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The rain beats down on the earth and Megumi's estate with all the force of gods, disappointed in the world they've created. Thunder booms in the distance, the beats far enough apart that Megumi knows the storm isn't close enough to make it dangerous for him to be outside, but the thunder makes him remember something he has worked hard to forget.
Lightning cracks, and Megumi grimaces as Ryomen's laugh rings loud and caustic through his mind. He hasn’t heard that annoying laugh in decades, a fact that makes a satisfied smile curl on his lips, but it is still a vicious sound that does nothing but grate right on Megumi's nerves.
Ryomen had once called him delicate—of body and temperament. A creature easy to break and hard to convince to fight back.
Megumi does not think that a delicate man would be capable of getting the better of Ryomen, burying him in the dirt with his fellow maggots, and offering him up to the lovely little orange tree that Megumi has called a friend for centuries.
The tree is thriving. Megumi is certain that Ryomen is not, but...perhaps it wouldn't hurt to check in on him. The earth is soft with the rain, and Megumi wouldn't have to expend too much effort to unearth his least favorite person and remind him that Megumi is not one to be trifled with.
And laugh. Megumi very much wants to laugh in Ryomen's face instead of into the fertile soil that hides him away. He thinks it would be satisfying to see the hatred twist up Ryomen's face like it had when Megumi buried him in the dirt.
Problems have been buried in this land before—what is one more?
Kuro cocks his head at Megumi as he picks up his shovel and spins it in his hands.
"I'm going to be a good host, baby." Black ears twitch in a way Megumi knows is disapproving. "Oh, stop that. You barely liked Ryomen, anyway." Boof. Megumi considers that. "I'm not sure if I will put him back once I take him out. I'll think about it. Are you hungry?" Kuro lowers onto his belly with a lazy wag of his tail, and Megumi considers the conversation over as he pulls on his rain jacket and boots. He pulls his hood up, bids his lonely wolf goodbye, and steps out into the heavy rain. The petrichor tickles Megumi's senses and makes his spine tingle in the best way.
A walk wouldn't hurt. The Gojo lands are massive, and Megumi hasn’t spent much time exploring them since he moved out of the mansion. Besides. he doesn't need to rush to Ryomen. Ryomen's been buried for twelve years; he could stay buried for a few more hours while Megumi wanders and considers his fate. Time means very little to an immortal when they can move freely; Megumi doubts that it means any more when they are trapped deep in the ground, providing nutrients to the prettiest fruit tree Megumi has ever seen.
—
Megumi had come to the Gojo family orchard on his hundred-and-eighteenth birthday and found himself immediately annoyed by Gojo Satoru and his very existence. He is almost unbearably loud, and Megumi’s skin crawls with the weight of the Six Eyes roving over his soul. Suguru, however, is nice enough.
The first thing Megumi says to Satoru is, “I don’t need a father,” because he doesn’t. He can tell Satoru’s feelings are hurt as a pout purses his lips, but Megumi had a father, and that father abandoned him. As an unmoored child, he does not need any further disappointment.
“What would you like us to be, then?” Suguru’s voice cuts in with all the gentleness of a summer rain. “If not your fathers?”
Megumi’s shoulders lift in a small shrug. “I don’t know. I just don’t have a need for a father.”
Satoru hums, and Megumi realizes that Suguru’s temperament affects Satoru’s mood. “What about a mentor?”
A mentor doesn’t sound too bad, and Megumi yawns, hot and obnoxious, into Satoru’s face. “Sure, you can be a mentor. What about you?” he asks Suguru, who looks surprised to be considered at all.
“What do you mean?”
“If he’s my mentor—what do you want to be?”
Suguru considers that and pours the three of them fresh cups of tea. The smell of oranges overwhelms Megumi’s senses but the flavor is actually rather subdued. “I can be a place to rest. Not a mentor, not a parent, but a reprieve.”
At the time, Megumi had found him odd but he came to enjoy the quiet moments spent at Suguru’s side. He learned patience and warmth from Suguru—and hand-to-hand combat—and found his presence to be the perfect opposite of his airheaded husband.
And they were so in love. An earth-shaking love that Megumi could tell had weathered storm after storm and would transcend time.
—
Suguru’s scream sends chills down Megumi’s spine and freezes him in place at the table. The door slams shut behind Suguru, and he braces himself on the wall as his chest heaves, his body trembling with sobs of grief and rage. It is terrifying to see him like this, to see his haven so shaken , and Megumi surges to his feet to stand at his side. This is their home and the comfort it brings is soured like oranges left on the tree so long they turn on themselves and self-sour. Suguru weeps and the sky opens up. Suguru screams and the very foundations of their home feel as if they are fragile enough to snap.
“Suguru, what happened?”
It takes Suguru a moment to find his voice again, and when he does, the words that leave his mouth are nearly unbelievable. “Satoru is gone…”
“…What?”
“He’s gone !” The shout brings them both to their knees, and Megumi struggles to support Suguru’s bulk as they sink to the floor together. “Buried by a shapeshifter…”
A shapeshifter. They can’t be far, and Megumi’s hands move into the pattern of summoning Shiro and Kuro to hunt them down and drag them back when Suguru’s hand closes with white knuckles around his wrist. “ Suguru …”
“I made a promise,” he whispers, head falling to Megumi’s shoulder, “I have to keep it. Just…stay with me, now, and leave them alone…”
It pains him, but Megumi lowers his hands and wraps his arms around Suguru as grief consumes them both. There is nothing they can do—nothing Suguru would allow Megumi to do—and it’s killing him.
—
Megumi makes it a month before the sight of the imposter in their home becomes too much to bear. They wear Suguru’s skin, which is equal parts disorienting and stomach-churning; they try to fill the spaces Satoru left behind, but they lack the volume, the sheer presence, and the love that clung to Satoru like a cloak everywhere he went. Suguru is a shell of his former self, expression carefully blank and subdued even when he and Megumi walk through the lines of orange trees.
Suguru has been Megumi’s rock for nearly a century now, but watching him embrace the monster who buried Satoru makes Megumi’s stomach churn with disgust. He can’t understand it, and Suguru will not explain it.
“I won’t stay.” Megumi finally informs Suguru as the elder weighs an orange between his hands. The color seems wrong. Megumi remembers the oranges of this particular line of the orchard being brighter.
“I know.” Suguru looks and sounds resigned. He has only let down the mask with Megumi and Shoko—the copy is only privy to whatever act Suguru pulls out that day to entertain them. But this resignation is still not honest enough, and Megumi presses on.
“What are you doing? How could—” His voice is too sharp, and Megumi cuts himself off.
Suguru doesn’t even flinch. “I love them.” Suguru’s voice is sure and resolute, and this is the only lie that gives Megumi the truth he so craved. In those three words, Megumi hears They are useful. They are necessary, but only for now .
Suguru is the most patient person Megumi has ever known.
“Will you stay on the property?” Suguru’s eyes do not leave the orange trees Satoru planted for him after they married.
Megumi wants to flee as far as his feet will take him, but this is his home. He might not trust the creature living in his home, but he will not let them take it from him.
“I will go to the house in the southeast, deeper into the grove. If you need me—“
Suguru smiles, a true one that creases his eyes, “I will call you.”
Megumi does not hug Suguru, but he squeezes his elbow gently.
—
Megumi buries Shiro under her favorite tree with his bare hands. He has too many emotions to even consider crying as an option as he sits in front of his loyal dog’s shallow grave. The dirt under his fingernails itches, but he keeps his vigil.
He does not scream, though he wants to. He does not cry, though he needs to. He just sits and watches.
“Are you angry?” Ryomen asks, and Megumi stares at him with emerald eyes devoid of any emotion. He gave no explanation for killing the dog and simply shrugged his shoulders. Megumi figures he was getting too close to testing the limits of Megumi’s kindness, and his beloved dog acted to protect him.
“No,” Megumi lies with the blank smile he learned from Suguru. “I’m just sad.”
Ryomen holds him close and mutters apologies so disingenuous they bounce right off of Megumi’s skin. He wonders if Suguru will lend him his shovel.
Kenjaku could use the company.
—
“Suguru,” he asks months later, standing with his mentor under an oiled paper umbrella. There is only a light drizzle but Suguru does not want it to touch his skin—Megumi understands. “How did you cope with it?”
“With my heartbreak?” Megumi nods. “I condemned the one who broke it.”
Condemnation. Rightful revenge.
“Can I borrow your shovel?”
Suguru smiles, sharp and vicious. “Of course.”
—
The shovel drags a deep line through the mud as Megumi's boots squish it underfoot, squelches lost to the rolls of thunder and heavy rain. The density of the trees changes with every step, and he slows to a stop when the lush evergreens start drying up, needles disappearing into soil that's hardly taking the rainwater.
He's never seen anything quite like it.
The dead evergreens form a circle around a grassless clearing with dry, cracked dirt that is slowly, slowly darkening with the rain.
It has been raining for a day and a half. There is no natural reason for this ground to be so dehydrated in the middle of the rainy season.
A crow cries from the living part of the forest, circling Ryomen's orange tree before it quiets and moves on. It cries again, closer this time, and Megumi drags his shovel through the dirt to the mound in the center of the clearing. Slim tendrils reach out from the mound, and Megumi lets out a soft, slightly amused breath.
It seems that he is not the only person in the business of burying immortals who inconvenience them. It would be comforting if Megumi cared about being judged, but this burial is vastly different from what Megumi had done in his pretty little orchard. The tree takes life from Ryomen, but this immortal, tucked safely beneath the earth, is taking life from the forest around them.
Megumi considers the mound again, resting his hands on the handle of his shovel and following the thickest crack to the largest tree boarding the dead zone. It is infected with something Megumi cannot recognize from his distance, and he wonders just how long this immortal has been trapped beneath the earth.
The crow cries again.
Megumi pushes his shovel into the soil and starts to dig.
The rain does not stop, and Megumi does not know how long he digs because the sky was already darker than night when he set out from his home. He considers giving up when a weak cough disturbs the dry soil beneath him. Thunder booms, the earth shifts, and Megumi sinks to his knees to move the dirt away with his hands and give the poor dear some room to breathe again.
"Hold on just a little longer," Megumi whispers, slipping one hand into the earth until his fingers find thick hair, then the back of a head, and then he uses his other hand to find the nape of their neck before he pulls and reveals the prettiest creature he's ever seen in his life. "Welcome back."
He sways slightly in Megumi’s hold, his eyes closed as he tries to get his bearings before he suddenly startles and turns to release what Megumi hopes is only a decade or two of dirt within his stomach. Megumi brushes the earth from his cheeks and hair with fingers cold from working in the rain, his eyes carefully taking in every inch of this stranger's face. Why would anyone ever bury a face this beautiful within the ground and damn him to swallow down the earth for eternity?
(Megumi supposes that he is no better than them for making Ryomen human fertilizer as he had been terribly handsome as well, but Ryomen had looked and felt like a man who caused problems. The immortal Megumi is holding feels as gentle as a rainbow after a storm.)
When their eyes finally meet, Megumi is struck by the endless pools of sunshine-golden warmth and the tiniest smile he's seen in a long time. The rain is washing the dirt away faster than Megumi can wipe it from his skin, and when his hand reaches out to cup the man's cheek, he leans into it, starved for human affection.
Megumi truly wonders how long it's been since he's felt the kind hand of another.
"What's your name?" Megumi asks, thumb moving gently and sweetly over his slick skin as the man underneath him figures out how to breathe in air instead of dirt particles.
He tries to speak, but the only sound that comes out is another dry cough.
Right , Megumi sighs, he's only been swallowing dirt .
Megumi cups his hands under the clear and watchful eyes of the pretty stranger and gathers the rainwater as it falls. "Drink," he prompts when thick brows wrinkle in confusion.
His lips are chapped yet soft when they press against Megumi's fingers, but his tongue is surprisingly slick when it comes out to catch the raindrops wetting the back of his hands. He opens his mouth a little wider, and Megumi tips his hands towards the pretty bow of his lips to wet his desert-dry throat. With the rain still falling thick around them, his hands are a never-ending chalice for the stranger to drink from.
He kisses the tip of Megumi's finger before he pulls away and wets his lips with his tongue. "My name is Yuuji," he rasps, and Megumi opens his palms to cradle Yuuji's cheeks with a smile. "Thank you...?"
"No need to thank me, but you can call me Megumi. Let's get you out of here, yeah?"
"Megumi... Yeah." Yuuji's voice is rough with disuse, and Megumi knows that they have to get proper water into him as quickly as possible. After all, he doesn't want Yuuji to wilt, not when he's just risen from the soil. Megumi sits back on the balls of his feet to scoop more of the dirt away from Yuuji's long body so they can work together and get him out of the dirt and fully into the refreshing rain plastering his dark hair to his forehead.
When Yuuji can finally pull his legs out from the earth and stand at his full height, he nearly falls into Megumi's arms with vertigo. He holds onto Megumi's shoulder to balance himself before he tilts his head up to the sky and lets the rain soak his skin.
He is the most beautiful thing that Megumi has ever seen in his life.
Megumi could ask why he’d been buried. How long he'd been there. Who had done this to him. But all men deserve to keep their secrets—especially if they are men who have spent any amount of time beneath the dirt.
Yuuji looks back at the hole he'd once been buried in and the shovel laid abandoned beside it one last time before they leave the clearing, and he wonders, quietly, why Megumi was in the forest with a shovel and why he'd left the shovel behind.
It doesn't matter, really, but Yuuji does wonder.
—
When Yuuji was born, he was told that he did not cry. He was held to his birth giver’s chest, given his name, and that was that.
Things did not start to die around him until Yuuji was six years old. His grandfather was concerned, he thinks, and tried to make his birth giver see his reasoning, but they would not be swayed.
“He is fine,” they said, hand resting lightly in Yuuji’s hair, “being special is not a sin.”
“Being special usually doesn’t kill people,” his grandfather protested to deaf ears and a blank smile. Yuuji never saw him again after that.
After the disappearance of his grandfather, Yuuji’s childhood becomes murky, but he remembers some things. He remembers the fear he felt when the first boy he kissed fell sick and then died days later. He remembers staying young and youthful while others his age grew old and died.
Decades passed like this, with death following Yuuji with every step he took. He did not let anyone close except his birth giver, who did not desire to be any closer than arms-width apart.
But despite that, Yuuji was safe. Mostly.
And then the persecution began.
“There is only one way,” Kenjaku whispered into the crown of Yuuji’s head, arms loose around their son’s shoulders for the first time in years. “Let me help you, my dear. Let me keep you safe.”
They were his parent, the only person he had left, he had no reason not to trust them.
Kenjaku laid Yuuji beneath the earth with care, lightly touching his cheek and promising to recover him when it was safe again. No longer than a month, they swore.
Yuuji quickly learned that there is no way to keep track of time while buried beneath the cool earth. Yuuji closes his eyes and waits patiently for the day when he is uncovered.
He took life to give himself life. It wasn’t on purpose, of course—the cursed can’t help their curses—but the clearing around him died to give him life.
He wonders, though. He wonders as he lays beneath the drying dirt if immortality is as much of a curse as his decaying touch or if it is far, far worse.
Yuuji lies in his dirt prison, wishing he could die, until he opens his eyes to the beat of rain against his dirty face and a beautiful man looking down at him.
Why was Megumi digging? What was he looking to unbury when he found Yuuji deep in the dirt?
—
Satoru knows the earth of his family’s orchard like he knows his own face, like he knows the warmth of Suguru’s touch. He feels the very moment a shovel digs into the soil and a body is laid to rest. He reaches out, tentatively, to see if the imprisoned is alive.
Shy energy reaches back, and Satoru is frozen with the knowledge that this child interred on his land lives . He lives and he is forced to breathe in rot and earth, and—
Satoru is moving before he even fully recognizes what he’s doing.
No! the boy’s energy cries, frantic as Satoru approaches. You have to stay back! It’s not safe!
The Six Eyes scan the forest and detect unending rot. They scan over the boy, his body lying deep underground and detect no decay, only the heady pulse of life and warmth. What can I do for you, little one?
I don’t know. I was put here for the safety of everyone else. Your trees—
Are not harmed. The fruits are fine. Let me see what I can do.
Satoru plants a thick oak at the edge of the dead soil with Suguru’s silent aid and together they stare at the dead meadow before them. The tree is strong and hardy and keeps the child’s curse at bay.
Satoru visits him every day, mostly alone, but sometimes with Suguru, whose unease is palpable to both of them.
Can you tell him I’m okay? the boy asks, feeling Suguru’s grief through the layers of sediment and dirt. Please, I don’t like that he’s sad.
I have told him. He wants you free. I want you free. But I understand why you must stay.
—
In the haze of Satoru’s burning rage, he hears a voice cut through the muffle of the earth.
Yuuji.
Who are you?
A spirit bereft of a grandson. His name is Yuuji.
Satoru opens the Six Eyes and turns his attention east to where the child is buried. His energy is still with sleep but Satoru reaches out. Yuuji?
Recognition explodes through the earth, and Satoru relaxes for a moment. That’s me!
That’s you. Satoru is so fond of Yuuji and the bubbles of his energy. I’m here.
Yuuji seems torn between excitement and sadness. He’s not alone, but he does not want Satoru trapped with him.
Satoru spends much of his time buried clawing through the earth, letting love and rage guide him, but when exhaustion slows his pace, Yuuji is there to prod lightly at him.
Tell me about Suguru , he asks, how you met. Please?
Satoru does. He wipes earth from his lips and tells Yuuji the story of how two gods met on a battlefield ( Gods of what? Suguru is Revolution; I am Justice. ) and realized that they were not so different after all. He tells Yuuji of the orange trees and some peaches Suguru decided to plant by the house.
You love him.
Satoru smiles. More than anything. I have to go back to him.
Yuuji hums, and Satoru feels sleep start to take him again. I will stay.
Suguru’s hand breaches the earth, and Satoru grips it tightly, swallowing lungfuls of petrichor and Suguru’s sandalwood oil. Yuuji chirps softly in excited delight, and Satoru braces his hand on the soaked earth.
Find me, Satoru implores him, when you are finally exhumed. When you are ready to be uncovered. Find me, little one, and we will give you shelter.
I will!
—
Kuro barks loudly when Megumi brings Yuuji into the house with a puddle of mud and rainwater, but Megumi, for the first time in one hundred years, ignores his familiar and pulls his new companion with him into the kitchen to give him the water he so desperately needs to wet his dirt-filled throat.
Kuro lays in Yuuji’s lap as Megumi fills a glass with crystal clear water and holds it up to his mouth. The wolf barks curiously as Yuuji’s big hands curl around his witch’s wrist and he swallows big gulps of water. It spills over his chin, but he is a man desperate, and Yuuji laughs as Kuro laps at the little droplets.
“Slowly,” Megumi whispers, thumb coming down to brush the droplets away once the glass is drained. Yuuji’s tongue comes out, flicks against the tip of Megumi’s thumb, and Megumi presses lightly against the swell of his bottom lip.
The clothes Megumi peels off of his trembling body are so dated that Megumi has to willingly shut down all thoughts in his brain to allow himself to continue his task.
He will throw them away the first chance he gets. He should have clothes from new friends that would fit Yuuji well, and then Yuuji will never have to see the clothes he was buried alive in ever again.
Kuro barks again, but they can’t hear him.
Megumi slides a hand over Yuuji's chest as his shirt falls to the ground and smiles slowly as he trembles beneath his touch. It has been years since anyone had laid a hand on Yuuji in anything other than a threat, and he watches Megumi's delicate hands map out the shape of his pectoral muscles and strong shoulders with wide eyes.
His pupils are dark. Megumi smiles and only pulls away to open the hot water faucet on the bathtub. Megumi can familiarize himself with the planes of Yuuji's body after they wash away the vestiges of his earthen prison from his beautiful skin.
He does not expect Yuuji to startle when the water pours from the golden faucet to fill the large porcelain bath, which is silly of him, but he takes his hands to calm him.
"You don't need a bucket to fill it?" Yuuji asks once the initial shock wears off, and Megumi forces a smile to avoid the pain clawing at his stomach. "That's incredible..."
He doesn't ask how long it has been; for that, Megumi is incredibly grateful.
"It is, isn't it?" he replies instead and helps Yuuji step into the tub with a kind smile. Lightning strikes a tree outside—not the orange tree, for even nature does not believe Ryomen should be free of his root prison—as their hands meet and Yuuji settles into the warm water. Megumi cups the water in his hands and pours it over Yuuji's skin with a low hum as he stretches out and allows himself to finally relax.
(Megumi doesn't ask, and Yuuji doesn't tell.
Yuuji doesn’t ask, and Megumi doesn’t tell.
It is better this way.)
Megumi has to empty the tub three times before grabbing the soap and washing Yuuji in earnest. He drags the soft loofah over his arm carefully and links his fingers with Yuuji's as his head tips back to bare the tender skin of his throat to Megumi and the sharp teeth Yuuji does not know—or probably doesn't care—that Megumi has. He swallows and allows his eyes to shut as Megumi brings the loofah over his nipple. Every sensation must be like lightning against his untouched skin, but he does not complain; he only sighs and tries not to squirm as Megumi lavishes him with touches and attention.
It has been so, so very long since Yuuji has felt anything other than the dirt and the creatures within it against his skin, and even then, that stopped feeling like anything long before Megumi cracked the earth to pull him out into the pouring rain.
"Would you like me to stop?" Megumi asks as he leans over Yuuji to soap up his other pec, thumb brushing featherlight over that nipple and pulling the softest moans from his lips. Yuuji draws his thighs together and shakes his head just a little, his teeth sinking into his lower lip to smother a tiny sound. Megumi wants to hear more, but Yuuji is freshly risen; he doesn’t want to push him unnecessarily. "It is okay if you do—"
"Please," Yuuji rasps out and uses the hand holding Megumi's to pull him in just a touch closer. His white shirt is stained with rainwater, mud, and the drier dirt of Yuuji's former prison. "Don't stop. I want..."
"I know." Megumi drops the loofah into the water and pulls his fingers from Yuuji's trembling hold before he pulls his shirt over his head, dropping it onto Yuuji's pile of clothes near the door. Yuuji's dark eyes are molten as they rove over his torso, mapping out each dip of his chest and the dark tattoos that decorate his skin. "Do you want to touch me, Yuuji?" His voice is as decadent as warm honey, and he can't help but lick his lips as Yuuji opens his thighs again to offer himself up to Megumi's eyes.
His cock is a gift from the gods, and when Megumi tells him as much, Yuuji laughs in time with the crash of thunder overhead.
Megumi steps out of his trousers and into the tub to stand above Yuuji and drinks in the adoration that rolls off of him like the tide osculating the shore. His big hands slide up Megumi's slim thighs, fingers digging into the muscles there as he learns how to touch and feel again with the water surrounding him. Megumi sinks down to his knees, straddling Yuuji and wrapping his arms around his shoulders as he's crushed against his firm chest.
Water sloshes onto the tiled floor as Yuuji jolts at the feeling of having another bare body pressed against his own for the first time in centuries. When Megumi's lips take his, it feels as if universes are colliding between them. Megumi tastes like salvation and damnation, and Yuuji does not care what he actually is because even though he's been drowning in soil for longer than he can remember, he's more than willing to drown in the magic of Megumi’s presence.
Megumi will not let him drown.
He knows this.
"What do you want to feel?" Megumi whispers. Yuuji's large hands have skimmed over his thighs, arms, and back, but that still leaves so much skin unexplored.
Yuuji’s eyes drink him in, just as desperately as he’d swallowed the water, and Megumi takes the moment to slide down his strong thighs and settle firmly in his lap. Yuuji’s cock is a hot and thick presence against the crease of Megumi’s hip, his eyes as deep and dark as hot coals, and Megumi has never wanted a man more in his long life.
"I want to feel everything," Yuuji breathes out, his hands sliding up Megumi's sides until they bracket his ribcage and his thumbs brush lightly against his nipples. "I haven't felt anything in so long " —his breath is so ragged, his body so desperate, and Megumi has never felt more wanted in his life— "and all I want to feel right now is you ."
Their lips meet as thunder booms and lightning strikes, and the world narrows down to this room, the water sloshing over their bodies and hitting the floor, and the searing warmth of Yuuji's body against Megumi's own. Megumi's nails, sharp and pointed, drag slowly down Yuuji's chest and draw a deep moan from his lovely, full lips, and Megumi hopes that every touch makes him feel like a real person.
"Touch me," Megumi whispers against Yuuji's lips and bears down against his lap, his long lashes fluttering down against his cheekbones as his thick cock slides between his cheeks. Megumi did not expect the kiss to remain slow and sweet because Yuuji is a man starving in more ways than one, and every brush of Megumi's skin against his own sends his strong body into desperate tremors. Yuuji's hands shake as he pulls Megumi's hips closer to his own, squeezing the bones there as he presses soft kisses from his lips to his cheeks and down the beautiful column of his throat. His large hands squeeze and grab as they slip down from his hips to grab his ass properly, squeezing the flesh between his big hands. His fingers are so close to where Megumi wants them, yet so far, but he is touching, he is feeling, and that is all Megumi wants him to do. "Just like that..."
Yuuji moans against Megumi's strong pulse and feels alive with the press of Megumi's cock against his belly and the warm pressure of his body against his own. "There is so much to touch," he whispers, voice absolutely wrecked against Megumi's throat. "There is so much of you..."
"Is it too much?" Megumi gasps as Yuuji's long middle finger slips between his cheeks and brushes feather-light against his hole. It's so close to the fat head of cock, and Megumi sinks his fingers into Yuuji's hair to pull at it with a low moan of his own. This would be too much, but Megumi loves every single touch and every punched-out moan that leaves Yuuji's lips.
"There could," Yuuji's breath hitches as Megumi reaches down between them to curl his fingers around the base of his cock, " Heavens , fuck—there could never be too much of you."
Megumi's smile is equal parts vicious and affectionate.
Their lips meet again, the rain beats heavy against the windows, and Megumi's knees slip in the tub as he reaches for a bottle of oil on the windowsill. Even out of practice, his limbs rendered immobile by the weight of endless dirt above him, Yuuji is strong and catches Megumi before he can fall. "I've got you."
Megumi guides Yuuji's head to his chest with the grip he has on his head as his fingers curl around the bottle and bring it down. Yuuji's lips map out the slick skin of Megumi's chest, licking away what little remains of the rain that had kissed him and soaked through his shirt, and leaving little purple blossoms of bruises just by his nipples. He is marking territory not to claim but to remind himself that he is capable—that he lives, that he exists, and that he can leave a mark on the world that can be seen and remembered as real.
He leaves marks that say to all that see them that 'Yuuji was here' on Megumi's unblemished skin. If they are only between Yuuji and Megumi, then so be it, but Megumi will know that Yuuji is a real person capable of kissing him like a real person, touching him like a real person, and making love to him like a real person.
Megumi rises up on his knees—much to Yuuji's annoyance as he's separated from the sweet taste of Megumi's skin against his lips and tongue—and takes the cork out of the bottle with his teeth. He spits it out somewhere in the bathroom to find later when he is not occupied and drips the viscous liquid onto his fingers. Yuuji watches him as if it were magic, and maybe it does look that way to a man who, before he was buried, would have to make do with thin oil or perhaps spit, but Megumi is magic to Yuuji.
Salvation and damnation all wrapped up in one beautiful orange-scented package sent to Yuuji by someone who believed he deserved more than the world had ever managed to give him before.
He watches, entranced, as Megumi brings slick fingers behind himself to meet the lone digit that Yuuji rests between his cheeks and slicking it up with the residual lubricant that coats his fingers. If Yuuji were to slide it in as he so wants to, he's not sure if it would hurt—it's been so long, so horribly, horribly long, that he's afraid he no longer knows how to pleasure a partner in the way he's always loved to. "Can I...?"
"You can watch," Megumi says, but not unkindly. His lips part with a gentle sigh as one of his fingers slips inside his hole. It brushes against Yuuji's, which is obediently stationary just to the side, and it almost feels like Yuuji himself is buried inside of Megumi, working him open so he can be able to fit the generous girth of his cock as deep as Megumi wants him to.
And gods above, does Megumi want him so deep that he can feel him all the way up into his throat.
It's not a slow process like Yuuji expects it to be, but Megumi is a witch with magics so far beyond his understanding that he need not ask about it. Before long, Megumi is bouncing on his own fingers, his spit-slick lips parted in pleasure and cock slapping against the smooth skin of his belly.
He's beautiful.
Yuuji must have said that aloud because Megumi laughs just so, lips curled into a playful grin as he grinds down onto his own fingers and licks his lips. "You think I'm beautiful?"
"The most beautiful thing I have ever seen," Yuuji whispers against the apple in Megumi's throat.
"You must not have seen very many things." Megumi's voice hitches at the end of 'things,' and Yuuji is certain that he's pressed against that sweet spot hidden deep inside him.
"I've seen enough," Yuuji says as he slips his own finger between Megumi's to press hard against his prostate, rubbing deep circles that draw surprised moans from Megumi's parted lips, "to know that you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen and possibly will ever see. And I know you will be even more beautiful when you sit on my cock."
Megumi digs the sharp nails of his free hand into Yuuji's shoulder as he moans loud enough to drown out the sound of a distant thunder roll. "Gods, you'd think you would be out of practice..."
Yuuji laughs softly and drags his teeth over Megumi's throat again. "You make it easy to remember..."
Megumi is no stranger to having power over his lovers, but this is an addicting thing. It's a mind-addling thing that makes him more desperate than ever to have Yuuji's cock inside of him. "Fuck, fuck, I need you... Yuuji..."
Yuuji kisses him and draws both of their fingers out of Megumi's velvety walls, licking any tiny noise of complaint right out of his mouth. He is almost petulant as he kisses back and draws Yuuji's tongue properly into his mouth to suck on it and swallow his moans down. His cock is almost right where Megumi wants it, but no matter how desperate he is, he doesn't want to break this kiss to guide Yuuji's cock inside him.
Yuuji, it seems, does not hold the same thought.
"Can I," he whispers again with his hand between them, lightly gripping his own cock so the piercing heat of his head is laying right against the loosened pucker of Megumi's hole. He need only sink down and feel every delicious, godly inch slip inside of him. "Please, Megumi, can I?"
Who is Megumi to deny a starving man the very feast that he is? He is not stupid, he reserves that adjective for attractive men who end up buried beneath the hungry roots of orange trees, and he craves Yuuji just as much as Yuuji craves him.
"You can," he gasps out. Yuuji does not leave him with much time to think because as soon as Megumi is done speaking, the fat head of Yuuji's cock is splitting him open and tearing moans so obscene from his lips that Megumi is certain any creature near them would be able to hear the raw pleasure rocking through his body. "Oh, fuck , you're huge..."
Yuuji would laugh if he wasn't so deeply occupied by how tight and slick Megumi is around his cock. It's too much and just enough all at once, and it takes every bit of self-control in his body to keep from letting go right as Megumi sheaths him fully. The little gasps of Megumi trying to adjust to his girth make Yuuji's head spin, and he's grasping desperately at Megumi's hips to keep himself grounded.
"I don't think—"
Megumi shushes him, cupping his face in his hands and kissing him with a full-body tremble. "It's okay," he whispers, giving an experimental rock of his hips. It snatches both of their breath away, and Megumi has to take a moment to gather what little remains of his thoughts. It's difficult; Yuuji's cock spreads him so well, makes him feel so fucking full, that very little matters outside of Yuuji, his cock, and how close they are pressed together in this small bathtub with cooling water.
“I don’t mind. We have forever.” Yuuji is grateful for that because every sultry rock of Megumi’s hips brings him closer and closer to an edge he’s simply not ready to reach. But there will be another time—many times—when he can pull Megumi close to him and kiss every sound he can out of his lips while they move together like waves against the shore. Those times won’t need to be as frantic as this.
Water will not be sloshing in thick waves onto the pristine tiled floors of Megumi’s bathroom as his hips come down to meet Yuuji’s upward thrusts with desperation that would be unbecoming should anyone else witness them. There will be time to explore what other spots on Megumi’s body make him sing with pleasure and for Yuuji to remember what he likes and needs to feel good again.
Yuuji is human again, free from rot and soil, and eager to experience every facet of what that means for him.
“Megumi, Megumi, Megumi ,” Yuuji is nearly begging, his hands leaving finger-shaped bruises on Megumi’s hips as every bounce of his lithe body in Yuuji’s lap pulls him closer and closer to the edge. “Heavens, I—“
He doesn’t need to finish his sentence because Megumi’s lips are on his as he grinds his hips down with a vengeance, clenching tight around Yuuji’s cock until he pulls his pleasure out of him much like he pulled him free of the dirt. The rush of ecstasy is nearly enough to send him reeling, but Yuuji is not and never will be a selfish lover.
Yuuji’s hand curls around Megumi’s cock before he can protest—and he tries with trembling hands on Yuuji’s forearm and an unsteady voice. It only takes a few easy strokes of Yuuji’s big hand over Megumi’s pretty cock and a swipe of his thumb over the weeping slit to push Megumi over the edge that he’d fallen over minutes before.
Megumi lays down against Yuuji’s chest as they breathe in each other through the citrus humidity filling the bathroom air. The bath water is tepid now, but Yuuji is comfortable with the sensation. With any sensation at all, really.
“Can I kiss you?” Yuuji whispers before smiling warmly against Megumi’s lips when he stretches out to press them together. Megumi is real; Megumi has weight, and he fits beautifully in Yuuji’s hold. “You are…”
“A marvel?” Megumi teases, the smooth inside of his thigh dragging lightly over the outside of Yuuji’s. “Beautiful? Magical? ”
Yuuji laughs and kisses Megumi again, one hand sliding over his back to eliminate what little space lies between them. “All of the above. But…you are real. You’re here .”
“So are you,” Megumi reminds him with all the gentleness of a light rain. “Real and present and breathing in air the same as me.”
—
Yuuji sits on the front engawa where he can hear Megumi bustling around in the kitchen. Kuro has taken up silent vigil at his side with his head resting on Yuuji’s thigh as they sit in relative silence. The clouds are thick again, and Yuuji can taste a thunderstorm on the tip of his tongue.
They should head inside soon.
The fruits hanging from the orange tree are beautiful and ripe, but something about them feels dangerous as if Yuuji should avoid them at all costs. They are not threatening—they are only oranges, after all—but something about them seems unfriendly.
“Megumi?” he calls softly, turning his head as Megumi opens the window facing the engawa. “Can I have an orange?” Megumi follows his gaze back to the beautiful orange tree and seems to consider his answer.
“If you would like one,” he says softly, and his eyes flick up to the sky when thunder starts to roll. The storm is far; they both know it, but something dark crosses Megumi’s face. “The ones from that tree are the sweetest, but I would pick them before the storm comes. They won’t taste as good then.”
Kuro growls, and Yuuji looks down at the pretty black wolf curiously. The possibility of the weather changing the taste of the oranges warrants a question, but Yuuji decided weeks ago that he would not ask Megumi about his secrets. “Would you like me to get you one?”
Megumi shakes his head and rests his arms on the windowsill. The smile on his face is sharp, and Yuuji wants to kiss the sharp edges until they make him bleed. “We can share one.”
There is something alive beneath the soil under Yuuji’s bare feet as he walks up to the orange tree. It radiates rage and discomfort, but it is buried deep and being choked by the roots of a fruit tree soaking up nutrients. Yuuji looks down briefly, considering, before reaching up and plucking down from the tree an orange so heavy with juice that he knows will taste better than any orange he’d had before.
The rage beneath his feet surges, and lightning strikes an oak tree deep in the forest.
He’s sure Megumi had his reasons.
Yuuji walks back to the engawa with an easy smile as if he felt none of that and leans into the window to kiss Megumi, one hand cradling his cheek while the other presses the orange into his waiting hands. The sky cracks open like a man sobbing, and Yuuji kisses Megumi a little harder, tongue scooping up his pretty sigh before he pulls back.
Skilled fingers expertly peel the orange, and Megumi hums a happy and sweet tune to Yuuji. The flesh of the orange is bright and crisp through the milky membrane, and Yuuji licks his lips as he watches Megumi’s thumbs slip between the sections of the orange to split the fruit in half. It’s a simple motion, but Yuuji has had Megumi’s thumbs in his mouth in a similar fashion. None of the sections rupture as Megumi’s nails graze along their delicate membranes nor as he gently pulls them apart.
“Say ‘ah,’” Megumi coos gently, smiling indulgently as Yuuji’s lips part for the juicy segment. The flavor explodes on Yuuji’s tongue in a burst of warm citrus. It’s one of the sweetest things he has ever tasted, but there is something different in its aftertaste.
Yuuji knows this feeling. It’s hard to forget. It’s love, the love of someone Yuuji had only met in passing.
He swallows the orange down and pulls apart another segment to feed it to Megumi, who nearly purrs in contentment at the flavor rolling around in his mouth. He can’t taste it, the love that’s making Yuuji tremble.
“Megumi,” he whispers and braces himself against the windowsill as Megumi leans through the window and kisses him slow and deep. He does not quite understand; Yuuji knows that Megumi will never understand unless he asks, but he knows that Yuuji needs him. He needs the grounding pressure of Megumi’s hands on his shoulders, the slick warmth of Megumi’s tongue as it slides through his mouth and over his own, and the knowledge that Megumi believes that he is human.
And then Yuuji remembers a warm voice and oranges left by his great protective oak tree.
“Megumi,” Yuuji gasps as he licks orange juice from his mouth and is overwhelmed by the flavor. “What is this?”
“An orange?”
“No.” The love is sticky and warm, and Yuuji rests his forehead on his shoulder, “ Who is this?”
“What do you mean?” Megumi’s hands are gentle in Yuuji’s hair, but Yuuji needs to know—he has to know.
“I remember—someone who loved me and left me oranges. I remember .” Understanding sparks in Megumi’s eyes, and he gently pushes Yuuji back, hands careful on his tear-stained cheeks.
“My mentor planted this tree,” Megumi says slowly, unsure of what to do with Yuuji's tears but still wiping them away with his thumbs. “His estate is not far from here.”
“What is his name? Who is he?”
“Gojo Satoru—“
“Bring me to him, please. I made him a promise.”
Megumi does not question this. He merely tries to get Yuuji into a pair of shoes to no avail and begins the trek to Satoru’s mansion. Their walk is silent, and Yuuji’s legs are unsteady with excitement as the great traditional structure rises over the horizon. A beautiful orange tree stands before it, and Yuuji is running to meet it, forcing Megumi to pick up his own pace with a confused shout of his name.
Gojo Satoru sits beneath the tree, peeling an orange when the Six Eyes alert and open, landing on Yuuji as his energy bursts with excitement. He moves before he even realizes it, hands cradling Yuuji’s cheek with a disbelieving laugh.
“I found you!” Yuuji exclaims, bubbling with joy as Satoru’s sticky fingers trace his cheeks.
“You did,” Satoru breathes and squishes Yuuji’s cheeks together fondly. “You did, thank you.”
Megumi realizes that Infinity’s shield has been abandoned as Satoru crushes Yuuji to his chest, holding the boy tight to his chest as Yuuji nuzzles his cheek into Satoru’s own.
Suguru comes to stand at Megumi’s side, hands tucked into the sleeves of his yukata as he smiles warmly at the sight. “You’re confused,” he says, and Megumi narrows his eyes.
“You’re not.”
“Of course not. Your boy—Yuuji?—was buried in Satoru’s earth. They knew each other that way. You’ve brought him home.”
Megumi leans his head on Suguru’s shoulder and closes his eyes at the soft kiss pressed to the crown of his head. They are at peace like this with the late summer haze and the scent of oranges heavy in the air.
Something below the orange tree reaches for Yuuji, and he flinches, startled, in Satoru’s arms. Satoru glares at the ground and brings his foot down to the earth with an annoyed stomp.
“Now, now, that’s enough from you,” Suguru scolds, looking down at the tree’s roots. “You’re interrupting.”
“Your birth giver is so rude,” Satoru tuts as Suguru beckons them both from beneath the shade of the orange tree. Yuuji’s eyes flash with recognition, and he glances down at the roots they leave behind.
“Are they—?”
“They buried Satoru, so I buried them,” Suguru says, and it’s not as if Yuuji can argue with that.
Satoru guides Yuuji inside their home, and when the door clicks behind him, Megumi watches Suguru kneel by the roots of the tree. Suguru digs his fingers into the lush earth and whispers, voice so soft Megumi can barely make it out, “You took everything from me, Kenjaku, and you did it while wearing my face. So Satoru and I will take your child, the only thing you have left, and I will love him as my own.”
—
Kuro snarls, green eyes focused on the tree before he runs inside with a clap of thunder.
Kuro never liked Ryomen. Ryomen never liked Kuro.
Megumi walks over to the tree with a cup of tea held firmly in his hands once the rain clears. Mud squishes between his toes, and he kneels down to tilt his head towards the earth. Ryomen seems to have settled for now, tantrum receding back into the ground with him, but he is an easily provoked man. He always has been.
“There, there,” Megumi whispers when he hears a worn-out cry filter up from the sodden earth. “Your time will come, too.”
Megumi tilts his head thoughtfully, wrapping both of his hands around his teacup. “Maybe.
Ryomen’s scream is muffled, and Megumi pats the roots of the tree in great sympathy. “Shh. I’m going now.”
Yuuji meets Megumi at the door. “It’s a good tree,” Megumi says as Yuuji tilts his head in silent question. “Don’t you think?”
Yuuji looks out at the orange tree and its ripe fruit, glistening with rainwater.
He could ask what was buried beneath the tree to give it life. But he will not. Megumi did not ask him why he was buried, and Yuuji will return the favor.
“It’s a good tree,” Yuuji agrees and leans down to press his lips against Megumi’s. “Come to bed.”
Megumi smiles against his lips. “Happily.”
Honey just put your sweet lips on my lips
We could just kiss like real people do