Work Text:
Genya is going to die of embarrassment.
He can feel it burning hot in his chest, that same heat crawling up the back of his neck. Sanemi’s just staring at him, eyebrows drawn together like he’s trying his hardest to figure something out—and Genya wishes he’d just stop.
“…You’ve never touched yourself? Ever?”
He’s not even teasing. That’s the worst part. There’s no mocking grin, no snarky tone, no snort of disbelief—just genuine surprise. And somehow, that’s so much worse.
Genya shrugs, trying to play it off. “What does it matter?”
He doesn’t meet Sanemi’s eyes. Can’t. They’re sitting close, way too close, legs folded on the bed, knees touching, and the proximity is messing with him. He shifts, but not enough to move away. Just enough to pretend he’s not squirming.
Sanemi’s expression changes. It’s subtle, but Genya sees it. Just a shift—something darker slipping into his features, something unreadable.
Then Sanemi moves.
Before Genya can even react, Sanemi’s hand is wrapping around his arm, and he pulls Genya forward easily, as if he weighs nothing at all. Genya stumbles, caught off guard, and the next thing he knows, he’s sitting between Sanemi’s legs, back against his brother’s chest.
“What are you doing?”
“I’m gonna show you how to do it,” Sanemi says simply, like it’s no big deal.
Genya’s heart skips, then hammers. His hands hover uselessly between them, unsure of where to go. He can feel the warmth of Sanemi’s body behind him—steady, grounding, almost overwhelming.
"Show me?" Genya repeats, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't—I don't need you to—"
"Clearly you do," Sanemi interrupts, his breath hot against Genya's ear. "Just let me help you, alright?"
Genya swallows hard. He should say no. Should pull away, put some distance between them, and try to laugh it off. But he doesn't. He stays exactly where he is.
"Relax," Sanemi murmurs, his hands settling on Genya's thighs. "I'm not gonna hurt you."
That's not what Genya's worried about. Sanemi has never hurt him—ever.
"I know."
"Good," Sanemi murmurs. "Now first, you gotta get comfortable. Usually you'd be alone, but... this is better for learning."
Genya nods shakily, unable to form words as his skin burns beneath Sanemi’s touch.
"You're still too tense," Sanemi murmurs softly. "Breathe for me."
Genya tries, drawing in a shuddering breath. He doesn't know what to do with his hands, so he grips the bedsheets on either side of them, fingers grasping the fabric almost desperately.
"That's it," Sanemi encourages, and there's something in his voice Genya's never heard before—something dark and honeyed. "Now, you gotta touch yourself where it feels good."
Sanemi's hands slide higher, thumbs pressing into Genya's inner thighs, spreading them slightly. Genya's breath catches in his throat.
"I—" Genya starts, but the words die in his throat when Sanemi's hands move higher still, brushing dangerously close to the heat between his legs.
"Where does it feel good for you?" Sanemi asks, his voice rough around the edges. "Show me."
Genya's mouth goes dry. "I don't—"
"It's just me," Sanemi whispers. "Nobody else is gonna know. Just show me."
Trembling, Genya lifts one hand from the sheets. He hesitates, then slowly guides it between his legs, palm pressing lightly against himself through his pants.
"There."
"Good," Sanemi breathes, His hand covers Genya's, pressing down harder. The added pressure makes Genya gasp, his hips instinctively pushing up against their joined hands.
"There you go," Sanemi murmurs, his lips brushing against the shell of Genya's ear. "Just like that."
Sanemi guides Genya's hand in slow circles, each movement sending sparks of pleasure up Genya's spine. He's never felt anything like this before—not this intensity, this building pressure that makes his thighs tremble.
"You're getting wet," Sanemi observes, making Genya want to die of shame right then and there, but Sanemi just continues, "That's good. Means your body likes it."
Genya whimpers, the sound escaping before he can stop it. His hips buck against their hands again, chasing the friction.
"Can I show you more?" Sanemi asks, his free hand sliding up to rest on Genya's stomach, warm and steadying. "We can stop here if you want."
Genya shakes his head quickly. "No," he manages, voice strained. "Don't stop."
"I won't," Sanemi promises.
With agonizing slowness, Sanemi undoes the button of Genya's pants. Genya's breathing is ragged now, his chest rising and falling rapidly as Sanemi pulls down the zipper.
"Lift your hips a little."
Genya obeys without thinking, raising himself just enough for Sanemi to ease his pants down just slightly, exposing the waistband of his underwear. They’re simple—pale pink cotton with a small bow at the center—nothing he expected anyone to see. The exposure makes him want to cover himself, but he's trapped between Sanemi's thighs, held in place by the arm now wrapped around his waist.
"Pretty," Sanemi murmurs, and Genya can't tell if he's being teased or not. Either way, his face burns hotter, the blush spreading down his neck and across his chest.
Sanemi's fingers trace the elastic waistband, following it from one hip to the other, barely touching skin. Genya has to bite his lip to keep from making another embarrassing sound.
"Relax," Sanemi reminds him gently. "You're doing good."
Before Genya can respond, Sanemi's hand dips beneath the waistband, fingers sliding down to cup him over the thin cotton. Genya's hips jerk instantly, a broken gasp escaping his lips.
"N-Nii-chan—" he chokes out, not entirely sure if he's asking him to stop or asking for more.
"Shh," Sanemi soothes, his fingers exploring gently. "I’ve got you."
Genya's head falls back against Sanemi's shoulder, his eyes squeezing shut at the overwhelming sensation. Sanemi's fingers move with precision, tracing the shape of him through the damp cotton, finding spots that make Genya's thighs tremble.
"This is how you find what feels best," Sanemi murmurs, voice rougher now. "Pay attention to your body. Feel how it responds."
Genya tries to focus—he really does—but it's almost impossible with the way Sanemi is touching him. Every small stroke of his fingers sends another wave of pleasure coursing through him, building in intensity until Genya can barely catch his breath. His hips begin to move of their own accord, pressing up into Sanemi's touch desperately.
"That's it," Sanemi encourages, his own breathing growing heavy.
Genya whimpers, a soft, needy noise. Something is building inside him, a tension coiling tighter with each stroke of Sanemi's fingers.
"You're close," Sanemi whispers, as if sensing Genya’s thoughts. "I can feel it."
Genya’s hand flies up, grabbing Sanemi's wrist, needing something—anything—to anchor himself through the intense feeling.
"Do you want to feel more?" Sanemi asks, something like desperation in his voice now. "Without these in the way?"
Genya nods without a thought. "Y-yes."
Sanemi's fingers hook into the waistband of his panties, pulling them down slightly. Genya keeps his eyes shut tight, too embarrassed to look even as Sanemi's hand returns, this time with nothing in the way.
The second he makes contant, Genya gasps. "Oh!"
"You're so wet," Sanemi groans, his other arm holding Genya impossibly tighter. His fingers slide easily through slick folds, exploring with gentle precision. "So beautiful."
When Sanemi's fingertip circles his entrance, Genya's entire body jolts. "Nii-chan—"
“It’s okay,” Sanemi reassures gently. “Just trust me.”
The intrusion is strange at first—an odd fullness Genya has never experienced—but then Sanemi curls his finger just so, and pleasure shoots up his spine all at once, pulling a desperate cry from his lips.
"There it is," Sanemi mutters, satisfaction evident in his voice. He repeats the motion, drawing another needy sound from Genya. "Everyone's different, but this spot usually feels good."
He continues his movements, adding a second finger that stretches Genya in a way that burns in the best possible way. All the while, his thumb works in slow circles over Genya’s clit, making sure he’s constantly stimulated.
"You're doing so well," Sanemi praises quietly. "So perfect for me."
Genya shivers in response, his insides clenching around Sanemi's fingers.
"I can't—" he gasps, back arching as Sanemi's fingers curl inside him again. "It's too much—"
"You can," Sanemi murmurs against his ear, his voice low and comforting. "Just let yourself feel it."
Genya's head thrashes against Sanemi's shoulder, his body caught between overwhelming pleasure and the desperate need for release. His hips move in small, helpless circles, chasing the pleasure Sanemi’s fingers give him. Each stroke sends shockwaves through his body, building and building until he feels like he might shatter.
"You're so beautiful like this," Sanemi whispers, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the side of Genya's neck. The unexpected contact draws a startled gasp from Genya, making him jolt slightly in Sanemi’s hold.
"Oh—" he breathes, the word barely audible. His head tilts instinctively, giving Sanemi better access to the sensitive skin of his throat.
Sanemi makes a sound low in his chest, something between a groan and a growl, as his teeth graze Genya's pulse point. "That's it," he murmurs. "Just enjoy it."
His fingers continue to move with deliberate slowness, curling and scissoring inside Genya, stretching him in ways that border on too much but never quite cross that line.
"Please," Genya begs, beyond shame at this point. "Please, I need—"
"What do you need?" Sanemi asks. His free hand slides up under Genya's shirt, palm flat against his stomach, feeling the muscles quiver beneath his touch. "Tell me."
"More," Genya manages, just barely. "Faster, please—"
Sanemi rewards him with a slight increase in tempo, his fingers moving with more purpose now. "Like this?"
"Yes," Genya gasps, mouth falling open. "Yes, like that—don't stop—"
He can feel it building again, that tension coiling tighter and tighter in his core. His thighs shake uncontrollably, his hands clutching at whatever they can reach—the bedsheets, Sanemi's arm, his thighs.
"You’re doing so well," Sanemi murmurs, something like wonder in his voice. "So perfect for me."
The praise undoes something in Genya. He feels himself clench around Sanemi's fingers, his body drawing them deeper as pleasure crashes through him. His vision blurs, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes as the sensations overwhelm him.
"That's it," Sanemi breathes, his voice tight with something Genya can't name. "Let me feel you."
Sanemi's fingers curl inside him again, pressing against that perfect spot. At the same time, his thumb finally applies firm pressure exactly where Genya needs it most, and the combination is devastating.
"Nii-chan—" Genya cries out, arousal mixing with embarrassment. "I-I feel like I'm gonna pee..!"
"Shh, just let it happen," Sanemi soothes gently. "Nii-chan’s got you."
Genya's entire body goes rigid, suspended in a moment of perfect tension as pleasure courses through him. His back arches sharply, pressing him harder against Sanemi's chest as he comes with a broken cry, body pulsing around Sanemi's fingers. A rush of wetness coats Sanemi's hand, dripping onto the sheets beneath them.
"There you go," Sanemi breathes, working him through it with gentle, persistent strokes. "Let it all out."
Genya can't speak, can't think, can only feel as his body convulses with pleasure so intense it borders on pain. His hips jerk uncontrollably, chasing the sensation as Sanemi continues to touch him, drawing out his orgasm until Genya is shaking and oversensitive.
"Nii-chan," he finally gasps, weakly grasping at Sanemi's wrist. "Too much—"
Sanemi immediately stills his hand but doesn't withdraw, letting Genya come down slowly. He presses soft kisses to the side of Genya's neck, his shoulder, behind his ear.
Gradually, Genya's breathing steadies, his body going limp against Sanemi's. He feels boneless, wrung out, utterly spent. His mind is blissfully quiet, all his usual anxieties temporarily silenced by the lingering waves of pleasure.
When Sanemi finally withdraws his fingers, Genya can't help the small whimper that escapes him. Sanemi chuckles softly at the noise, one hand still holding him close while he brings the other to his mouth, tasting the wetness there. Genya watches with wide eyes, face burning with exhaustion and something like awe.
"Nii-chan," he mumbles, not sure what else to say.
Sanemi doesn’t respond, just shifts him carefully, turning Genya in his arms until they're face to face. Genya can’t seem to meet his eyes, embarrassment creeping back in now.
"Hey," Sanemi says softly, tilting Genya's chin up with gentle fingers. "Don’t hide from me."
Genya closes his eyes, focusing on the warmth of Sanemi's body pressed so close to his own as he mumbles, "I made such a mess."
Sanemi laughs quietly—not teasing but a low, almost comforting sound.
"That's my fault," he says, nuzzling against Genya's cheek. "I'll clean up in a minute. You just relax.
Genya shifts, feeling something hard pressing insistently against his thigh. He goes still, the realization sinking in. "Nii-chan—you're—"
Sanemi cuts him off with a soft kiss to the corner of the mouth. "It's fine. This was about you."
Genya hesitates, then presses his hand to the front of Sanemi's pants, feeling the hardness there. "Will you—" His cheeks flame with color. "Will you put it in next time?"
Sanemi groans low and deep, his forehead falling to Genya's shoulder.
"You're gonna kill me."
Genya can’t pay attention.
Sanemi is there, at the front of the classroom, lecturing about something Genya doesn’t really care about. He’s not hearing any of it, anyway. His mind is somewhere else entirely.
His bedroom, with Sanemi's fingers inside him, with his mouth on his neck, with the overwhelming pleasure that had crashed through him. It's been three days, and he still can't stop thinking about it.
Genya shifts in his seat, crossing his legs tightly as heat pools in his belly at the memory. He watches Sanemi's hands as he writes something on the chalkboard—those same hands that had touched him so intimately, that had coaxed sounds from him he didn't know he could make.
They haven't talked about it. Sanemi has been acting like nothing happened—still ruffling Genya's hair in the mornings, still arguing with him about who gets the bathroom first, still making him breakfast before school. The only difference is the way Sanemi's eyes linger sometimes when he thinks Genya isn't looking.
But Genya is always looking.
It's driving him crazy, this constant state of anticipation, waiting for something that might never happen again. His body is practically humming with pent-up energy, his skin too tight, too sensitive. The classroom feels stifling, the air thick and heavy.
"Shinazugawa-sensei," Genya finally says, raising his hand. "May I use the bathroom?"
Sanemi pauses mid-sentence, piece of chalk still pressed against the board. His eyes find Genya's across the room, and something flickers in them—recognition, maybe
"Go ahead," he says, his voice perfectly neutral. Professional. Like he didn’t have his fingers inside Genya three days prior.
Genya gets up, carefully hiding his state from the other students as he makes his way to the door. His heart is pounding so hard he's sure everyone can hear it. As he passes Sanemi, their eyes meet briefly, and Genya almost stumbles at the intensity in his brother's gaze.
The bathroom is empty when Genya slips inside, door clicking shut behind him. He leans against it for a moment, breathing hard, trying to collect himself. His reflection in the mirror across the room shows flushed cheeks and wild eyes—he looks exactly like what he is: desperate.
Trembling slightly, Genya stumbles to the nearest stall. It's hardly ideal, but he can't wait anymore. He's been on edge for days, waking up from dreams so vivid they left him aching and confused.
"This is crazy," he whispers to himself as he closes the stall door, leaning his forehead against the cool metal. But he's already fumbling with his pants, hands clumsy with urgency.
His underwear is damp when he pushes it down, evidence of how worked up he's been just sitting in class, watching Sanemi move around the room. Genya bites his lip, embarrassed even though he's alone.
Hesitantly, he touches himself, fingers sliding through slick folds. It feels good, but not like when Sanemi did it. Something's missing.
Genya closes his eyes, trying to remember exactly what Sanemi had done. How his fingers had moved, where they had pressed. He attempts to mimic the motions, circling his entrance before carefully pushing one finger inside himself.
"Oh," he breathes, the sound barely audible. It's not enough—not deep enough, not full enough—but it's something. He adds a second finger, wincing slightly at the stretch, then curling them experimentally.
The angle is awkward, his wrist already starting to ache, but when his fingertips brush against that spot inside him, Genya has to clap his other hand over his mouth to stifle his gasp. His hips jerk forward instinctively, chasing the sensation.
"Nii-chan," he whispers against his palm, shame and desire warring inside him. He shouldn't be thinking about Sanemi while doing this. Shouldn't be imagining it's Sanemi's fingers inside him instead of his own.
But he can't help it, the memory is burned into his head. The way Sanemi had held him, guided him, praised him. The feeling of being completely surrounded by his brother's warmth and strength.
Genya leans back against the stall door, legs spreading wider as he works his fingers deeper. His thumb finds his clit, and he rubs it in slow circles, breath catching in his throat.
He thinks of Sanemi's voice in his ear, low and rough, thinks of his hands, calloused and sure, thinks of the way he'd tasted Genya from his fingers afterwards.
The memory alone is enough to make Genya whimper, his fingers moving faster, more desperately. He’s getting close now, feeling that familiar tension coiling in his stomach. His wrist aches, his legs shake, but he can't stop, can't slow down.
His head falls back against the stall door with a soft thunk, eyes squeezed shut as pleasure builds inside him. It's still not enough, but he's so wound up from days of thinking about Sanemi's touch that it might not matter.
With a few more desperate circles of his thumb, a few more curls of his fingers, Genya feels himself teetering on the edge. His free hand presses harder against his mouth, stifling the sounds he can't control.
"Nii-chan," he gasps against his palm as pleasure crashes through him. His body clenches around his fingers, wetness coating his hand as he comes with a muffled cry.
It's not as intense as it had been with Sanemi—nowhere close—but it's enough to leave him leaning heavily against the stall door for support as his legs threaten to give out. He rides the sensation as long as he can, fingers moving slower now as the waves of pleasure gradually subside.
When it's over, Genya slowly withdraws his fingers, grimacing at the mess he's made. He stares at his wet fingers for a moment, then reaches for the toilet paper to clean himself up. The temporary relief is already fading, leaving behind a hollow feeling in his chest.
It wasn't enough. Not even close.
Genya fixes his clothes with shaking hands, trying to compose himself before returning to class. He splashes cold water on his face at the sink, avoiding his own reflection. His cheeks are still flushed, his eyes too bright. Everyone will know, he thinks in a moment of panic.
But when he finally gathers the courage to look in the mirror, he sees only himself—disheveled, yes, but not obviously debauched. He takes a deep breath, smooths his hair, and straightens his uniform.
When he finally returns to class, he can’t meet Sanemi's eyes as he slips back into his seat. But he feels Sanemi watching him, that dark gaze following his movements. Genya wonders if he knows what he was doing. If he can tell just by looking at him.
The thought makes his face burn hotter.
The rest of the school day passes in a blur.
Genya can hardly focus. His classes blur together, words floating past him without meaning. His thoughts won’t stop circling, tight and panicked, and when the final bell rings, he shoves his books into his bag too quickly. One slips out, hits the floor with a soft thud, but he doesn’t even bother picking it up. He just wants to leave.
He makes his way to the train station in a rush, head down, eyes on the ground. The ride home is silent. He doesn’t put in his headphones, doesn’t pull out his phone. His leg bounces the entire time, jittery and restless. He keeps wondering—does Sanemi know? He can’t. Probably not. Right?
Genya had been fast. Subtle. It hadn’t taken long.
Still, he couldn’t even look Sanemi in the eye afterward. Couldn’t risk it. He’d walked back into the classroom and stared down at his math packet like it might erase the guilt clawing at the back of his throat.
When the train stops, Genya bolts up from his seat, slipping out the doors before they fully open. He hurries the rest of the way home, the weight of the day pressing heavier on his shoulders with every step.
At least Sanemi won’t be home for a while. Genya’s not sure he can face him right now.
He unlocks the apartment door, careful not to let it slam behind him. The silence inside is a relief. He toes off his shoes and heads straight for his bedroom, barely bothering to drop his bag on the floor before flopping face-first onto his bed.
He covers his face with both hands, breath catching.
God.
What the hell was he thinking?
He wasn't thinking—that was the problem. He's been so desperate and needy ever since that night with Sanemi. Everything has changed, and yet nothing has. They still live together like nothing happened—but now there's this... thing between them.
The sound of the front door opening makes Genya jolt upright.
It's too early. Sanemi shouldn't be home yet. He always has papers to grade, meetings to attend. He's never home before five. Genya's heart hammers against his ribs as footsteps approach his bedroom.
There's a soft knock on his door, and then Sanemi's voice.
"Genya? You in there?"
Genya swallows hard, smoothing his hair nervously. "Yeah," he calls back, voice cracking slightly. "Come in."
The door opens slowly, and Sanemi stands there, still in his teaching clothes—dark slacks and a button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows. His expression is unreadable.
"You left this," Sanemi says, holding up Genya's textbook. "Thought you might need it for homework."
"Oh." Genya blinks, surprised. "Thanks."
Sanemi doesn't hand it over immediately. He steps into the room instead, closing the door behind him.
"Genya," Sanemi says, and there's something in his voice that makes Genya’s stomach twist into knots. "What were you doing in the bathroom today?"
Genya freezes, heat rushing to his face. He opens his mouth, closes it, trying to find words that won't come.
"I—" Genya starts, then stops, looking away. "I had to use the bathroom."
Sanemi makes a sound, something between a scoff and a laugh. He sets the textbook down on Genya's desk and steps closer, until he's standing right at the edge of the bed.
"You were gone for fifteen minutes," Sanemi says, voice low. "And when you came back your face was flushed, and you wouldn't even look at me."
Genya stares at his hands, unable to meet Sanemi's gaze.
"I was just..." Genya trails off, knowing any excuse would sound hollow.
"Show me."
Genya's head snaps up, eyes wide. "What?"
"Show me what you were doing," Sanemi repeats, his voice dropping lower. He takes another step closer, until his knees bump against the edge of the bed. "Show me how you touched yourself."
Genya's breath catches in his throat. He feels pinned by Sanemi's gaze, unable to look away now that their eyes have met. There's something dark and hungry in Sanemi's expression that makes heat pool in Genya's belly.
"I can't," Genya whispers, even as his thighs press together at the memory.
"You can," Sanemi says, sitting down on the edge of the bed. "I showed you how, remember? I want to see if you learned anything."
Genya swallows hard, heart hammering against his ribs. His hands tremble as he slowly reaches for the button of his pants.
"That's it," Sanemi encourages softly, watching Genya's fingers work the button free, then the zipper. "Just like I taught you."
Shame and arousal war inside Genya as he pushes his pants down over his hips, revealing his underwear. He hesitates, fingers hooked in the waistband.
"Keep going," Sanemi murmurs, his eyes never leaving Genya's hands. "Don't be shy now."
With a shaky breath, Genya pushes his underwear down, exposing himself to Sanemi. He can feel himself already getting wet just from the way Sanemi is looking at him, like he wants to devour him whole.
"Now touch yourself," Sanemi instructs, his voice giving nothing away. "Show me how you did it in the bathroom."
Genya's face burns with embarrassment, but he obeys, fingers tentatively sliding between his legs.
"Were you thinking about me?" Sanemi asks, watching intently as Genya's fingers begin to move. "When you were touching yourself at school?"
"Yes," Genya admits, the word barely audible. His fingers circle his entrance, then slip inside, just like he'd done earlier. It feels different now with Sanemi watching, more intense.
"What about me?" Sanemi asks, voice dropping even lower. "What were you thinking about?"
Genya's fingers falter in their rhythm as embarrassment washes over him. "About your... your fingers," he confesses, unable to meet Sanemi's eyes. "How they felt inside me. How they reached places I couldn't." His voice grows smaller with each word, until it's barely above a whisper.
"Keep going," Sanemi commands, shifting closer on the bed. "Show me what you remember."
Genya's movements grow more confident under Sanemi's intense gaze. He adds a second finger, curling them the way Sanemi had shown him, searching for that perfect spot inside him. When he finds it, his back arches slightly, a soft gasp escaping his lips. Sanemi watches hungrily, his hands clenched into fists on his thighs as if to keep from reaching out.
"What about here?" he asks, nodding toward where Genya's thumb should be.
Genya's free hand moves to circle his clit, mimicking what Sanemi had done days before. The dual sensation makes his thighs tremble, his breath coming faster.
"Was it good?" Sanemi asks, his voice strained. "In the bathroom?"
Genya shakes his head, even as pleasure builds within him. "Not like—not like when you did it," he admits between shallow breaths. "Not enough."
Something flickers in Sanemi's eyes—satisfaction or maybe possessiveness. "Why not?"
"My fingers aren't—" Genya cuts himself off with a soft moan as his fingertips brush that spot again. "They're not long enough. Not thick enough. Not—not yours."
Sanemi makes a sound low in his throat, almost a growl. "Keep going," he orders, shifting onto the bed to sit between Genya’s thighs. "Don't stop until you finish."
Genya's movements grow desperate, his fingers working faster as he chases his pleasure. His breathing turns ragged, small whimpers escaping his throat with each thrust of his fingers.
"Nii-chan," he gasps, hips lifting off the bed. "I'm close—"
"I can see that," Sanemi murmurs, his voice like gravel. His hands move to Genya's thighs, spreading them wider, giving himself a better view. "You're so wet. So pretty like this."
The praise makes Genya's insides clench around his fingers. He's trembling all over now, overwhelmed by sensation and the intensity of Sanemi's gaze.
"Look at me," Sanemi commands, and Genya's eyes flutter open, meeting his brother's intense gaze. "I want to see your face when you come."
That's all it takes—Sanemi's hungry eyes on him, his strong hands gripping Genya's thighs, the command in his voice. Genya comes with a broken cry, his back arching off the bed as pleasure crashes through him. His body pulses around his fingers, wetness spilling onto his hand and the sheets below.
"Nii-chan," he gasps, the name torn from his throat as he shudders through his orgasm.
Sanemi watches, transfixed, as Genya trembles through the aftershocks of his climax. His hands remain firm on Genya's thighs, keeping them spread wide as Genya's fingers slow their movements.
The second Genya withdraws his hand, Sanemi is moving down the bed, positioning himself between Genya's legs. He hooks Genya's knees over his shoulders, pulling him closer until Genya's core is inches from his face.
"W-wait," Genya stammers, propping himself up on his elbows, face burning with embarrassment. "What are you doing?"
Without responding or warning, Sanemi leans in and drags his tongue through Genya's folds in one long, slow stroke. The sensation is so intense, so unexpected, that Genya falls back against the mattress with a startled cry, his hands flying to Sanemi's hair.
"Oh God," he gasps, thighs tensing around Sanemi's head. "Nii-chan—"
Sanemi hums against him, the vibration sending shivers up Genya's spine. His tongue is relentless, exploring every inch of Genya with obvious hunger. He laps at Genya's entrance, pushing in slightly before moving up to circle his clit.
Genya writhes beneath him, overwhelmed by sensation. It's too much, too soon after his orgasm, but his body doesn't seem to care. Every stroke of Sanemi's tongue sends electric pulses through him, building a new tension in his core. Sanemi's strong hands grip Genya's thighs all the while, holding him firmly in place as his tongue dips inside, then flattens against Genya's entrance.
"I can't—" Genya gasps, fingers tightening in Sanemi's hair. "It's too much—too soon—"
Sanemi pulls back just enough to look up at him, his mouth glistening. "It’s okay. You can take it."
He returns to his task with renewed vigor, his tongue delving deeper, more insistently. One hand slides up Genya's trembling thigh to his stomach, pinning him to the mattress as he works. His other hand joins his mouth, fingers teasing at Genya's entrance before slowly pushing inside.
"Ah!" Genya cries out, his body clenching around the intrusion. "Nii-chan, I can't—"
Sanemi curls his fingers expertly, finding that spot inside that makes Genya see stars while his tongue focuses on his clit.
"Too much," Genya sobs, even as his hips lift into Sanemi's touch, chasing the mixture of pleasure and pain. "Too much, too much—"
But Sanemi doesn't relent. If anything, his movements grow more determined, more precise. His fingers work deeper, faster, stretching Genya open while his tongue draws tight circles that have Genya writhing beneath him.
"Please," Genya whimpers, hands tugging at Sanemi's hair, torn between pulling him closer and pushing him away. "Nii-chan, please—"
Sanemi hums against him again, the vibration shooting straight through Genya's oversensitive nerves. His fingers press insistently against that spot inside, rubbing in firm circles that make Genya's vision blur with tears of overwhelming pleasure.
"I'm going to—again—" Genya warns, his voice breaking on a sob. "Nii-chan—"
Sanemi lifts his head just enough to meet Genya's eyes, his gaze dark and hungry. "That's the point," he growls, his breath hot against Genya's wet skin. "I want to feel you come on my tongue."
The words alone are almost enough to push Genya over the edge. When Sanemi's mouth returns to him, sucking gently on his clit while his fingers continue their relentless assault inside, Genya shatters.
His second orgasm hits him all at once, more intense than the first. His back arches off the bed, a strangled cry tearing from his throat as his body convulses around Sanemi's fingers. Wetness gushes from him, coating Sanemi's hand and mouth, but his brother doesn't pull away. He works Genya through it, tongue and fingers moving in perfect tandem until Genya is sobbing with overstimulation.
"Stop, stop," Genya finally gasps, pushing against Sanemi’s shoulder. But Sanemi ignores his protests, one hand gripping Genya's hips with bruising force to keep him in place.
"No," Sanemi growls against Genya's thigh, fingers still moving inside him. "Not until you give me one more."
"I can't," Genya sobs, his entire body trembling uncontrollably as tears stream down his cheeks. "Please, Nii-chan, I can't—"
"You can," Sanemi insists, curling his fingers to press against that spot once more. "One more. For me."
His tongue returns to Genya's clit, gentler now but no less persistent. The softer touch is somehow worse, making Genya whimper as his body responds despite his protests. He's so sensitive that even the lightest contact feels overwhelming.
"Nii-chan," Genya pleads, his voice breaking. His hands fist in the sheets, knuckles white with strain. "I'll die—"
Sanemi chuckles against him, the vibration making Genya jerk. "You won’t die," he murmurs, pressing a surprisingly tender kiss to Genya's inner thigh. "Trust me."
And Genya does trust him—completely, unquestioningly—even as Sanemi's fingers stretch him further, a third digit joining the others. The fullness borders on too much, but Sanemi's pace slows, giving Genya time to adjust.
"There you go," Sanemi praises when Genya's hips begin to move in small, hesitant circles against his face. "You’re doing so well."
The words wash over Genya like warm honey, easing some of the tension from his body. His breathing steadies, his sobs quieting to soft moans as Sanemi works him with exquisite patience. The third orgasm builds more slowly than the others, a gradual tightening rather than a sharp climb.
"Good boy," Sanemi murmurs, and something about those words makes Genya's insides clench around his fingers. "So perfect for me."
Genya whimpers, his hands moving from the sheets to Sanemi's hair, not pulling now but simply holding on. His thighs fall open wider, surrendering completely to whatever Sanemi wants to give him.
"Please," he whispers. "Please, Nii-chan."
Sanemi's eyes darken at Genya's surrender, something possessive flashing in their depths. He increases the pressure of his mouth, the pace of his fingers, driving Genya toward that third peak.
"That’s better," he murmurs against Genya's skin. "Let me feel you come again."
Genya's body responds to the command, tension coiling tighter in his core. When the orgasm finally crashes over him, Genya arches with a silent scream, no sound escaping his throat as pleasure consumes him.
This time, Sanemi doesn't ease him through it. He withdraws his fingers completely, leaving Genya clenching around nothing as his orgasm washes over him in waves. The sudden emptiness makes Genya whimper, his body desperately seeking something to hold onto as pleasure crashes through him.
Through tear-blurred vision, Genya watches as Sanemi hurriedly undoes his belt, yanking open his pants with frantic movements. He's never seen his brother like this—desperate, almost feral, his usual composure completely shattered. Sanemi shoves his pants and underwear down just enough to free himself, and Genya's eyes widen at the sight.
Sanemi is big—bigger than Genya had imagined, thick and flushed dark with need. He's so hard that he curves slightly, a bead of moisture glistening at the tip. Genya can't tear his eyes away, even as nervousness flutters in his stomach.
"Nii-chan," he whispers, voice hoarse from crying out. "Are you going to—"
"Yes," Sanemi growls, positioning himself between Genya's trembling thighs. He guides the head of his cock to Genya's entrance, rubbing it through the abundant wetness there. "I need to be inside you. Need to feel you around me."
Genya hesitates, fear and anticipation warring inside him. "But I've never—"
"Shh," Sanemi soothes, his voice gentling even as his body remains tense with need. "It’s okay. Nii-chan will take care of you."
He leans down, capturing Genya's lips in a surprisingly tender kiss, the first they've ever shared, Genya realizes distantly. The taste of himself on Sanemi's tongue makes Genya whimper, but he doesn't pull away. Instead, his arms wrap around Sanemi's shoulders, drawing him closer.
"I'll go slow," Sanemi promises against his mouth. "Tell me if it hurts too much."
Genya nods shakily, legs spreading wider in invitation. "I trust you."
The words seem to affect Sanemi deeply. His expression softens for a moment, something vulnerable flashing across his features before the hunger returns. He positions himself more carefully, one hand guiding his cock while the other braces beside Genya's head.
The first push is gentle—just the tip pressing against Genya's entrance. Despite how wet he is, how thoroughly Sanemi has prepared him, the pressure still makes Genya tense.
"Breathe," Sanemi murmurs, pressing soft kisses along Genya's jaw. "Relax for me."
Genya forces himself to take a deep breath, consciously relaxing his muscles. Sanemi pushes forward slightly, the head of his cock breaching Genya's entrance. The stretch burns, a sharp pain that makes Genya gasp and dig his fingers into Sanemi's shoulders.
"Shh," Sanemi murmurs, immediately stilling. "We can stop—"
"No," Genya insists, though his voice wavers. "Don't stop. Please."
Sanemi studies his face for a moment, then nods. He resumes his careful movements, pushing in another inch before pausing again to let Genya adjust. The process is agonizingly slow—a little more pressure, a pause, a little more.
"You're doing so well," Sanemi praises, his voice strained with the effort of holding back. Sweat beads on his forehead, his muscles trembling with restraint. "Taking me so perfectly."
When he's finally seated fully inside, both of them are panting. Genya feels impossibly full, stretched to his limit around Sanemi's thickness. The pain has subsided to a dull ache, overshadowed by the sensation of being so completely filled.
"Okay?" Sanemi asks, his voice barely above a whisper.
Genya nods, shifting experimentally. The movement sends a jolt of pleasure up his spine, making him gasp.
"Yes," he breathes. "You can—you can move."
Sanemi starts with a shallow thrust, testing, watching Genya's face for any sign of discomfort. When Genya only moans softly, Sanemi pulls back a little further before pushing in again, establishing a gentle rhythm that has Genya's breath catching in his throat.
"Nii-chan," Genya whispers, his hands sliding up to tangle in Sanemi's hair. Each slow thrust sends sparks of pleasure through him, building on the oversensitivity from his previous orgasms. "More."
A growl rumbles in Sanemi's chest as his control begins to slip. His hips snap forward with more force, driving deeper into Genya's willing body. The pace increases gradually, each thrust a little harder, a little faster than the last, until Sanemi is fucking himproperly—deep, powerful strokes that have Genya crying out with each impact.
"So tight," Sanemi groans, his forehead pressed against Genya's. "So perfect for me."
Genya can only respond with broken moans, his mind wiped clean of everything except the sensation of Sanemi moving inside him. He's never felt anything like this—the fullness, the friction, the way Sanemi seems to reach impossibly deep with each thrust. His legs wrap around Sanemi's waist, heels digging into the small of his back, urging him deeper still.
"Mine," Sanemi growls, his rhythm faltering as his control frays further. "All mine."
"Yours," Genya agrees breathlessly, the word catching on a moan as Sanemi shifts angles slightly, hitting that spot inside him that makes his vision blur. "Always yours, Nii-chan."
The declaration draws another growl from Sanemi, his hips snapping forward with renewed vigor. One hand slides down to grip Genya's thigh, pushing it higher, changing the angle to drive even deeper.
"Knew you’d be perfect," Sanemi pants, his voice rough with exertion and desire. "Dreamed about it. Wanted this for so long."
Genya's eyes widen at the confession, a whimper escaping his throat. "You did?"
"Years," Sanemi admits, his rhythm faltering momentarily. "Always wanted you."
The admission shatters something in Genya, pleasure spiraling through him with renewed intensity. His body clenches around Sanemi, drawing a harsh groan from his brother's throat.
"Me too," Genya confesses, voice breaking. "I've always—always wanted—"
Sanemi cuts him off with a bruising kiss, hips driving forward with punishing force. His control is completely gone now, movements turning rough and desperate.
"Going to fill you up," Sanemi growls against Genya's mouth. "Going to come inside you. Make you all mine."
"Yes," Genya gasps, arching beneath him. "Please, Nii-chan—want to feel you—"
Sanemi's rhythm grows erratic, thrusts deeper and harder as he chases his release. One hand slips between them, finding his clit and circling it in tight, desperate circles.
"Come with me," Sanemi commands, his voice strained as he nears his limit. "One more time, Genya. Give me one more."
Despite the oversensitivity, despite the exhaustion, Genya's body responds to Sanemi's demand. The combination of his brother's cock stretching him open and the rough circles of his thumb sends him spiraling toward a fourth orgasm, this one building with shocking speed.
"Can't—can't—" Genya chokes out, overwhelmed by the feeling.
"You can," Sanemi insists, his thumb pressing down harder as his hips slam forward. "Together. Now."
With a broken cry, Genya comes, his body convulsing around Sanemi's length. The pulsing pushes Sanemi over the edge as well, a guttural groan tearing from his throat as he buries himself to the hilt and comes. Genya feels the hot rush of Sanemi's release filling him, claiming him from the inside out.
Sanemi collapses on top of him, breathing heavily against Genya's neck. Their trembling bodies remain joined, neither willing to separate just yet. Genya's arms wrap weakly around Sanemi's shoulders, holding him close as their heartbeats gradually slow.
"Mine," Sanemi murmurs again, pressing a surprisingly gentle kiss to Genya's throat. "Always mine."
"Always," Genya agrees, his voice barely audible, exhaustion washing over him.
As Sanemi carefully withdraws, Genya winces at the emptiness, at the feeling of Sanemi's release trickling slowly down his thighs.
"Sorry," Sanemi murmurs. "Wait here."
He presses a quick kiss to Genya's forehead before disappearing into the bathroom. Genya hears water running, and a moment later Sanemi returns with a warm washcloth. With surprising tenderness, he cleans between Genya's thighs, his touch gentle.
"You okay?" Sanemi asks, his voice uncharacteristically soft.
Genya nods, unable to form words just yet. His body aches pleasantly, thoroughly used in ways he never imagined. When Sanemi finishes cleaning him, Genya reaches out, catching his wrist before he can pull away.
"Stay," he whispers.
Sanemi tosses the washcloth toward the hamper and climbs back into bed, pulling Genya against his chest. They fit together perfectly, Genya's back pressed to Sanemi's front, his brother's strong arms wrapped securely around him.
"Go to sleep" Sanemi mumbles after a moment, his breath warm against Genya's ear. "I’ll be here when you wake up."
Genya hums contentedly, already drifting toward sleep. The last sensation he registers is Sanemi pressing a soft kiss to the nape of his neck, whispering something that might be "I love you" against his skin.