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Natsuo likes to sneak into Shouto's room after Enji is done with him.
Most of the time, Shouto is completely unconscious, driven past the point of exhaustion after taking his father's huge cock for hours on end. But sometimes Natsuo finds him clinging to awareness, awake enough to moan, to cry, to look up at his big brother with glazed, pleading eyes, but still too tired to put up any sort of fight.
Those are Natsuo's favorite nights.
Tonight, Shouto is curled up in a ball on the floor, naked and shaking and covered with cum. He whines when he hears Natsuo approaching and tries to make himself smaller, but he can't seem to get his legs to move right.
Natsuo kneels beside him. He hushes him as his whining grows higher, more distressed, and when he runs a hand gently up Shouto's side, fingers picking up cum as they go, Shouto's whine breaks into another noise, quieter but just as terrified.
It takes Natsuo a moment to realize that Shouto is trying to talk , trying to beg . His voice is so wrecked that Natsuo can barely hear him, let alone understand what he's saying.
Enji must have been throat fucking him.
The thought makes Natsuo's half-hard cock twitch.
He brings his cum-slick fingers to Shouto's lips, hushes him again as he pushes them gently into his mouth. His other hand caresses his little brother's cheek as Shouto begins to cry-- deep, broken sobs that shake his body but make no noise through his destroyed throat.
Natsuo doesn't care that Shouto is crying, though. He's watching those swollen pink lips as they part around his fingers, watching the way Shouto's saliva makes them slick, shiny. He thinks about how his father's cock must have looked, pressing in right where his fingers are now. Imagines the sounds that Shouto must have made while Enji shoved himself down his throat.
Not that pathetic, terrified whining-- Enji's girth wouldn't allow for it. No, he would've only been able to choke, gag while Enji grabbed his hair and forced him down, down, down-
But he's getting distracted. As pretty as his little brother's mouth is, that isn't what he's here for.
When Natsuo pulls his fingers out, Shouto uncurls and resumes his useless, broken begging. He tries weakly to get away, but he doesn't get far-- his legs still don't seem to be cooperating. Natsuo grabs him easily.
Shouto is shaking violently, still trying to resist as Natsuo takes hold of his knees and pushes his legs back and apart, almost folding him in half. But Natsuo won't stop now, can't stop now.
He has to see.
And finally, Natsuo gets his prize. His little brother's hole winks at him, gaping open, leaking with the cum that their father pumped deep into his gut. Natsuo stares. Licks his lips. Lets go of one of Shouto's legs so he can run his fingers through the mess dripping out of his ass, nice and slow.
Shouto makes a broken little noise, but he doesn't try to escape again.
And when Shouto’s rim gives easily under three of Natsuo’s fingers, the rest of his resistance seems to slip away. His arms slip behind his knees and he whimpers, holding himself open for his older brother and blinking up at him with hazy, half-lidded eyes.
Natsuo growls, dark and pleased, and effortlessly presses a fourth finger inside.
Enji's cum dribbles out of Shouto's hole. It's filthy. Disgusting. Shouto moans, his voice so hoarse that the sound breaks halfway through, and Natsuo's cock is so hard it hurts.
When Shouto starts begging this time, it's easy enough to understand. After all, he's just saying one word, over and over, mindless and broken.
"More," he whispers. "More, more, more."
At first, Natsuo fully intends on sticking to his usual routine and stuffing his brother full of his cock. But as he watches the easy stretch of Shouto's rim, feels the warmth of his father's seed running down his fingers, his wrist, something hot and angry and twisted grows in Natsuo's throat. Shouto is greedy, asking for more when he already has so much. He needs to be punished.
Shouto is too far gone, too stretched out to react when Natsuo tucks the tip of his thumb in with the rest of his fingers.
But when he forces his hand forward, all the way up to the knuckles, Shouto's whole body tenses.
Natsuo admires the arch of his brother's back, the way his head slams against the floor and his begging chokes off into a strangled, hurt noise.
"This is what you wanted, isn't it Shouto?" Natsuo asks, something sickly sweet and cruel in his tone.
"More, more, more," he makes his voice high-pitched and depraved, makes sure Shouto knows that he's being mocked. Shouto's head rolls against the ground and he sobs.
Natsuo presses harder, deeper into his little brother's ass. There's enough resistance that it must hurt, and Shouto starts struggling again. He even tries to scream. Natsuo imagines that it would be quite loud, if Shouto's throat wasn't so wrecked. Maybe even loud enough to lure Enji back into the room. The thought has Natsuo forcing his hand forward in a brutal, merciless thrust.
Something gives. Tears, maybe.
Shouto's eyes roll back.
Natsuo is left staring at the place where his little brother's rim wraps around his wrist.
The heat is what surprises him most. It shouldn't-- he spends every other night with his dick buried in Shouto’s ass-- but something about the fact that it's his whole hand being swallowed up by that broken, gaping hole makes everything different. Tighter. Better .
It's wet inside, too, well-lubricated by their father's thick, warm cum. Natsuo makes a fist. Feels it squish between his fingers, feels the way Shouto's hole clenches when he moves.
He pulls his arm back a little, just enough that the base of his hand begins to stretch Shouto’s hole open. He notices, passingly, that there’s blood on his wrist, but he isn’t concerned. After all, his little brother has certainly had worse.
Shouto’s hole doesn’t seem like it wants to let Natsuo’s hand go, the stretch too painful, too much. Natsuo doesn’t care. He forces the widest part of his fist past the rim, even as Shouto convulses, tries and fails to squirm away.
For a moment, he ignores Shouto’s pathetic escape attempt and admires the mess covering his hand. His father’s cum is stained pink in some places, marbled with thin lines and splotches of deep red blood in others. It’s pretty, the way Shouto and Enji are mixing together, forming patterns on Natsuo’s skin. It’s beautiful .
His fingers find their way to his mouth and he licks at them, tasting the salt and bitter iron of their perfect union.
He needs more .
Natsuo shuffles forward until his knees are under Shouto’s back, forcing his little brother’s ass higher into the air, and pushes back into Shouto’s hole. His hand goes in easier, this time. Maybe the blood is acting as a lubricant. Natsuo does’t know, doesn’t care. He presses deeper, deeper, chasing the feeling of his father’s cum until most of his forearm is buried inside Shouto’s tight, unbearably hot hole.
When it feels like Shouto can’t take him any deeper, Natsuo rips his arm back out to lick the mess of blood and cum off of his skin.
And then he pushes in again. Out again. Over and over until his little brother’s hole no longer puts up a fight.
Shouto is shaking, but he’s stopped reacting much beyond that. His cock is soft, dribbling preecum down his belly, and his head is flopped to the side as he stares at nothing. A line of drool runs down his cheek and puddles on the floor.
Natsuo can’t help thinking that Shouto isn’t enjoying this as much as he should be. He gets to have his father’s cum and his brother’s fist buried inside him, but he doesn’t seem grateful at all. Natsuo can’t allow that.
He pushes his knuckles into the place where he knows Shouto’s prostate is, and his little brother twitches violently.
“Stay with me, Shouto,” he commands, and presses on the spot again, rubbing at it too roughly. Shouto’s head rolls against the floor and he makes some choked, keening noise in the back of his throat.
“You’re lucky, you know,” Natsuo continues, trying to make him understand. He trails his free hand over Shouto’s stretched rim, collecting the cum and blood that’s been forced out around his arm. Shouto makes another noise, a bit louder, a bit more devastated. Natsuo studies the mess on his fingers.
“You get to have his cum inside you, filling you so deep, keeping you warm...” His voice trails off as he puts his fingers in his mouth. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get enough of the taste. He forces his fist farther inside, trying to feel just how deep Enji spilled his cum, and can’t help thinking that his little brother will never be able to get it out, that he’ll have Enji filling him up forever.
But Shouto’s still drooling on the floor, eyes hazy and half-dead and checked out.
He doesn’t understand.
Doesn’t care.
Natsuo hates him.
The next press of his fist is faster, sharper, fueled by all the twisted, writhing things that have filled his throat, his mouth, his head. He hates his perfect, fuckable little brother, hates his flashy quirk and his sweet face and his pretty hole and the way that Enji loves him.
Because Enji must love him. Must love his prodigy, his masterpiece, his greatest creation enough to fill him up every night.
And Shouto doesn’t even care.
Natsuo feels dizzy. He feels sick to his stomach. He wants to ruin him. His fist is moving faster, deeper inside of Shouto, and the mess leaking out around his wrist is turning progressively more red. Natsuo hears someone laughing, loud and hysterical and horrifying, but he doesn’t care, all he cares about is Shouto, seeing him torn open and bleeding and hurting and punished and punished and punished and--
The door slams open. Natsuo feels heat on his face.
And then there’s nothing.