically, and Ichimatsu’s face is unamused behind his mask. “It seems my own weirdness level has reached its limit.”

Refusing to believe for even a second that Karamatsu’s “weirdness level” has a limit, Ichimatsu’s voice is flat when he answers. “You’re tipsy.”

“I can barely keep my thoughts together, much less my legs,” Karamatsu groans, peeking out at him with one eye.


“Carry me to my room, would you?”

Ichimatsu would tell him no, do it yourself, especially with the current predicament between his legs making it hard to stand up properly, but the way Karamatsu’s bathrobe has been unable to cover him properly all day, showing off exquisite cuts of his shoulders and thighs as he poses on the couch, leg bent over the other, leaning back… he sighs and stuffs himself back into his pants. “Fine.”

He scoops up Karamatsu bridal-style, who immediately wraps his arms around him and nuzzles into his neck, thanking him.

“Thank you, buraza…” he murmurs quietly, warm breath tickling Ichimatsu’s throat. Ichimatsu freezes, halfway up the grand staircase to Karamatsu’s room. What did he just say?

“What did you just say?”

“I said, ‘Thank you, Butler’…” he says in English, and he giggles at his own joke. Ichimatsu releases his tense breath, muttering, “Now I really know you’re tipsy,” before kicking open the door to his room and setting him down onto the bed for the night.

As Ichimatsu places Karamatsu atop the sheets, the robed man reaches for something on his bedside table and hisses when he pulls his hand back. There’s a little droplet of blood at the tip, and Ichimatsu’s eyes dart to the perpetrator—a stray needle Karamatsu had left behind. He must have forgotten to put it away some time ago; he sews a lot, though you wouldn’t guess it due to his most common outfit of a bathrobe and nothing else, so it makes sense.

“Hey, be careful,” Ichimatsu mumbles, noticing the prick. He scoots his mask up his face again and reaches for Karamatsu’s hand, pulling it towards him to suck the blood from his finger.

“Clumsy me,” Karamatsu says, a woozy smile struggling to stretch across his face. “I hate needles… but not as much as my precious brother does…”

“Most people hate needles,” Ichimatsu deflects, letting Karamatsu have his hand back once it’s free of blood. But Karamatsu persists.

“Oh, you don’t know him like I know him,” he says, and incredibly he’s reaching for the needle again. He grips Ichimatsu’s hand, much to the masked man’s surprise, and pulls his wrist closer to him as he looks up with sultry eyes. “Are you scared of needles? Jason,” he adds, voice hoarse with lust. He drags the flat of the needle along Jason’s skin, pulling the sharp edge away while he does so, so that it doesn’t stab or scratch him. The man in the mask visibly tenses yet he pants, the tendons in his wrist deepening even as Karamatsu is careful not to draw blood.

If he looks closely, Karamatsu can see a ton of little faint, white scars, strewn about the wrist like crosshatching. But the scars are all clearly old by now, developed from years of trauma that had hopefully already healed.

“I told you,” Ichimatsu says, breath labored. “Everyone’s scared of needles.”

Karamatsu smiles, eyes drifting down Ichimatsu’s body.

“Not too scared, from what I gather.” He puts the needle back down on the bedside table to lie forgotten for the rest of the evening, bringing a hand forward so that he can start to palm at Ichimatsu’s hardened cock beneath his pants. “Have I been harboring a masochist all this time?” Karamatsu’s cheek nuzzles against the hardness, letting his hands feebly run up to the top of Ichimatsu’s tattered waistband.

Ichimatsu rolls his eyes. “You have to be a masochist to be with a guy like you.”

Karamatsu doesn’t even chuckle or respond as he pulls Ichimatsu’s pants down, lets his hard, hot dick slap him in the meat of his own warm cheek. Immediately impressed with the gusto Karamatsu’s got, Ichimatsu remains silent as he marvels over just how deeply Karamatsu can take him. In seconds, his dick is almost to the hilt of Karamatsu’s lips, wet warmth cocooning him in a sheath of pleasure. Karamatsu doesn’t choke even one time. Ichimatsu already knew about that little quirk, but still he asks…

“Don’t you have a gag reflex?”

Mouth full of cock, Karamatsu shakes his head once from side to side, too busy smiling through what is essentially Ichimatsu’s dripping dick working him open. The tip presses into the back of his throat occasionally, which he takes like a champion, and then Karamatsu slides off achingly slow, an orchestra of wet, slurping noises punctuating the room as he releases Ichimatsu. It takes all of Ichimatsu’s willpower not to buckle at the knees at such a short job, but he manages to stay standing next to the bed as Karamatsu leans forward on all fours like the pet he is.

“It’s one of my divine features… you can use me however you like,” he says, staring Ichimatsu down despite being in a position lower than him. He moves back, sitting with his legs folded beneath him, leaning on one hand as his cheek presses into the shoulder that’s holding him up. Ichimatsu stands tall, hips forward a bit while his hands dangle uselessly to his side. Karamatsu’s expression is hot, but Ichimatsu can’t help himself.

“That’s too bad.” He lets himself smile only because he knows it can’t be seen through the opaque plastic of his mask. “Gaggers are hot.”

The expression immediately drops from Karamatsu’s face as he starts to wail. “I! I can gag for you! I would do anything for my little Karamatsu Boy!”

Ichimatsu doesn’t have time to question the nickname—he thought there was only one Karamatsu Boy? And sure, he himself is that boy, but Karamatsu isn’t supposed to know that—but he doesn’t even have time to get jealous as he shifts gears, stopping Karamatsu from shoving two fingers down his throat.

His wrists grab Karamatsu’s as he falls onto the bed. “Idiot! You’ve already had too much to drink, you’ll puke!”

“Isn’t that what you want, Jason-sama?” Karamatsu sobs, tears leaking from his face and nose as he wrestles in Ichimatsu’s arms. Ichimatsu repeatedly swipes at Karamatsu’s hands, pulling them away from his face as he restrains him in bed.

“No!” Wrestling like this, tangling Karamatsu’s perfect body against his, isn’t doing anything to make him less hard, but talking about such a… unique topic isn’t exactly something he’s ready for. “I don’t want to explore that fetish yet!”

“Let me train my rusty throat into something that’s good for you!”

“It’s good as it is!” Their legs entwine and both of them can feel everything going on with the other. Two hardened dicks strain against each other as Ichimatsu pins Karamatsu down one final time, breathing heavily above him. “Don’t puke on my dick!”

They both finally stop their flailing, Karamatsu staring up at Ichimatsu with his wrists pinned, knees pressed together. Ichimatsu stares down at him, eyes half-shut from more than just exhaustion, but he sighs.

“You should go to sleep, Karamatsu.”

“O—” Karamatsu’s legs twitch, his shoulders hitching for a second. “Okay,” he breathes.

The room is quiet for a minute, a charged beat of silence pulsating through both of them as they stare at each other. Ichimatsu’s eyes are intense but soft, taking in the forbidden image of his beautiful brother like this. How many times had they wrestled as kids? As friends? As someone Ichimatsu grew to despise, and then to deceive? Karamatsu’s embarrassed by the look, that much is clear, but he doesn’t groan his name nervously or even try to push him off. He lets himself be pinned down, meek and timid as always—waiting to see what Jason will do next.

Ichimatsu removes himself slowly, pointedly taking care not to disturb Karamatsu’s divine body, and he shuts the door without so much as a goodbye. He doesn’t head to the room he’d claimed for himself just down the hall, though; instead, he sinks to the floor right outside of Karamatsu’s door, letting his head fall back and hit the wood with a resigned thud, and pulls himself back out of his pants to finish the job.

He imagines Karamatsu’s unfocused grip on him, the heat of his breath against his neck, that STUPID nickname… he hates himself, pumps harder, when it’s the fabrication of the word “brother” he’d thought he’d heard earlier that really sends him over the edge, has white spilling all over brown pants and pristine ground. Panting, he lets his hand hang in the air and watches the thick liquid ooze over his fingers while his spent dick flops over his thigh, red and limp like a rotting fish.

“Karamatsu…” His brother’s name is a forbidden whisper on his lips, a sigh before picking himself back up. He’ll clean the cum off the floor in a second, but he takes a moment to choke out one last, harsh chuckle, a reminder to never stop hating himself for what he’s become.

Through the door, Karamatsu covers his mouth with one hand, nursing his own erection as he listens to the lewd noises of Jason’s hitching breath, the way he hears his own name spilled from loving lips, the way even sighs sound sexy as long as they’re coming from him. He too breathes his own sad sigh when he finishes, barely managing to wipe off his spunk before he rolls over and pulls the blanket over him to sleep.


It’s hot.

It’s hot, and it feels so good when he touches me like that, is all Karamatsu can think with Jason’s hands roaming all over and sometimes into his body. His tongue is so soft and warm, it’s so wet, it’s driving me insane…

It’s so hot, Karamatsu can’t stand it.

They’re in bed, Karamatsu on his back while Ichimatsu hovers over him. He’d never show his face, but Ichimatsu lifts his mask up just a little, finding it too hard to resist the temptation of sliding wet tongue over toned body, especially with the kinds of noises he could pull from his whiny lover when he did so.

But under no circumstances had Karamatsu even seen so much as the tip of Ichimatsu’s nose, and he absolutely refuses to kiss him.

Hickies, however, were always on the table, and Ichimatsu makes good on that as he attacks a sensitive spot on Karamatsu’s neck. First, with sharp teeth, and then lapping with soft tongue, he kisses and kisses as Karamatsu’s head twists and turns, body squirming beneath Ichimatsu’s, who has an aggressive stance above his submissive. He doesn’t relent for even a second as he clasps his fingers around Karamatsu’s jaw and forces his head to stay to the side, giving him better access to the patch of skin he claims.

Mine,’ Ichimatsu thinks, sucking hard enough to bruise. Karamatsu’s eyes are glossy as they dart occasionally to Ichimatsu, between their bodies, back shut to stare into his own black fantasy world. Ichimatsu moves his knee up, parts Karamatsu’s thighs, grinds into him hard. Earning another moan, he loses himself in the sensation of everything that is his stupidly hot older brother.

Karamatsu’s hands are gripping the sheets—which is fine—until they’re drifting up, reaching for the mask—which is not fine. At first, Ichimatsu manages to just grab his wrists and distract the hopeless romantic beneath him with chaste kisses against them before he pins them back down, holding him to the bed. It works until Karamatsu’s knee digs up into Ichimatsu’s stomach, which Ichimatsu mistakes for fooling around rather than his brother desperately attempting to break the single rule they’d established between them since day one.

But not for long.

Ichimatsu pulls harshly away, lips swollen, when he realizes that Karamatsu’s hands linger on his mask for a bit longer than he’s comfortable with. He throws Karamatsu a hard, angry look, pulling his mask back down so that he can see his eyes.

“Stop.” He holds Karamatsu beneath him like a captive prisoner, freezing their actions until his older brother stills.

“S-sorry,” the man says, unable to meet his gaze. A combination of fear and lust makes his voice quiet, so Ichimatsu forgives him.

The tension doesn’t last too long because if there’s one thing Ichimatsu knows that Karamatsu responds to, it’s intimidation. He can feel it beneath Karamatsu’s legs, cock hardening without even so much as pants to help him hide his shameless arousal. Ichimatsu rewards him with a few succulent strokes, pulling that damned bathrobe to the side, finally, and is rewarded with a few horny noises of his own from that lewd mouth of his brother’s.

Instead of bending his face back down to mark Karamatsu with more fresh hickies and remind him who he truly belongs to, Ichimatsu opts to watch the little show beneath him, slowly dragging the tips of his fingers along Karamatsu’s dick before wrapping his hand around him and beating steadily. His brother’s toned legs ooze perfection, bent on either side of him as he stares down like a predator with its near-dead prey, and Ichimatsu all but forgets about the little incident with his mask.

A whine leaves Karamatsu’s throat, irritated and confused, when Ichimatsu stops his pumping. But just a moment later, the sensation is replaced with Ichimatsu’s welcome thumb, parting sweet cheeks and massaging his way into Karamatsu’s ass.

“Ahhangn, Ja, Jason… that feels, so good,” he breathes, throwing his arms down to grab at the sheets again. “You make me feel so weak,” he says, voice smaller than small. “But I love it.”

He can’t see the smile Ichimatsu wears, but it doesn’t stop the man above him from doing so before groaning the word, “Good,” spreading Karamatsu open with his thumbs and rubbing the shiny, pink skin inside with the pad of his index finger. He’s just about to plunge in, knowing Karamatsu can take it, happily, when Karamatsu suddenly huffs, face red as he reaches for Ichimatsu’s mask again.

This time, his fingers start to slip past the straps of the mask, edging underneath the plastic, when Ichimatsu tears his hands away, growls, and grabs his hands.

Now he’s angry.

“Are you stupid?” His fingernails dig into Karamatsu’s wrists, leaving red impressions that make him wince. “Or just a masochist? Haven’t I told you to stop?”

Karamatsu shrinks into himself, guilt written all over his face, and Ichimatsu forces both of Karamatsu’s hands together between his own irritated clutch.

“If you want to get handsy, then at least do something useful with them.”

Ichimatsu straddles Karamatsu and scoots forward, moving his own dirty apron aside to reveal his huge, leaking dick as it springs forth above his brother’s chest. Karamatsu practically salivates at the sight before him despite the fact he’s clearly being punished for being naughty.

Ichimatsu takes Karamatsu’s cupped hands and slides his dick through the makeshift hole, fucking them hard and fast without even so much as a warning. Karamatsu’s jaw hangs open, a blush making his face glow red, and the momentum of the thrusts forces his head to bounce up and down a bit as Ichimatsu works, sitting on him.

Soon enough, Ichimatsu’s hips still, Karamatsu’s hands moving on their own without much input from Ichimatsu. And then, not only does he operate on his own accord, but his mouth opens, panting loudly, before he tilts his head forward and adds a hearty dose of mouth into the mixture.

Ichimatsu groans, hands moving to either side of Karamatsu’s face so he can use him any way he likes. He throws his head back, loses himself in the feeling of Karamatsu’s angelic mouth, the divine hole only he has the privilege to fuck like this.

It doesn’t take him long to cum; thick, hot spurts spilling into Karamatsu, wetness dribbling from his stupid face, pumping slowly as Karamatsu’s soft lips cocoon him. His well-behaved older brother milks him for everything he’s got; lips red and juicy and eager to please.

Finally, there’s a small pop! as Karamatsu slides off, a string of saliva and cum connecting dick and mouth as he stares up at Ichimatsu heavily.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and Ichimatsu is too busy and stupid riding a post-nut high to realize that Karamatsu’s hands are moving towards his mask again. “But I just have to see something…”

And with that, Karamatsu knocks the mask off once and for all.

“No, don’t—!” Ichimatsu’s eyes widen, hand moving to cover his face back up, but suddenly Karamatsu’s hands are on his cheeks, pulling him closer. A million things run through Ichimatsu’s head—surely, he’ll get his ass kicked, he’ll be berated, he’ll be hated; but Karamatsu’s voice cuts through.

“I knew it,” he whispers just an inch from Ichimatsu’s mouth before he pulls him in completely and kisses him.

Kisses him!

But Ichimatsu isn’t memorizing every detail, etching the precious seconds into his brain as he tastes his own cum between them. He’s practically screaming through their shut mouths, scrambling to get away, confused.

“Hhrmmnnmuah—” He pulls back, but Karamatsu is so clingy that they come up together. “You’re okay with this?!” Ichimatsu yells, glaring down at his too-adoring brother. “You don’t mind being a brother-fucker? Having a brother-fucker for a brother?!”

“If I recall, a certain five someones always used to make fun of me for not having a mind in the first place… so of course, I wouldn’t now, either…”

Ichimatsu’s at a loss, letting Karamatsu lean against his chest just like he’s always done. Karamatsu’s hands are warm and smooth as they cup his cheeks, allowing himself to be held by his older brother as he stares up into his eyes.

There’s a million things he could say, but Karamatsu is so cute, tastes so good, now that he thought about it… and those eyes, just so arousing as they look at each other and practically beg to continue, that Ichimatsu just mutters, “You’re so fuckin’ nasty.”

“I know,” Karamatsu responds, squeezing his eyes shut, nuzzling him and pulling him back down into the bed.

This time, Ichimatsu doesn’t resist.

As they fall back, he lets himself be pulled into another kiss by his older brother, the mask falling off the edge of the bed and landing on the floor with a disregarded clack, no longer necessary.

“Karamatsu,” Ichimatsu says, not giving him a chance before he latches back onto his bottom lip, bites him with sharp teeth, sucks on the sweet nectar of his tongue.

“Yes, Ichimatsu?” Karamatsu’s hands slide up and down Ichimatsu’s sides, his fingers catching the hem and pulling his t-shirt and loose apron above and off of him.

“I’ve been wanting to do this forever…” Torso now bare, Ichimatu’s hands dart to the useless tie of Karamatsu’s bathrobe, finally relieving it from its half-assed duty. He peels the robe from Karamatsu’s body, spreading each side of fabric out around him while his brother blooms from beneath it like a flower.

“But, Ichimatsu…” One eye closes as hands grip Ichimatsu’s shoulders, his little brother making quick work of peppering his neck with kisses and bites. “We’ve, already done this.”

“Not like this.” With that, Ichimatsu comes up and holds Karamatsu’s face between his hands, stopping all of his movements and kissing him fully. They both freeze, cheeks warm against each other, unable to breathe, before melting into the kiss and relaxing. Karamatsu’s hands float up, stroke at Ichimatsu’s spine. Ichimatsu breathes out, his weight spread evenly along Karamatsu’s naked body. Their legs form a pattern of Ichimatsu-Karamatsu-Ichimatsu-Karamatsu, thighs cupping and squeezing at one another while they start to move in tandem.

Kissing at Karamatsu’s lips again, Ichimatsu parts his own mouth, offering his tongue to his older brother, who accepts it gladly. Warmth slides along the bed of his tongue, pours into him while they groan and whine against one another. Ichimatsu’s hands glide over Karamatsu’s chest, and then down his body until they stop to cup the underneath of his knees. He spreads him open a bit, pulling up so that he can scoot back and give Karamatsu some of the attention he deserves.

There’s a hungry look in his eyes, one Karamatsu’s seen many times before, but a new red paints his face when Ichimatsu starts to lower himself.

“W-wait, Ichimatsu, that’s—”

Ichimatsu’s tongue is sticking out, just a few inches from Karamatsu’s asshole. “Thass whuh?” Ichimatsu raises a brow.

“That’s… embarrassing…”

“C’mon, dude. It’s not like I’ve never done this before.” A crooked smile cracks his face in half, sharp teeth visible only through the right side.

“Not like this…”

“Don’t you wanna see how hot I look when I’m turning you into putty in my hands without my mask on?”

Back arching violently against the bed, Karamatsu lets out a loud yelp when Ichimatsu’s invasive tongue enters him for the first time without the barrier of plastic keeping the rest of his face hidden. He’s intimately aware of every spasm, every twitch, every time Ichimatsu kisses and wets his tongue with more saliva to drive him even crazier. He’s so ashamed, feeling the pleasure sink like an anchor in his belly and then dragging through the sand up to his chest where it sits until Ichimatsu’s done.

“It’s so good…” he says, voice cracking up into a higher, softer octave.

“You love it when my tongue’s in your ass?” Ichimatsu teases, stroking one of Karamatsu’s thighs.

Yes,” Karamatsu’s voice is soft, broken when he replies. “Yes, please… ah… I want… more…” His chest heaves, his nipples two pink, little pearls accentuating his muscles.

“Think you can take me?” They were too lazy to get the lube, too in the moment to care about needing it. Besides. He knows Karamatsu can take him.

Always.” Karamatsu’s eyebrows raise high above his almost-shut eyes, begging Ichimatsu to satisfy him in the way only he knows how. It’ll be a relief for Ichimatsu to finally get those pants off, so he doesn’t hesitate to walk forward on his knees, pull them down, and position his heavy erection to align with Karamatsu’s hole.

He stops for a moment to admire his handiwork, watching his big brother’s muscles move beneath his skin. He’s beautiful, truly a site to behold, and now he’s all Ichimatsu’s. The way it should be. Karamatsu’s arms are still threaded through the fabric of his robe’s sleeves, but Ichimatsu is pleased with the way his creamy skin blends into his, only the soft cloud of dark pubic hair breaking the illusion.

His aching dick is cute, too, when it bounds up and down in delayed time with Ichimatsu’s movements. His thumbs press into Karamatsu’s thighs, keeping him held open as he fucks him.

Ichimatsu’s head dips low, teeth grit when a thought crosses his mind.

“Ah… and one more thing…”

“N… n-nn?” It’s cute how he can barely answer.

“Stop bringing random men over in the middle of the day to fuck you,” he pants. “It makes me jealous.”

Karamatsu giggles, a crooked smile spreading across his face while he bites his lip. He reaches to Ichimatsu, quite the feat while the pumping never stops, and his fingertips bump and graze one of Ichimatsu’s arms. “That’s the only reason I ever did it.”

“You bastard,” Ichimatsu grunts, earning a cry from Karamatsu when he fucks into him as hard as he can, slamming just once. He isn’t anywhere close to finished, but he pulls out, climbing up to lay next to his brother and let their faces be next to one another. “I’ll make you pay, you know…” His hands trace paths along Karamatsu’s stomach before sweeping down and stroking Karamatsu’s ready dick once more. “I’ll make you mine.”

Snaking an arm under Karamatsu, Ichimatsu helps him take the rest of the robe off, sliding the fabric off of him and extracting his brother, much to his delight. He drinks in the cute body, rosy nipples, first-rate legs as he watches Karamatsu break in front of him. But it isn’t enough to stop him from saying the only thing that matters.

“I already am, Ichimatsu.”

Ichimatsu can’t help but smile as their foreheads bump into each other. “And I’m yours… even if you’re an idiot.”

They kiss, Ichimatsu looking forward to never having to wear that stupid, sweaty mask around the house anymore, and they spend all of that night and the rest of their days proving it to each other.