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i.
Every time Touya closes his eyes, he wishes it was the last time he did.
He feels the crushing weight of disappointment deep in his chest when, like clockwork, the sun rises over the horizon and sends its rays through the all-too sheer curtains in Touya’s bedroom, illuminating his bedsheets, and waking him up before he has the chance to get proper sleep. If only mother nature knew how much he hates the dawn of a new day.
All the same, he fights his way through his day as usual. Training, arguing, struggling with his own brain in his every waking moment.
But none of this is his fault.
It’s Enji, always the source of his problems and never any solutions. Always telling Touya that he’s never enough, too much, not right. Shoving Touya away without ever acknowledging what he’s done to his son, his first, his only . If only he had the guts to kill him before fucking his replacement.
And the worst part of this endless cycle is that the night seems to be no better. He endures a day of relentless mental torture only to deal with more under the cover of darkness. His family is tucked away in their own corners of the estate, and Touya has no proper outlet this time of night. God only knows the consequence of sneaking out.
All Touya’s left with is his empty, dark bedroom, devoid of anything that could bring him even the most temporary relief.
Doubt rumbles in his bones, manifesting as shivers, his skin prickling and hair standing on end. His tears steal his breath away, shaking gasps strong enough to rupture alveoli.
He tries to comfort himself with his arms hugged tight around his knees. A blanket over his shoulders, the calm wind gently rustling the leaves outside. His attempts at self soothing are always futile.
Here, alone in his bed, the day resets itself. Touya’s laboured breaths smooth out as the blinding sun crawls across the eastern sky, shooting its bright message through useless, bleached curtains, sprawling over Touya’s face and reminding him that it’s time to start the cycle over again.
He used to have nightmares. Some mornings, he thinks he would prefer those to the hours of endless, sleepless torment. He hates that he even has to consider the choices, hates that this is his reality.
Touya hates himself more than anything.
i i.
Touya’s anger builds slowly.
It starts as a warmth in his cheeks, an itch in his throat, a sudden stiffness of his muscles. Always simmers right below the surface, boiling away at his restraint until, finally, his brain settles on an outlet.
Shouto.
Touya has never understood his younger brother. He doesn’t get his attitude, his unwillingness to cooperate, what their father sees in him. And least of all, he’ll never understand why Enji pushes so hard to train him when Touya’s right there.
Why Enji loves him so much, when Touya’s right there .
None of it makes sense.
It makes it all the more infuriating when Touya catches Shouto leaving a training session with him. Enji tries to get him to wait, saying something Touya can’t quite make out from here, but Shouto’s ignoring him. Walking away. It’s a miracle Enji doesn’t drag him back into the room and show him what listening looks like. Shouto’s never been grateful to their father.
Touya waits down the hall, around the corner, and out of Enji’s earshot.
Of course it’s not a long wait. Shouto startles in his place when Touya steps in his way, but he’s not given the opportunity to react. Touya pins Shouto up against the nearest wall, hands clasped tight around his neck. He squeezes tighter and tighter, ignoring the pinprick pain of Shouto’s nails digging into his wrists. He wonders, momentarily, if he would be able to hear the crunch of his brother’s trachea caving in beneath his thumbs if he pushed a little bit harder.
Shouto pleads through choked sobs and gasped breaths, frantically clawing at Touya’s arms. Touya stares at the tears pooling in his eyes, running down his cheeks, collecting in the space between Touya’s fingers and his brother’s throat.
Only when that useless clawing at his arms ceases does Touya shove him to the ground. Shouto coughs and wheezes, saliva dripping and dirtying the wooden floor underneath him.
Touya nearly feels sick when he’s struck by a bite of arousal, stabbing into his nerves, twisting in his guts. His blood boils.
“I hate you.” Touya spits.
⬦⬦⬦
Shouto has become the subject of his dreams, as of late. Not the non-explicit, easy to explain ones either. He’s showing up in the dreams where Touya is hungry, desperate, and taking every last ounce of anger out through hurried ruts, growls, harsh words. He can’t wake himself up from them, even if he wanted to.
And each time, when he’s given the gift of waking up, he does so with cold, wet shorts and an overwhelming feeling of shame. It’s worse on the nights where he has to touch himself just for a shot at getting some amount of sleep afterwards.
Touya wants to remove himself from the picture. More than anything, he needs an end to all that’s going on around him.
He wants to dream about the ways he would go about it. He thinks about Shouto, how his little brother struggled for air.
Maybe he would like to go out the same way. He could feel his lungs burn with the need for oxygen, fire without flame, lactic acid cramping his muscles. A slow and agonising event, drowning in sensation until the bitter end.
It would be what he deserves.
iii.
It’s December.
Touya’s birthday is next month, and as yet another year approaches on the horizon, dread wraps its tendrils around his chest, clinging and spilling into his ribcage. His heart beats erratically, lungs panicking for breath. He’s spent the past twelve months training endlessly, only to have nothing to prove for it.
So he decides to take a walk.
He’s alone out here. No one will find him this far from the estate, through metres of fresh, blinding snow, surrounded by towering pine trees that know nothing of his plans. He walks until he cannot hear a thing, save for his own breathing.
All it takes is a single spark. His arms ignite with minimal effort, ripping away at his jacket to score the flesh underneath. In no time, he’s gifted the acrid stench of burning flesh, black smoke rising up and away into the atmosphere.
It feels good. The fire kisses his nerves, his skin bubbling and burning away, gone, gone, gone.
He fantasises about it racing along his entire body. It could consume everything. Eat his muscles, scorch his bones. Envisioning his body being completely unrecognisable in the end only serves to make the dream that much more appealing.
Arousing.
Why is his brain so hellbent on making his torture pleasurable? Not that it stops him from touching himself, hands still hot from the flames dancing across them mere moments before. He’s never been so hard, aching for release.
He ignores how cold the winter air feels against his exposed, sensitive flesh. He strokes his cock hard and fast, chasing an orgasm, uncaring of any real focus he could put into it. He cums quicker than he ever has before, the pleasure knocking the wind from his very soul.
But the reality of his situation sinks in even faster. His hands are sticky, cold, and burnt, a terrible combination. He’s fifty degrees cooler now, in the snow without a coat, and in the post-orgasmic haze, he finds that he’s still stuck with a bitter, snowy walk home.
What a terrible thing to put himself through.
⬦⬦⬦
As any reasonable person would do, he tests his hypothesis. Different location, equally as far from home. He didn’t bother bringing a jacket this time, knowing he’d be left without one by the end.
It starts the same as last time, with a little ember on his forearm kicking off a brilliant reaction. But, it doesn’t feel right. In fact, he can’t feel it at all , and then—
The pain erupts from beneath his burnt nerve endings. It sinks sharp teeth into his flesh and immediately makes him wish for the sweet release of death instead. It’s nauseating, overwhelming, and he’s hastily burying his arms in the snow, tears pouring down his cheeks, suppressing a scream before he knows it.
This feels wrong.
He should’ve enjoyed it.
Touya should’ve burned right into the ground with his snuffed out flames.
iv.
Touya wishes he could leave this wretched body behind.
His family stares at him, boring holes through his body with their wide eyes and furrowed brows. They found out about Touya’s little immolation experiment. They don’t get it, never have, never will. They don’t know what it’s like , why he would do it, how any of this feels.
He wants to claw his skin off.
This is worse than a public execution. Touya would rather be trapped in a guillotine, forced to stare at crowds of people waiting for his untimely demise. He’d have the threat of half a hundred kilos of steel dangling above him, suspended like a bell anticipating its final toll, surrounded by the cheers, the cries, the applause of an eager audience. A true masterpiece.
But this?
Fuyumi begging him to ‘stop’ and be a part of the family. The hurt look on Natsuo’s face, and the sheer terror on Shouto’s. He doesn’t even need to look at Enji; he already knows the soul-shattering expression he’s wearing by heart.
No one asks if Touya is okay. They don’t care about him.
There’s no fixing this. No way to talk his way out of it— not that they’d listen anyway. So, Touya does the one thing he knows how to do well.
He runs.
v.
Touya should’ve stopped obeying Enji’s curfew years ago.
He makes a habit of it, after sprinting out the doors the first time. In the times that follow, there’s not many dramatic exits; it’s more sneaking out through windows, disappearing at odd hours, that sort of thing. Those bear more realistic excuses when, eventually, he finds his way back to his family hours or days later.
Maybe he doesn’t have to do that anymore, either.
Touya met someone recently. The man told him he could discover a whole new world. A way to take all of his pain away. How was Touya supposed to ignore an offer like that after all he’s been through?
Still, it’s hard to trust that he’ll gain any reprieve from a needle, syringe, and a motel room to himself for a night.
He does exactly as the man told him, easing smooth metal into his vein after the thousand steps leading up. He injects it. Tosses the used needle and supplies on the wooden bedside table and waits. There’s no change in sensation, in his happiness, in his pain. Absolutely goddamn nothing until the second there is.
This is what pure, unadulterated bliss feels like.
The room spins around him. Touya sinks into the white linen sheets, mattress giving way. It’s as if he’s being sucked into a whirlpool. The air’s been pulled right from his body, nerve-ends replaced with stardust. He giggles to himself, room hazy, limbs lost to space. He has half a mind to turn off the bedside lamp and let the darkness embrace him.
Under the cover of night, he palms himself, startled at how strong the sensation is. He’s discovered religion beneath his own hand, right at his own fingertips. He runs after it, worships it, moans unabashedly in this room all to himself until he’s spent and out of breath and wondering how long it will take until he can no longer feel the Earth turn on its axis.
He wishes this were all a dream. He would never have any desire to chase this sensation if it were all a product of his subconscious, something he could never guarantee himself ever again. But he thinks about that man he met, his promise of ecstasy, what Touya had to do to achieve this feeling. He thinks about how easy it would be to go through it all again and again and again .
Touya wants this so bad, he would die for it. Die because of it.
Absolute euphoria.
If only it lasted forever.
i.
This is his awakening. Touya’s becoming. He is a reborn soul emerging from a chrysalis, ready to yearn for the sun’s warm embrace and take flight.
He holds Enji near and dear, his head resting over Touya’s heart. Touya knows that he can hear the steady pulse beneath his son’s ribs. Hear the way it pounds for him. He is the reason blood flows through Touya’s arteries and veins, and the driving force of the oxygen pulling in and out of his lungs. And now, here he is, so close Touya can finally taste him.
If only he knew how long Touya has waited for a moment like this.
“You’re all mine, now.”
Touya’s life has been a series of ‘if’s and ‘when’s, and now, now, he can truly enjoy something he’s planned and waited to come to fruition. He knows Enji would yell, if he could. If he wasn’t drugged and gagged and tied up and just waiting for his son’s next move.
This is like getting high for the first, second, third, hundredth time. Better than any drug.
It’s been years since Touya vanished. Years since his father’s anguish was made public knowledge, years of him raising Shouto as his only, best son. Years of waiting and plotting and hoping that his father would be dumb enough to fall for Touya’s trap.
And he did.
So here they are now in an abandoned warehouse, far from anyone that could hear Enji’s cries for help. Not that his father knows that, of course, being in a secondary location and all. Touya keeps himself hushed as he closes the distance between himself and his father, awake, bound, and laying on his side on the cold hard ground. He has the courtesy to remove his blindfold and cloth gag, only to ask him an important question.
“Tell me,” Touya whispers close to his ear, pressing a burning hand against Enji’s throbbing jugular, “Did you ever love me?”
“Yes! Of course I did! You’re my son!” Enji writhes, trying to move out the way of Touya’s pyre. He doesn’t even have the shame to be quiet; his voice bounces off the concrete walls. Touya only has one response for him.
“Liar.”
He scorches the skin beneath his fingers. Enough for it to go black and bloated; more than enough to force a scream from Enji’s throat, but not enough to kill him before the final act. What a tragedy it would be if Touya could not savour every step that led to this intimate moment of theirs.
“You’d have known this would happen if you loved me. No ‘Touya, is that you, what are you doing, why is this happening?’ or any of those pathetic excuses,” Touya shoves Enji onto his back and straddles his waist, gripping his jaw tight in one still-hot hand, admiring the way his eyes widen in panic, “If you loved me, you would have known this was me from the very start.”
He takes a good look at Enji from his vantage point. They both know he can burn his way through the rope restraints anytime he wants, assuming he couldn’t rip them by sheer force; the drugs have long since worn off, so what’s holding him back? Is he so ashamed, being stripped and tied up by his own son, that he can’t even fight? Touya smooths his hands down the solid muscle of his chest, feeling how Enji tries to pull away from his hands to no avail.
“Don’t do this, please. You’ll regret it.” Enji pleads with him.
“Regret it?” Touya laughs, “I won’t regret a damn thing. That’s your job here.”
Enji doesn’t hide his expression, fear soaking into his features. Beautiful.
He shouldn’t have let himself get taken here. He wouldn’t be nude and vulnerable, a present begging to be opened by Touya. He’s perfect like this, no strong hands preventing Touya from wrapping a hand around his cock. He delights in the shameful face Enji wears. He’s flushed red, hardening underneath his son’s touch, ready to be fucked.
Long ago, on the nights that he slept and didn’t dream about Shouto, he’d dream about Enji. Touya would fantasise about being in control— more so, his father being at his mercy. He damn near feels giddy stroking his father’s cock and watching the man beneath him break down, bit by torturous bit, fulfilling that fantasy.
Enji opens his mouth.
Touya gags him again.
He doesn’t need to hear the opposition to this. He gets off of Enji long enough to tug his pants down past his waist, hard cock finally free. He watches his father’s gaze dip lower, then snap back up to meet Touya’s eyes again.
His expression says more than words ever could. It’s delicious, the way his eyes widen once again as Touya gropes his ass. He says something that’s muffled by the gag and strains against the rope, helpless. Touya watches him closely, their eye contact unbreaking, as he slides two fingers into his mouth, then forces them into his father’s hole, revelling in the way he tightens around the digits. This doesn’t have to be enjoyable for him, but Touya twists and scissors his fingers, eager to chase his own pleasure already.
He wants to become one with Enji.
This isn’t enough for him. Touya leans in close and bites into the junction of Enji’s shoulder, sinking his teeth further and further until the flesh gives way. He’s not deaf to his father’s muffled screams, how he bears down on his fingers. The experience, the taste, it’s all ethereal, the rich blood of the creator on the tongue of the abandoned, deserving firstborn.
Only then, body writhing in pain, does Touya stake his claim. Doesn’t matter if he’s opened up enough. Touya spits on his hole and shoves his cock in. It’s a tight fit, but he moans at the sensation anyway. He unties his father’s gag again once he’s fully sheathed, finally discarding it on the barren floor. Enji doesn’t scream this time. He knows better. With Enji silent and obedient, he thrusts into the tight heat, uncaring how much it hurts him.
Touya gets a good grip on his hair— tight enough to hear the involuntary hiss as Enji’s yanked forward by the scalp— and shoves his tongue in his father’s mouth, moaning into him. The remaining traces of sweet and coppery blood are returned to its owner, leaving Touya with nothing but the fading aftertaste.
He wants to take another bite. Wants to savour the warm, iron-rich taste of his father’s blood on his tongue more than anything. A sweet ambrosia, a gift from the heavens. Incomparable to anything he’s ever experienced before.
Touya has to hear him scream.
He pulls himself away from their kiss for this and this alone. Touya sinks his teeth into the sumptuous flesh he savoured earlier and bears down until his jaw aches with the force. He rips away a chunk, and there comes the melodious sound of his father’s unrestrained screams. Blood drips down Touya’s chin and pours out the wound in Enji’s shoulder. He’s never felt more alive.
Touya fucks him at a bruising pace, the vulgar sound of skin slapping against bound skin echoing off crumbling walls, reminding Enji that it’s the two of them, and only them here.
He nearly wants his father to fight back. Say something, do something. Put up a fucking fight already. But instead, the back of his skull pressed against hard concrete, he takes it, letting Touya get what he’s wanted all this time.
This isn’t the time to deny himself an orgasm. He cums deep in Enji’s ass, hips rutting against him. Touya grips Enji’s hips, hands burning their mark into his skin as he rides out his orgasm, gasping for air. He only pulls out to admire the way cum drips out of his hole, onto the floor.
Touya wants to become one with Enji, in more ways than one. He wants to be inside of him. He wants part of Enji to live within him, too. The childish part of his brain still desires for them to be equals with nothing standing between them, for his father to acknowledge his strengths. None of those capture how all-consuming it is to be obsessed with someone like him, who has never once looked back at Touya the same way. Who never has and never will love him back the same way.
Now he can do nothing but stare right into Touya’s soul. They both know what comes next. Touya wants their souls to meld together, by any means necessary.
“Please… don’t.” Enji begs. How pathetic.
Everything has led to this here. This is the prelude to heaven. Touya’s past does not matter so long as he chases after the right ending, a way for everyone to hear him, know that he’s there. And they will, when the footage is released to the public and the remaining ashes are left here, no more than a shadow of what once was. The mark of a dream come true.
“You are my everything.”
Touya places both hands on Enji’s cheeks and lets the world burn around them.