Fandom: Osomatsu-san
Characters: Osomatsu Matsuno/Ichimatsu Matsuno, Karamatsu Matsuno (mentioned)
Word Count: 3481
Warnings: incest. straight up filth. copious smoking. minor sado/maso
Summary: he smiles like he always smiles, awful and shit eating and unreasonably charming, sending Ichimatsu heart into a confused dither.
Notes: i can write neither a straightforward narrative nor smut and yet here we are. Titled after and written almost entirely to Young Monks - Bad Bad Freddy
His first kiss tasted like his first cigarette, acrid and full of tears and Osomatsu's faint smile.
He remembers that, laying on the floor in the dark, Osomatsu's shoulder warm pressed against his as the room cools as the last of the winter day drowns into evening. The entire room smells like cigarette smoke despite the open window where an overflowing ashtray sits precariously on the sill. Another ashtray sits between them, next to Ichimatsu's cheek and he can see the cherry red glow of his brother's cigarette in his peripheral when Osomatsu taps off the ash.
"Hey," Osomatsu says. Ichimatsu can hear the smile in his voice, deep and thick and warm like he's replaced all the air in his lungs with smoke. It flows over Ichimatsu, the scent of Osomatsu's favorite cheap tasting brand getting embedded his clothes and hair, the reverberation of Osomatsu's voice through the tatami mats against his back warming the blood in Ichimatsu's veins, latching onto the bones of him.
"What?" Ichimatsu says. It comes out croaked and quiet, and he feels self-conscious over it for no reason at all. He's a pack behind Osomatsu who smokes like a chimney anyway, but his voice has no right to sound this vulnerable. He rubs the heel of his hand hard against his cheek, feels ash sprinkle onto his skin from his own cigarette, streaking into the cold sweat dotting his hairline.
Osomatsu pushes himself up, leaning over Ichimatsu, his cigarette clinging to his lip and casting his face in an orange glow that reflects in his eyes like two fiery pinpricks as he smiles like he always smiles, awful and shit eating and unreasonably charming, sending Ichimatsu heart into a confused dither. "Call me oniichan like you used to," he says. He lowers himself closer, smile stretching wider, toothy and anticipatory. His entire body radiates an uncomfortable amount of warmth like a space heater, pressing in on Ichimatsu like a physical thing.
Ichimatsu feels his free hand twitch with the desire to twist in his big brother's hoodie and pull him closer, leech out all that intoxicating warmth. Osomatsu has always run hot, and he remembers when they were kids he and Totty would fight to crowd around him during the winter months because he was the warmest and they often got the sickest.
(he remembers their second year of high school when the heating gave out in the shitty, older section of the building; Osomatsu's flushed cheeks, his grin as he backed Ichimatsu against the wall in the frozen over second-floor bathroom no one else was stupid enough to go into. Mouth hot and wet on his, sloppily fucking his tongue inside until Ichimatsu thought he was going to melt, warm hands on the small of his back, fingertips dipping teasingly beneath his waistband, the hard line of his big brother's cock rubbing eagerly against his hip.)
He wisps away that memory out with like so much smoke, balling his fist and shoving it uselessly into the pocket of his pullover.
"Fuck off, oniichan," he says, baring his own teeth in a grim smile. The kind of smile that would make Karamatsu back off. But not Osomatsu (and Karamatsu isn't here anyway, is he).
Not Osomatsu the eldest, who just looks amused and leans in closer until they are sharing breath and smoke, the shape of his smile pressed against the corner of Ichimatsu's mouth. "That's cute," he hums. His voice is white noise to Ichimatsu as a warmhotburning hand is suddenly skirting along his stomach, dragging rough, short nails over his skin, raising long red welts and rucking up his hoodie beneath his arms. Ichimatsu hisses, arching into the dull pain. His cigarette is sent rolling over the tatami, dotting ash everywhere, but Ichimatsu doesn't have time to worry about it burning a hole in the floor because Osomatsu is suddenly there; taking advantage of the way pain lowers Ichimatsu defenses, Osomatsu makes a space for himself between his little brother's thighs.
Teasing and entirely too smug, Osomatsu nuzzles his nose along the line of Ichimatsu's jaw to his ear, lazily rubbing the bulge of his dick still in his sweats against Ichimatsu's ass. "But big brother knows his little brother can be even cuter." Osomatsu chides, his voice a dragging husk that sends an electric thrill down Ichimatsu's spine, settling somewhere low and hot in his gut.
He feels his brother reach up and dash out his own half-finished cigarette in the ash tray. A rarity for Osomatsu will take drags off the filter if he can get away with it.
"Shut up," Ichimatsu hisses through gritted teeth. He doesn't sound half as upset as he thinks he should. Instead, he sounds breathless, voice entirely too soft where it's caught up in his chest, drowning in the moan he can't quite bite back. His mood has been low since this morning, and was only just beginning to level out; he's not sure wants to play whatever game Osomatsu wants to amuse himself with now. He prefers being fucked to being played. "What kind of big brother are you," he says, not strong enough to resist rolling his hips back against Osomatsu, slow and dragging, "luring me here with cigarettes and beer."
"The best, obviously," Osomatsu answers, easy. The hand playing along Ichimatsu's ribs drifts down to grip at his knee, hiking it around his waist, practically lifting Ichimatsu into his lap. His other hand cups Ichimatsu's cheek, soft in a way that feels both mocking and familiar.
The same touch that had, at one point, defined the later half of his teenage years. "The worst," Ichimatsu pants out, bottom lip snagging between his canines. His other leg comes up of its own volition winding around Osomatsu, the easy rocking of their hips rolls into a molasses slow grind, agonizing and tight.
Everything Ichimatsu wants, the friction is good- so good, stopping just short of painful; the shape of Osomatsu's cock is a burning line against the crease of his thigh.
"Yeah, that too," Osomatsu agrees, unapologetic. There's laughter in his voice, a secret he isn't sharing with the rest of the class. Osomatsu's warm, papery palm against his cheek draws Ichimatsu's attention with shuddering start, his breath hitching at the feel of his brother's thumb tracing his mouth, pressing in on the divot of his bottom lip, opening him up. "You were looking so lonely, big brother just had to come over."
Ichimatsu leans up into the touch, tongue flicking out with a teasing hint of silver, tasting skin and salt, tracing the whorls of Osomatsu's thumb, lips parting obediently, but Ichimatsu likes being disobedient and Osomatsu likes the challenge, darting forward to catch Osomatsu's mouth with his, teeth sharp and eager. "Shut up," Ichimatsu says, hips rolling hungrily against his brother, hard enough to hurt.
The taste of iron floods his mouth where blood is beading up, his or Osomatsu's it doesn't matter, as he licks it up, filthy and wet, tracing the seam of Osomatsu's lips with his tongue, the steel ball of his piercing dragging smoothly as he goes. Osomatsu laughs again, catching the bar between his teeth, metal clicking as he tugs playfully and just a little spiteful. It's uncomfortable, and Ichimatsu moans into it, his cock jumping in his boxers already wet with precum.
Osomatsu lets go, dipping down to place overlaying bites down Ichimatsu's throat, then back up to Ichimatsu's red, swollen mouth.
At some point the streetlights outside flickered on, their yellow light slipping lethargically through the windows, pooling beside their locked bodies inches from Ichimatsu's fingertips, hands thrown above his head clawing his nails into the tatami. (It's funny and it brings back memories rolling through the back of his mind, curls of smoke, warm and familiar as Osomatsu's firm weight above his body. It started on a day a lot like this, the afternoon melting into dusk, and dusk dissolving into evening; sitting on the roof with tears streaking down his cheeks and face buried in his knees, Osomatsu's back against his a warm counterpoint to the chill shivering through the damp air. The remnants of the school festival being packed up, the stupid play Karamatsu had been so excited for already swept away hours ago.
"It's not all bad," Osomatsu had said then, the first to speak in just as long. His voice has sounded worn and thick, having taken a deep drag off the cigarette he held loosely between his fingers. Ichimatsu could smell the tobacco and nicotine when he exhaled, the scent mingling pleasantly with the fading scents of festival food still flavoring the air. "C'mon, you had to know something like this would happen someday. Especially if you never even said-"
His big brother's words weren't unkind. But Ichimatsu had just experienced inevitable, devastating heartbreak and he doesn't want to- can't- listen to anything over the pain if feeling like his ribcage is sprung open, showing the raw, seeping wound rejection has left behind.
"Niisan, please." He had said, mopping pathetically at his face with his uniform jacket. "Please not now. Just-" his voice cracked, tears bubbling up, bottom lip trembling. Not now, not ever, he thought.
He felt Osomatsu shift against his back, turning to look him. As if he'd read Ichimatsu's mind, he said, incredulous, "Kid, Ichimatsu, I love you but don't be stupid, this isn't something that's just gonna go away- Karamatsu is-" Heat displaced the cool air at the nape of his neck where Osomatsu was jabbing his cigarette at the air, as if he could make his point stick by burning it between them.
But the half buried muddle of emotion he'd been unsuccessfully trying to swallow down whirled up like maelstrom within him, a tempest of tears boiling away into hurt, useless anger as Ichimatsu swung around to face his brother, face salt stained and strained, the still lit cherry of Osomatsu's cigarette dangerously close to burning his skin or setting his clothes on fire and if the eldest didn't jerk away at the last second in surprise, his own face contorting into concerned anger.
Except at the moment, Ichimatsu was incapable of caring one way or another if Osomatsu was getting angry if he'd been burned or not: His entire being felt like one exposed nerve, raw and vulnerable from repeated prods, dimly, he thought what's one more thing. "Yeah?" he said, hoarse and pained. He wanted to scream, he wanted to shout and rage, he wanted to burst into even more tears, he wanted to curl up into a ball somewhere no one would find him until eventually, everyone forgot him and he forgot Karamatsu and the play and his feelings for Karamatsu and that girl and her feelings for Karamatsu and Karamatsu's feelings for that girl. Instead, he said, "Yeah? You think I don't know that- you think I haven't thought about that every second since I realized I was in-" Ichimatsu bit down hard on his lip, unable to bring himself to say the damning truth, the delicate chapped skin splitting under his teeth. His voice softened, then had broke, eyes welling and spilling over as he dropped his forehead against Osomatsu's shoulder. His back shuddered with sobs, knuckles going a bloodless white where his hands clenched in Osomatsu's uniform jacket. "He's my brother, he has my face and I have his and I am in…" Ichimatsu shut his eyes tight, tears escaping regardless.
"Yeah, I know," Osomatsu said, because he does, and even if he didn't he could guess. He brought up his cigarette to his lips, filled up his lungs with smoke.
"Let's make a deal," He said and gently tipped Ichimatsu's face up, dark eyelashes clinging with glimmering tears, impossibly pretty. A doll's face and sorrow in repose all at once. He smiled, pressed his lips to Ichimatsu's, licking into him, opening him up slow. Osomatsu swallowed Ichimatsu's shuddering sigh, breathing out smoke in return into the join of their mouths. "Just between you and me-)
"-It's been too long since I've fucked anyone with half as bad an attitude as you," says Osomatsu, positively delighted. His hands slip back under Ichimatsu's purple hoodie, ripping it off without regard or warning, just a bright shit eating grin that draws attention to the teeth marks on his lip. "No one else is as fun as you," he tells Ichimatsu, oddly sincere.
Ichimatsu rolls his eyes, tries to ignore how oddly touched and warm that makes him feel. He blows his windswept bangs out his eyes, leveling a flat look at is brother before winding his arms around Osomatsu's neck and pulling down, flipping their positions with feline agility until he settles straddled across his brother's lap, a smug smile of his own beginning to curl faintly. "Oh yeah?" he says, voice sweetening into something syrupy and poisonous, "I'm sure your girlfriends would get some pretty bad attitudes of their own if they knew how much you get off on fucking your little brother, Oniichan."
Osomatsu moans at that, thrusting up jerkily, trying to renew the friction on his cock against Ichimatsu's ass, "Yeah, fuck yeah." His hands cling on to Ichimatsu's hips, greedy, peeling down his sweats. "Bet it would make them cry," he says, fucking sadist. Getting off on it. A laugh bubbles up in his throat, and Ichimatsu can feel the pleasant reverberation, wants to feel it more so he leans down and drinks it up.
He's so focused on it, he doesn't hear the slide of a door down the hall, footsteps padding closer. His focus is zeroed down to the feel of Osomatsu's smile stretching wider beneath his mouth, his piercing moving against both their tongues, slick and wet, saliva slipping down their chins fucking sloppy. Doesn't register the quiet, shocked gasp that comes from neither of them when Osomatsu's hot, dry fingers tag against his opening, just enough pressure to tease- the fucker- petting down the soft skin of his perineum to his balls. Osomatsu's other hand smooths a path down his spine, sweeping his too hot palm between Ichimatsu's shoulder blades to the small of his back, forcing Ichimatsu to arch his spine dramatically, chest flush against Osomatsu's and hips raised.
"Look at you," Osomatsu says, "Such a slut when you wanna be- bet you've been sulking all day waiting for me to do this to you." The hand between Ichimatsu's legs slides back up, rubbing a thumb in slow, maddening, downright mean circles on the thin, delicate skin of his perineum, pressing on his prostate, sending shocky thrills shooting through his limbs.
Ichimatsu's mouth drops open, saliva trickling down his chin, his breath panting out and misting in the cool air. "Yes," he agrees, shameless, "I want oniichan's attention on me and only me."
"Fuck," swears Osomatsu, vehement. His cock straining so hard in his pants it's beginning to get painful, the anticipation killing him: has been killing since Ichimatsu sprawled down next to him, snagging his freshly lit cigarette, dark circles under his eyes, and took a long drag, lips pursed and cheeks hollowing enticingly.
Suddenly Osomatsu is all motion, sitting up and taking Ichimatsu with him, spinning his brother around, practically bullying Ichimatsu into draping himself across the low table, knocking off scattered, mostly empty beer cans to the floor. Another ashtray goes crashing to the floor, scattering buds and ash everywhere. Both of them could care less, the whole night- no the whole day has been leading up to this moment since Karamatsu stood up at this very table and announced he had a date. A low, guttural moan is pulled from Ichimatsu when Osomatsu fists a hand in his hair, forcing him down onto the table, grinding his cheekbone painfully, his other hand tearing down his sweats the rest of the way down his thighs.
"You like that," says Osomatsu, that same perverse delight coloring his voice as he shoves once again, harder, until the grind of Ichimatsu's cheekbone against the wood is nearly audible over Ichimatsu's helpless needy keen, only to let go, hand slipping from soft, sweat lank hair. Both of his hands go to Ichimatsu's ass, kneading and rough, spreading his brother apart to stare, ravenous, at that pink greedy hole, fucking his hips forward, giving himself just a taste. "Your masochism is so worrying to big brother," he lies cheerfully, snagging a foil packet from his pocket before rucking his own pants down, his cock springing free and leaking precum generously, sliding perfectly in the crease of Ichimatsu's ass.
Ichimatsu makes another drawn out needy sound, tilting his hips up and rocking in short, impatient little rolls, a litany of hurry up hurry up you got what you wanted oniichan fuck me fuck me you promised spilling from his mouth.
Osomatsu hums obligingly, tearing the packet open with his teeth and upending it over his cock and Ichimatsu's ass, hurriedly fisting himself to spread the lube down his shaft. He curls his fingers around the base of his cock, squeezing so he doesn't come as soon as he feels the sweet heat and tightness of Ichimatsu's insides then he's pressing in and in and in, so good, so worth the wait. His hips stutter as he fucks himself inside to the hilt, Ichimatsu going almost impossibly tight as he rears up, spine arched in a perfect curve as he goes stiff with pleasured shock. Osomatsu licks sloppily at the notches of his spine, scraping his teeth over pale, salt slick skin, pulling his hips back and thrusting back in, driving deeper. Osomatsu slips his arm beneath Ichimatsu's thigh, hooking underneath his knee and pulling his leg open wide, so it's all Ichimatsu can do but take it, his brother's cock splitting him apart hard and fast, Osomatsu's other hand closing around his throat, pressing against his windpipe debauched and divine.
The room is flooded with the sound of skin slapping against skin, the slick squelch of lube and precum stirring up inside Ichimatsu. Ichimatsu is getting intoxicated on it, barely hanging on as he drags his nails into long grooves on the table surface, breathlessly babbling nonsense like ceaseless brook, tears streaking down his face as he details all the filthy things he wants Osomatsu (and one other, his brother who has his face, who he hates because loving him is not an option) to do to him.
Except-
Except- Ichimatsu is coming, no warning at all and untouched, orgasm punched out of him mercilessly, a soundless scream strangling itself in his throat, his bones liquefying as his dick jerks and spilling all over his stomach and table where he slumps, fucked out and spent.
Osomatsu is still going behind him, chasing his own finish line as his thrusts lose all sense of rhythm, ceaseless curses spilling from his mouth like laughter. He unwinds his fingers from Ichimatsu's throat, a dim part of his brain admiring the already forming bruises, and slays his fingers across his brother's back, holding him down, pulling back and slamming back in, brutal, sending the remaining cans on the table crackling to the floor noisily and making Ichimatsu release tiny, whining noises, too over stimulated, caught between the drugging lethargicness of his recent orgasm and the agony of his cock wanting to fill again as Osomatsu keeps hitting his prostate. Just before it becomes too much, Osomatsu lets out this wrecked, helpless sound, and wet warmth is filling Ichimatsu to the brim dragging out a satisfied groan he feels it overflow, trickling down his thighs in a mess of lube and come. Osomatsu collapses against him like a dead weight trapping him there, both of them sticky and stinking of sweat and sex, steam practically rising from their skin.
Eventually, Osomatsu drags himself up off his brother, sitting back on his heels then plopping down on his bare ass, fishing out a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his discarded pants. Mind coming back online in fits and starts, Ichimatsu hears the flick of a lighter and the sound of his brother exhaling a long line of smoke, then the chill of the air coming in from the window and blowing across his damp skin, raising gooseflesh. His body is another story altogether, though, too spent to do more than melt bonelessly into the table, regardless of the soreness building in his knees and the shivers beginning to wrack his frame. His brother is also apparently too busy basking and admiring his come still leaking out Ichimatsu to be chivalrous, but Ichimatsu is too used to Osomatsu's habits to really care, contented exhaustion starting to weigh down his eyelids.
Before he slips completely away, he hears Osomatsu ask, distant and far away, "Did we forget to close the door all the way?"
End notes: this was going to be longer and filthier but it's three in the morning so i pruned certain things, but also it's three in the morning so trust none of my editing decisions. happy birthday to me.