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This had to be some kind of demented dream.
“K-Karamatsu… why are there two of you?”
Ichi was staring just as blankly as the rest of them, lidded eyes focused intently on the pair of Shittymatsu’s standing in the living room doorway. What the fuck. This was fucking stupid. He felt his cheeks heating up and as badly as he wanted to leave he wanted to hear what kind of explanation he - uh, they? - would come up with to explain … themselves. Which was the real one? Were they both real?
“Gaahaha! TWO nii-sans!” Jyushimatsu bounded up and over to them, dancing around them at an alarming speed as if trying to investigate them in the span of five seconds. He stopped in front of them, perfectly between the two, a hand coming out to rest on one of their shoulders. “Both real! Both real! Two Karamatsu nii-sans!” He whirled around, facing the rest of the group, giving a just nod.
“Well, you see,” the left Karamatsu began, sliding his sunglasses into his hair. The other did the same, and continued the thought.
“I went to Dekapan’s for some insight on how someone as beautiful as myself could retain this almost inhuman beauty for the rest of my life.”
Ichi, as well as everyone else in the room aside the pair of Shittymatsus, cringed but remained silent. Left Karamatsu went on.
“And for some reason he interpreted that as… Uh.”
“He thought I wanted to be cloned.” Right Karamatsu filled them in, and Ichi’s mouth hung open a little in disbelief.
“So there’s two of you now.” Fantastic. “Shittymatsu... “ He couldn’t even finish that sentence. This was just too fucking bizarre.
“Mmmn, don’t tell mom. She’ll hate having another mouth to feed. Ah, Fappymatsu, is there room in the shed out back?” Todomatsu piped, turning to Choro - who was doing his best to be completely ignorant to the situation.
“I think so, next to Jyushimatsu’s baseball equipment. Ichi,” Choro looked at him, “you know that equipment well enough. Do you want to make room for our…” He turned his gaze back to the pair, narrowing his eyes. “...Guest?”
The left Karamatsu, which Ichi deduced was the clone, looked crestfallen.
“You would put your own brother in a shed??” Totty bit his lip, and shrugged helplessly. The rest nodded.
Osomatsu, who hadn’t said anything, stood - crossing the room and peeling the price sticker off his beer. He deliberated for a moment, then placed it on the right Karamatsu’s shirt. Seemed he had the same idea of the ‘real’ one as Ichi did.
“We wouldn’t put Karamatsu in the shed. But we would put you in the shed.” He poked the ‘fake’ Karamatsu’s chest, grinning at him. “Hope it doesn’t get too cold!”
“Just remember, fake nii-san!” Jyushi bound up to the ‘fake’ Karamatsu , holding his hands through his sleeves and swinging them in and out. “If you break my things, I’ll eat you.” That ever-present, open-mouthed smile never left his face, and the impostor Karamatsu laughed nervously, writhing his hands out of the apparently strong grip.
“You have my word, brother. I will not ruin anything.” Though the fake’s words shook as he said them. Real Karamatsu, having been quiet, stepped in.
“Aha, brothers, is this really necessary? I don’t think-”
At this point, Ichimatsu stood, grabbing the fake by the arm and tugging him towards the back.
“Choromatsu’s going to have an aneurysm. Let’s go.” The quicker Ichi could get rid of at least one of the Shittymatsus, the better. He had enough problems dealing with the original, he didn’t… He didn’t need to think about two of them.
“Ah, brother -” The fake tried to stop him, and Ichi felt a flare of flustered anger.
“You’re not - I mean, you look like Shittymatsu, but -” He just couldn’t accept there was a clone of his brother in the house. Well, the yard now. “There’s only one Karamatsu,” he muttered, gripping that arm he held so tight his fingers hurt.
“You’re hurting me, aha, Ichi- Wait, you called me ‘Karamatsu’.” Ichi stopped, turning to look at him, glowering as hard as he could. Shit. He hadn’t meant - give Karamatsu an inch and he’d go a mile. Any iteration of him.
“Don’t read into it. I… I was talking about the other one. The real Karamatsu. Shittymatsu. Ah. Fuck you both, okay?” Ichi was the one that was going to have an aneurysm at this point. Between having to deal with regular old Karamatsu, how long would he have to put up with this impostor? An impostor that was just as intolerable and ...fucking… attractive as the other?
Ichi really hated his indiscriminate boner, but it knew what it wanted. And his cold, ugly little heart did too. It was unfortunate. Try as he might to ignore them, it was one of the only things in life that he could count on to be a constant. His brothers, his cats, and his unabashed attraction and feelings towards his older brother.
That now had a clone he was leading to live in the shed until they figured out what to do with him.
Fuck.
He opened the door, releasing Fake Shittymatsu and giving him a glare that told him to ‘stay’, turning and moving some stuff around in the shed. They were really keeping him in the shed. Even to Ichi, that seemed a little cruel. Well, it wouldn’t be for that long. And maybe if they got him out of their sight they could just… forget about him. Maybe the problem would solve itself. Wasn’t there some kind of time paradox clone law thing that would kick in and destroy the clone, or something? Maybe he was watching too much TV.
“Ichimatsu,” the clone began, gently tugging on his hoodie. Ichi batted the hand away, barely looking behind him to snap an irritated ‘what?’ in his direction. “The weather doesn’t look so good. Will I be safe out here?”
A sigh, the final things moved off to the side, and Ichi turned around to wipe his hands on Karamatsu’s hoodie. ...And paused with a frown. Yeah, he was real. It wasn’t a collective hallucination they were all having. He felt his cheeks warm and before the fake could comment he shook his head, turning back towards the open shed door. “It’ll be fine. Still standing, isn’t it?”
“...Yeah. It is. Um… Someone will bring out blankets and stuff, right? Maybe some dinner? I’m starving.” Was it just Ichi, or did the fake sound… a little concerned? Frightened. Lonely, maybe. He tried to brush off the feeling, trudging towards the house again. It was getting a little windy out. But it’d be fine.
“Someone will come out with stuff, okay?” he called over his shoulder, puzzled as to why his usually acerbic tongue wasn’t so… acerbic. Hm. Simple confusion at the situation. It was normal.
“Thank you, brother.” The words were a muffle as he shut the door and headed back to the living room.
And stopped in the doorway. Karamatsu was perched in the middle of the table, sweating bullets, the other four sitting in perfect symmetry around him, staring intently and silently.
“Seances work a lot better when the person you’re trying to talk to is dead,” Ichi offered, turning on his heel. “I’ll get a knife.”
“Nii-saaaaan,” Jyushi pouted, slithering and wrapping around his ankles, tugging him towards the table. “No no, we don’t want to kill this one!”
“Yeah. They’re just as painful as the other, but we’re pretty sure this one’s the real one.” Totty sat back, folding his arms and huffing a little sigh at Karamatsu (the real one) on the table.
“I don’t think we should kill either of them,” Choro commented as Ichi sat down next to Jyushimatsu. His position got him a front row seat to Karamatsu, who he glared at unwaveringly. Karamatsu refused to make eye contact or even acknowledge he was there. In fact, he was sort of just staring at the door, looking like he was holding back from leaping out the door with every ounce of resistance he had. “Besides. If he really is a clone of Karamatsu…” Sigh. “We should… not kill him. Then we’d have to dispose of the body, and Dekapan might ask about it, it’s…” He scrunched up his nose, shaking his head. “Too risky. We’re better off just letting him exist and figuring this out by ourselves.”
“Y-yeah!” Karamatsu piped, a fragile smile on his face. “Let both of us live! Because… It is the right thing to do.”
“I dunno…” Osomatsu folded his arms, resting his cheek in his hand. “You said that about us all buying you oden that one time.”
“You left me to die!” Karamatsu defended, spinning around to look at Oso.
“Yeah, but... You didn’t? So… Really, you should have been buying us oden, if you think about it.”
“Oi.” Ichimatsu finally spoke up, voice bored as ever. “Just send the real Shittymatsu back to Dekapan. He made the fake, so he should know how to get rid of it. That way, this one is gone - a small blessing, really - and the fake is out in the shed.” That way he didn’t have to deal with either of them and the weird feeling roiling around in his stomach would stop. Not that… anyone else had to know about it. Lucky for him, it was very internalized. And externalized by the whole aggressive aggression thing.
“Ah - well, we did want to catch that movie anyway…” Totty held up his phone, showing off the time before looking at Karamatsu. “You’re not invited. You’re going to talk to Dekapan, aren’t you nii-san?”
Karamatsu looked indignant for about half a second before conceding with a sigh and a nod. “Yeah, I’ll go. Anything to make life easier for my bro-”
“Ichimatsu nii-san,” Jyushimatsu interrupted, looking over at him, “are you gonna go to the movies with us?” He leaned in close, grabbing his arm and tugging on it excitedly.
“Eh.” Ichimatsu shrugged the opposite shoulder, looking between the bodies around and on the table. Going to a movie didn’t exactly sound ideal. He almost just wanted to go to bed and hope this whole stupid situation would resolve itself by morning. “Pass. I’ve seen it.” He hadn’t, but that wasn’t important. Gentle, he shoved Jyushimatsu off him, heading towards the stairs. He trudged up them, hands in his pockets, absolutely ready to pass the fuck out and get today over with.
He pictured it, as he rolled out the futon; a nice, normal day. No second Karamatsu to deal with. Just the regular, painful normal one. He changed into his jammies, and climbed under the covers.
Time to put this weird shit behind him.
...When twenty minutes passed, and he still wasn’t asleep, he began trying different positions. On his stomach. On his right side. His left. No pillow, extra pillow.
Nothing was fucking working.
He tried to reason with himself that it was too early to sleep, he couldn’t calm down enough to put his body in the sleepy-time mood. What he refused to admit to himself was that he wasn’t finding it so easy to fall asleep without two people on either side of him. Which was bullshit and stupid and irritating. Rolling over onto his back, he glowered at the ceiling.
“Fuck me. This is dumb.” He grumbled quietly, rubbing his hands over his face before he remembered the couch in their room. He slept on that a lot by himself, so maybe…
He grabbed the blanket and one of the pillows, dragging them and himself and the couch to flop onto it. Fully burrito’d in the blanket, he squeezed his eyes shut; willing himself with everything in him to fall the fuck asleep.
Ten more sleepless minutes passed before a flash of white seeped through his closed eyelids, making him turn over and face the window. Brilliant white light flickered outside, and it took Ichi a moment to realize it was lightning. It was a handful of seconds later that he heard the deep rumble of thunder. And then the sound of rain hitting the window.
...Mn. Fuck. Fake Shittymatsu was outside, in that crappy little shed.
“Nope. Sounds a lot like not my problem.” He pulled the blanket up, rolling over again.
A second clap of thunder, loud enough to shake the house, jolted him up with a loud, cranky ‘ALRIGHT, FUCK’, as if cussing out the big man himself for trying to guilt his worthless ass into going and getting his impostor brother.
Grumbling to himself the whole way there, he tromped downstairs, grabbed an umbrella, and headed outside barefoot. The grass tickled in between his toes, cold and slimy-feeling, and he could feel bits of it clinging to his tootsies as he pulled open the shed door, staring down the fake brother.
Fake Karamatsu was, as he had imagined, huddled in a corner with a too-small blanket and a box of dry cereal. His look tugged at what few heartstrings he had, and with a melodramatic groan and roll of his eyes, he grunted a ‘come the fuck on’ before turning and going back towards the house.
Without an umbrella, fake Shittymatsu understandably beat him there; waiting for Ichi to open the door. The younger sibling went in first, letting the door swing shut. The fake caught it, stepping in behind him and shaking the water off his hoodie. Ichi followed him into the living room, watching him sit at the table for only a brief moment before turning.
“Thank you, bro”
Again, Ichi cut him off. “I'm not your brother. I'm going to bed. Don't touch anything.” About to head up the stairs, he heard the fake start to speak again.
“Do you-” But he cut himself off this time, and Ichi turned in annoyance. Though his expression softened just… just slightly at the sight of the impostor. He'd only been in the rain for less than ten seconds and he was already kinda soaked. Looked pathetic. Like trying to pick up a clump of wet toilet paper pathetic.
“What?” His voice was curt and short. He just wanted to go the fuck to bed.
“Do you think… it'd be okay if I borrowed some clothes? It's so cold… I hate wet socks.”
Ichi was about to say no, snort and tell him why the fuck would he let him touch Karamatsu’s things, then he realized - it was Karamatsu. He didn’t really have much of a positive rapport with him anyway. What did he care if the impostor did with his stuff. “Fine. But don’t bother me.” Without looking at him again, he went back upstairs, and crawled back onto the couch.
Fake Shittymatsu followed not too long after, slipping into the room and leaving the light off. He jumped at a crack of thunder (which Ichi did not see, of course, because he was absolutely not peeking out at him through a crafty fold of the covers, certainly not watching to maybe see the impostor change, no-fucking-sir. (Okay but maybe… he was a little curious? Like about the… belly button thing. Yeah. The belly button. He wanted to see if he had one because of clones and not being born and - 100% that.))
He (didn’t) watch as his faux bro peeled out of his wet clothing, (totally didn’t) watch as the pants dropped with keen interest. He turned as he kicked out of one pant leg, just like the Real Karamatsu did, and uh. He didn’t have a bellybutton. Ichimatsu noticed that fact for all of .2 seconds before his eyes followed the curve of his stupid abdominal muscles right to his junk. God. Fuck!
Ichimatsu was furious. Where had the fake even gotten clothes from? Did Kara just carry them around with him or what? Did he not carry spare underwear, too? God. God!!!
“Ichimatsu?” Shit!!! “Are you okay? You’re fidgeting a lot and swearing…”
“Stop looking at me!” Ichi snapped, pulling the peephole closed and rolling over to face the back of the couch. “Just fucking die, okay? Change and die.”
“Brother I-”
Ichi tore the blanket off himself, sitting upright and looking ready to pounce. “Stop calling me your br-”
At that moment, the light flipped on, and two sets of eyes were on the figure in the doorway. The Real Karamatsu stood there, eyes darting back and forth, as if he didn’t know which of them to look at. Ichimatsu’s eyes practically rolled back into his skull, and he sunk back against the couch. “Just kill me now. Death take me. I’m ready, my time has come.”
Two Karamatsus. Ichi’s bitter little heart couldn’t handle this.
“I forgot my wallet, I....Ichimatsu…?” The real Karamatsu tried, but it was too late. Ichi was already standing and walking the walk of a death row inmate out into the hallway, tunnel visioned on the sweet release of death before he felt a strong hand on his chest.
It’s a little amazing how a body’s temperature can appear to shoot up a hundred degrees in the span of an instant.
His hand flew up, knocking the other away with a hiss of ‘don’t touch me!’ and a violent recoil. Hhhhhhha. He couldn’t… No. Karamatsu - either one of them - couldn’t touch him. Not now, please not now.
“Brother, where are you going?” The concern was almost palpable, and Ichi hissed again, tugging on his hoodie.
“Don’t call me -” He looked at his shirt, seeing the sticker. “Whatever. Downstairs. Out. I don’t know. Away from the two of you.” Maybe if he climbed onto the roof and waved an umbrella around lightning would strike.
“Don’t go, you don’t need to leave…” Ichi couldn’t tell what brother had said that, and it really bothered him. It made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, and he bristled visibly; breathing picking up a bit.
“Ichi-” He felt a hand on his arm again, this time lashing out and knocking Karamatsu over. He fell into the fake one, and they both tumbled to the floor. At least the impostor had gotten pants on.
They both called his name in concern, and Ichi turned to them - hands out in front of him, agitation and some other slew of emotions he didn’t want to think of making them shake. “Stop,” he growled, shrinking back, “just stop.” He made his way backwards towards the door very slowly, like a frightened animal trying to escape. He couldn’t deal with this. Two very real iterations of his older brother that he maybe kinda had weird hard to parse out feelings for. One was enough. Two was death.
“Now look what you did,” the fake huffed, standing and gesturing at Ichi. “You went and upset him.”
“Me??” The real one barked incredulously, gesturing in a similar manner to the fake one with a bit more aggression. “You’re the one that was changing in front of him!”
As if that had… anything to do with anything. Which it certainly didn’t. The same way the two of them arguing had nothing to do with anything. In fact, it was a perfect excuse for Ichi to slip away unnoticed. An argument with yourself surely left a lot to reflect on, and who was Ichi to get in the middle of that?
His heel bumped silently against the screen as he continued backing towards it, reaching behind himself and groping blindly to slide it open and leave. The two kept bickering even as he turned, and he dared one last glance over his shoulder.
Just in time to see the Real Karamatsu shove the fake.
That uh… Made things considerably more interesting.
Now, Ichimatsu Matsuno was not, as it may surprise some, predisposed to outright, pointless violence. He didn’t pick unnecessary fights with anyone aside Karamatsu, and he didn’t act excessively aggressive towards anyone but himself (and again, Karamatsu) without purpose or playful intent. This was leagues different from anything else his mind could really have ever accounted for, and watching his older brother get physical with a clone of himself was a certain kind of intriguing that his body and mind absolutely refused to let him miss. And… being mostly non-violent yourself didn’t mean you didn’t get all kinds of interesting kicks out of watching it happen.
As quietly as he could, he sat down with his back to the open bedroom door (in case he had to make a hasty exit) and his legs folded, hands perched neatly on his ankles. He wasn’t cheering for one Karamatsu or the other, he was merely a casual observer of the situation. A very… interested observer. (So that was the opposite of casual. Big deal. He was basically living a shitty sci-fi movie, who had time for semantics.)
For some reason the fake had put on one of the tank tops with his (Karamatsu’s??) face on it, and was holding it out to show it to the real one.
“See! My face! Your face! I’m you, you’re me!” Spoken as if it was obvious. The real Karamatsu tore off his hoodie, sporting the same tank top. He was halfway into his rebuttal before Ichi froze.
Without the hoodie, the real Karamatsu didn’t have the sticker.
To make matters worse, he was also wearing that same fucking tank top. (Karamatsu evidently needed more than one.) Son of a bitch.
Ichimatsu was rendered entirely speechless. Not that he had been saying much of anything before, but now he was literally incapable of speech.
No! No. This was totally fine. As long as he kept quiet, he could still just observe and let them sort it out by themselves. It was still … interesting. It didn’t matter which one was which. They were both hot.
Wait.
...No, it was pretty hot. Okay, how often did you get to watch your older brother (that you had a really, really, really tiny crush on maybe) ...argue with himself? This was different from Oso and Kara fighting or something, because it was a literal carbon copy of Karamatsu. Same eyebrows, same tone and inflection, same everything. He could feel his cheeks darkening as he realized how into it he was; though the colour quickly faded as that realization was replaced with one where he really wasn’t surprised by the first one.
Maybe he should just… enjoy this little exchange while he had the chance? It would certainly never happen again, and it was at least worth a little peek-see. Morbid curiosity. That was all.
One had grabbed the other by the front of the shirt, and Ichi’s interest mounted significantly. If things escalated much further, he may not have been able to hold himself accountable for… Anything his body chose to do with this visual input.
“Hit him,” he murmured under his breath, shifting where he sat, unsure which Karamatsu he was talking to. It didn’t really matter, given that he had no way to tell anyway, so right now he was just kinda swept up in the overwhelming mass of testosterone. “Punch him.” The other had shoved the grabby one away, and had gotten in his face. Ichi let out a sudden, heated breath. ”Kiss him.”
That last one had come out a little more loud and gruff than he had intended, and it had caught the attention of both Karamatsus. They turned to look at him, and once again, Ichi froze; flustered, embarrassed, and uh. Half hard. (You couldn’t blame him.) They couldn’t see that though, thankfully, and it must have just looked like he was frightened or something, because before he knew what was happening they had rushed over and picked him up by both arms, hauling him into the middle of the room.
He swayed on his feet a little, dizzy as his gaze moved between the two of them.
“Look at how frightened he is,” the one to Ichi’s left demanded of the other, gripping Ichi’s arm. The contact, even through his hoodie, sent a wave of heat down his body straight to his groin, making his knees tremble slightly. He let out another hot breath, swallowing and staring at the one that had spoken.
“Yeah, that’s because you started fighting with me!” Neither of them were looking at him, which was just as well - he probably looked really, really stupid right now, flushed and feeling like he was sweating buckets, face a distant look of bliss. The second Karamatsu grabbed his arm too, and it took all he had in him to swallow the little chirp of a turned on sound. God, were they… fighting over him? With every exchange, one tugged him one way while the other, on his ‘turn’, pulled him the opposite, grips tightening. Which was probably good too; his knees were seconds away from giving out.
It was like some demented dream come true. He hadn’t done anything to instigate it, but now there were two Karamatsus trying to win him over. It was more than a little humiliating that he was so… turned on by it (Karamatsu, of all people, had to be cloned, didn’t he?) but they were alone… And sooner or later the clone would go away, right? That’s how… clones worked? And who knew, maybe this was some sort of fever dream. Maybe he was on his death bed and this was the weird journey of self-discovery that took place in his head in the span of a second.
Although. Being humiliated by it wasn’t the worst part. It was kinda adding to it? Like the utter depravity of the situation was making him feel horrible, but he could easily embrace the fact it was getting him ridiculously hard.
And suddenly, the attention was entirely on him. The two were looking down at him expectantly, and all Ichi could do was shift his hazy gaze between the two of them. Had they asked him something? Should he have been paying attention?
“Well?” The one on the left asked, gripping his arm tighter. Ichi’s only reply was a muffled hum of pleasure, shaking his head and looking to the other for a clue as to what was going on.
“Ichi, which one of us is better?”
“I…” Words completely failed the younger sibling, shaking his head slowly and uselessly. How did he even decide something like that? Not even in this kind of situation - at all? “You… uh…” Words, stupid. He licked his lips. “Arm wrestle for it.” Sure, that was fair. If they were both the exact same, it made sense that if one could beat the other at a show of strength, he’d be the better Karamatsu. It may have been a thinly veiled excuse to watch them exert themselves and flex, but hey, whatever worked right?
“Alright.” The two shared a look again.
“Fine by me.”
Ichi let out a stupid, drunken laugh as they helped him to the couch (which was a generous term, they more or less dragged him to and shoved him on it) and pulled out a small table, which the pair sat on opposite sides of. Simultaneously, elbows rest on the table, hands clasped together. The one on the left (which had been on the right) glanced over at Ichi.
“You’ll be the judge?”
Ichi swallowed, pulling his knees up to fidget behind and nodding. “Yeah.”
“Okay.” The one on the left looked back at his clone, and their grips tightened. Ichi felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up in interest as the muscles in their arms grew tense under the skin, and he had a very hard time concealing the sound of his loud, deep and sudden breath. God, he was practically squirming with anticipation.
“Go.” His signal was barely a whisper but they had both heard it, the pair instantly baring their teeth and struggling against the other to overpower their twin. Veins strained against skin, Ichi having a hard time concentrating on any one inch of the exposed muscles. Fuck this. Legs twitched again and he swallowed another hum, feeling a nice kind of friction as his folded body rubbed pleasantly against himself. He wondered how they’d react if he started doing anything generally reserved for a lack of audience. Fingers twitched. At least five of them wanted so badly to delve into his pants right now…
He must have spaced out (day wet dreaming, maybe) because a thud and a loud cheer from somewhere on Ichi’s right brought him back to reality. His hand never made it into his pants (not for lack of inconspicuous inching, of course) but both gripped his knees, eyes still slightly watery, darting between the pair of Karamatsus. He was still hard. One of them had won. Okay, game over. He could leave and get off and go to bed.
“Heh. You may have won, but I’m a better kisser.”
...It was almost as if every single force in the universe was against Ichimatsu that evening. Mother of God.
“M…” The syllable had left his mouth before he could stop it, and two pairs of eyes were on him in an instant. He licked his lips. Well. He’d gotten this far. “...Maybe you should. Ah. Prove it.” He held his breath, very aware what he just said was all sorts of levels of fucked. Even moreso that he was incredibly turned on even further by the prospect of them going along with it.
He watched, hungrily, as the two blinked at him, then one another. They looked… not entirely opposed to the idea, if slightly apprehensive. Well, fuck. That was at least understandable. It probably meant they were normal. More normal than Ichi himself, anyway.
“C’mon, Shittymatsus,” he goaded quietly, thighs trembling as he held them too tight to his body, concealing his shame. Not that it really bothered him, but this was… a crucial moment. Yeah. He had to be the mediator, the unbiased arbitrator of the uh… contest. “You’re… you’re not going to let him get away with that, are you?”
“N...No I…” The one on the left was speaking. “I guess not.” He swallowed visibly, brows knit as he looked over the table at the other Karamatsu, who’s features bore the same look. “You’re okay with this?”
“I mean… If it’s the only way…”
Ichimatsu had to fight to keep back an incredulous laugh. Holy shit. Were they actually going to kiss? He had a hard time imagining that Karamatsu knew how. ...Well. He fought again, this time keeping a smile from his face. He wasn’t necessarily a good teacher, but…
All his senses sharpened as the pair got closer, scooting around the table and kneeling in front of it, facing one another. Hesitantly, the one on the right reached for the one on the left, his hands coming to rest, palm flat, on top of his thighs. Ichi watched as the one on the left (eh, fuck it. The left one was the fake and the right one was the real one) - the fake - fought to keep himself from leaning away. The real Shittymatsu paused, looking into the fake’s eyes. Studying him.
Like he’s gazing into his soul, Ichi thought to himself, smirking a little distantly. It was almost hard to believe that someone like Karamatsu wouldn’t jump at the chance to metaphorically wine and dine - well, himself. Wasn’t this like. His dream? To be with someone as gorgeous as he was? Though, Ichi could imagine the hesitation. Wasn’t every day you came home with your clone, and your younger brother suggested a kissing contest.
There was only another moment or two of hesitation before the real Karamatsu closed that small distance between the two of them, eyes closed, lips meeting. Fake Karamatsu made a short squeak of protest, shoulders hunching and features tightening. He looked like he’d just ate a lemon, all scrunched up like that. The real Karamatsu hissed at him a little to stop being so tense, and tried again a second time.
The impostor relaxed slightly, looking a little less freaked out. That was, until, the real one attempted to (from what Ichi could see across the room) deepen the kiss.
The impostor shot back, waving his hands and shaking his head.
“No no no, no fucking way. Th-that’s - you can’t, we can’t-”
“Come on,” the real one pressed, closing in on him again and once more pinning his legs with his hands, “we have to resolve this fair and square.”
Ichi was… having a hard time remaining impartial judge. With the real one pursuing the fake? Being assertive? Yeah, his heart was racing. His palms were sweaty. His dick was hard. Why had he never used the ‘better kisser’ thing on him? Ichi was always the one doing the chasing. Why didn’t Karamatsu ever go after him like that? Nnngh.
Real Karamatsu was trying again, and Ichi was only giving them half his attention - the other half was devoted to shifting silently on the couch, leaning back slightly and relaxing his legs to give his hand room enough to slide into his pants. Fuck it, honestly. This would never happen again and even though it wasn’t exactly a story he could tell to anyone it’d be a really fucking great memory. Spank bank material. Top shelf, at that.
He closed his eyes, focusing on the pressure of his palm against the lump in the front of his underwear and the sound of the fake adjusting his comfort levels as the real Karamatsu made out with him. It was like some kind of real life porno playing out in the bedroom; the reluctance, the quiet assurances as their mouths parted. If he wasn’t so into it, it would have been laughable. It was amateur shit. But sometimes, that was the best shit.
Over the sounds of his own heavy breathing, he could hear the pair of them get more into it - shifting bodies, the way uncertain sounds turned into ones of actual enjoyment. He didn’t dare look; it might have been too much. It was bad enough he was imagining their attention turning to him, their mild passion turning into something more aggressive, and directed solely at him.
Evidently, he hadn’t been covert enough. The noises of their modest tongue-fucking stopped abruptly, and Ichi felt eyes on him again. Nervously, his knees parted.
Sure enough, the fake and real Karamatsu were watching him, their faces as red as his. And probably for reasons not too far from one another. The real Shittymatsu had hands up the other’s shirt, who was supporting his weight back on his hands.
“Uh.” Ichimatsu Matsuno, master orator. His mind ran through all the cliché lines, from ‘this isn’t what it looks like’ to ‘don’t let me disturb you’, but he instead clamped his mouth shut, simmering in his disgust and shame. He’d been caught dick-handed, and there really wasn’t any way out of it.
“I...Ichimatsu…” the fake began, fingers tightening in the carpet below him.
“I tried to leave,” Ichi croaked, wishing his libido would realize what the fuck was going on and cut it out for maybe five goddamn minutes.
“Are you… Are you getting off to this?” The real finished the thought, and Ichimatsu felt like his face was going to melt off. It was one thing getting caught masturbating by Karamatsu when he was thinking of Karamatsu. It happened all the time. It was a horse of a different colour entirely being caught masturbating by two Karamatsus that were making out with one another.
“No,” came the heated reply, avoiding eye contact with either of them. It might have helped his case if he would pull his hands out of his pants, but he wasn’t really using his brain right now.
“You are, aren’t you.” The real one eased up off the fake, sitting back and watching Ichi intently. The fake did the same.
“You can’t tell me you two aren’t getting all hot under the collar from all this,” Ichi spat, growing more irritated and horny by the second. The two exchanged another glance, looking somewhat defeated. They both nodded, and Ichi let out an acidic ha; pointing a finger at them.
“So now what’re you gonna do, huh?” he dared, shifting and biting his lip. “You’re both hard from making out with your clone. Who’s the real weirdo?”
Neither replied, but did look shamed. But only for a sparse moment before grins spread across both their faces. A small amount of dread fell over Ichi, trickling from the top of his head over his shoulders and down his spine. Though it did nothing to deter his boner, he did feel his metaphorical hackles raise. His gaze darted to the door, but before he could even get off the couch both the fake and real Shittymatsu had him pinned.
Holy shit, he could have cum from that alone.
Dazed and compliant, he felt the room spinning; lightheadededness taking over a majority of his senses. He didn’t know which was the fake or real one any more than he had ten minutes ago, though he felt one holding his ankles at his feet while the other held his shoulders. They had an odd, predatory look to them; like pack hunters circling their wounded prey. A sudden rush of adrenaline made him struggle, and his knuckles cracked as he made contact with the nose of the Karamatsu near his legs.
“Ah, shit,” he grumbled, a hand leaving to catch blood as it dripped down his face.
A drop hit Ichi’s forehead and he stared up, momentarily enchanted by just how goddamn attractive Karamatsu looked like that; serious and aroused and bleeding. Perfectly sculpted eyebrows furrowed above those intense eyes, focused on the smear of blood on his hand. “I’m bleeding.”
“Serves you right,” Ichi snapped, struggling again. “Let me go. Then you can fuck each other or whatever it is you want to do.” The younger of the three would probably make a swift retreat to the bathroom to finish what he’d started. With renewed vigor. So, so much vigor.
“I have a better idea,” the Karamatsu by his feet announced in a dark tone. Ichi glanced down at him, trying to thrash his feet again to free himself. The hold on his ankles was too tight though, and his legs bounced uselessly against the couch.
“Yes, my brother?” Came the voice from by his head. Both his shoulders were restrained again, and he growled. For all his show of wanting to escape, the exact opposite was true - his fight or flight reflexes just weren’t cooperating with his sex drive right now. The ankle-bound Karamatsu chuckled.
“Whoever makes him cum harder is the best Karamatsu.”
Oh. Shit.
Ichi’s eyes widened, the air practically crackling with the tension and electricity that shot through every vein in his body at that proposal. He struggled to breathe, to protest, to do something - but his chest heaved uselessly as an uncomfortable heat clung to his already sweaty body. They were messing with him. They had to be. There was no way they could go from uncomfortable middle-school-esque kissing to fucking… fucking him, could they?
Maybe they… were just gonna… Give him a handjob. That would make sense. He’d brought up the prospect of them getting more physical (him and the real Karamatsu) before, but it had always been brushed aside with such an effortless air of casualness that it had made Ichi angry. The gentle, condescending tuts were as fresh in his brain as ever, and the notion that he might be getting his (frankly selfish) wish granted twofold was so fucking unbelievable that he could only assume it was a joke at his expense.
“I find this arrangement agreeable,” the other Karamatsu agreed, looking down at Ichi. “What do you think, Ichimatsu?”
“F-fuck off and die,” he hissed, though every muscle in his body squirmed with unbridled, unbiased yearning. “Die, die die die d- !”
His back arched, a breathless and loud moan leaving him as his head pressed back against the top thigh of the Karamatsu at his head. The culprit was a firmly pressed heel of the lower Karamatsu’s hand, over the now-plainly-obvious tent in his sweatpants. Fuck! The press did not let up; Karamatsu was grinding his hand against Ichi’s dick, creating a steady stream of unsavory noises and impolite words from the trapped brother.
“You can’t just stimulate him that way,” the Karamatsu at his head scolded, and through his blissful tears of duress he could see him smirking. “There has to be some sensuality to it.” If he wasn’t going to die from hormones, Ichi was surely going to die from that painful Karamatsu attitude. Or, just maybe, from the way the shoulder-holding Karamatsu leaned down, initiating a kiss Ichi would have thought impossible from the angle they were currently at.
It was disgustingly passionate. Repulsive. And the way Ichimatsu let him do it was even worse. His mouth opened hungrily, like a baby bird waiting to be fed, coaxing the hot tongue of his hot brother to meet his own. He ground up into the palm on his junk, body more than eager to respond to every touch given. Ichi was so desperate for release at this point he’d have done anything they said.
Which his why he did nothing more than groan as the Karamatsu at his feet pulled him up. The other, now behind him, wasn’t willing to let him go so easily - he followed, Ichi soon feeling the warmth of his chest at his back as he resumed the kissing on his neck. It made Ichi’s eyelids flutter, a dreamy sort of sound leaving him. The hand on his crotch never relented, and his head buzzed constantly with the feeling. Could one be put into a coma from too much stimulation?
He felt the pressure leave and he opened his eyes again, arms struggling against the hold the Karamatsu behind him had. It tightened gently, and his hands stayed where they were. Though it was plain he was attempting to get the Karamatsu in front of him to keep touching… He whined pitifully, giving him an equally pathetic look, and soon felt hands again - though on his hips, pulling him forward more. The Karamatsu behind seemed annoyed Ichi was being pulled away, and the hands on his arms left in favor of wrapping around his middle instead, attempting to tug him back to his chest as Ichi felt teeth on his pulse point.
Another breathy whine was heard, and the younger brother practically melted. Virtually putty between the two of them, the non-aggressive fight for dominance was going to kill him. Every part of his brain was screaming incessantly about the attention, nerves equally as excited. There were two Karamatsus on either side of him, tugging him back and forth and holy shit. Ichimatsu had actually died, and this is what heaven was. Though with how long it was dragging out, it may have just as easily been hell.
“Kara… Karama…” He panted the name, feeling his insides once again lurch with necessity, groaning and pressing his hips forward. He folded his legs under themselves, pulling the Karamatsu behind him along as he was led onto the lap of the one in front of him; an Ichimatsu sandwich on delicious Karamatsu bread. Fuck. This was surreal.
“Yes, brother?” The pair of them said in beautiful stereo, causing Ichi’s thighs to tighten and tremble around the front one’s hips. He felt like a regular Dionysus, stretched luxuriously on a dias, being hand-fed sexual pleasure as if it were the sweetest grapes in the world. His chest met another, and he felt a familiar hardness against his own; causing his hips to buck against it as another moan left him.
“I… f-fucking hate… this…” he lied. He had no physical fight left in him, and it’d be awfully uncharacteristic of him to just lay back and take it. As… much as it appeared like he was doing exactly that.
They both chuckled; a dark, rich sound that caressed all the right parts of his momentarily-fragile psyche, making him writhe gently in their grasps. He felt strong fingers work their way into the waistband of his sweat-soaked sweats, and felt the coolness of the air hit his nearly steaming legs. Underwear came next, both garments tucked neatly past his knees. His now-naked cock rubbing almost painfully against the jeans Karamatsu usually wore.
“Mm,” the one in front of him mused thoughtfully, rooting around in between the cushions of the couch behind him. Ichi opened his eyes enough to see him produce the bottle of lube the six of them mutually kept nestled there, just in case of… emergency. He glanced behind Ichi, smirking with a short nod.
Again, contact left him - and again, he whimpered in agony. The Karamatsu behind him was slowly pulling him back by his hips, all but forcing him into a position of presentation. Realization prickled up his spine as the bottle was handed off, and despite how red he must have been already he felt heat rise again to his cheeks and the tops of his ears. The sound of the bottle being opened was heard, and he grunted with a little shift as the cool liquid was introduced without warning to the warm skin of his crack. Hips wiggled, more for friction than anything else, as he rubbed his cheek in agitation against the front Karamatsu’s pants. (Against his hard dick in those pants. Ichi could tell, because that Karamatsu moaned; putting a hand in his hair and holding him there with a gentle pressure that said ‘don’t stop.’)
He couldn’t say he wasn’t expecting the hand that spread one of his asscheeks aside, nor the finger that circled his asshole with a patient ease that drove him fucking mad. But it still made him keen lewdly, now-free hands digging fingertips into the front Karamatsu’s still-clothed thighs. The penetration’s pain was merely a formality at this point, a sort of doorbell for the pleasure that followed immediately after. (He wasn’t going to think about how Karamatsu was good at this part, how the practiced ease with which he loosened him up made him make undignified noises he had certainly never caused by himself. How easily one finger turned to two, then three…)
Ichimatsu hadn’t even realized he was begging until he was pulled up again and heard himself mindlessly babbling pleas for them to do something with him, that this was torturous and if they didn’t want to die slowly and painfully they needed to just fucking fuck him already. His threats were probably way less potent given his words were heavily slurred by the fact he was practically sobbing with need. He wanted to be fucked. He wanted his neck bitten. He wanted hands all over his fucking body and he wanted an orgasm so explosive that stopped his heart and killed him so that he’d never have to face the fact that he was so into this he’d probably give it a second’s thought a week from now and shoot a load to Antarctica.
“Ah… ah. My little Ichimatsu,” the front Karamatsu purred, holding his face and gently kissing his burning cheeks. “You need only ask. Shh, shh. Let your brothers take care of you.” Dumbly, Ichimatsu nodded, body twitching and aching for attention again. He was pulled forward once more, noting briefly that at some point between being pulled up and crying that the front Karamatsu had opened his own pants and had tugged them down enough to expose and rub himself down with the lube. The back Karamatsu had strong arms around him once again, bare hands running up and under his hoodie, brushing gently calloused fingers over the oversensitive skin of his chest. Thumbs brushed Ichi’s nipples and he sucked in a sharp breath, body curling forward around the sensation. The front one pushed him back up again, laying his head against the back one’s shoulder, who was all too eager to start abusing his neck again while he was shuffled forward.
“Lift yourself, brother,” a soft voice came in his ear, followed closely by a nip to the earlobe. Head tried to rub the sensation off on his shoulder, but he just ended up nuzzling into the back Karamatsu’s hair. He caught a whiff of sweat and shampoo and a smell that was just uniquely Karamatsu, and it wrapped him up so sweetly that he didn’t even realize he’d risen to his knees until he felt the head of the front Karamatsu’s cock nudging against his ass.
Hands. Too-warm hands spread over the bottoms of his thighs, strong thumbs gently easing him down onto the waiting erection. A moan, weak and thready, left his throat as he slowly slid down the length. The feeling of being filled buzzed in his ears and all around him, and he heard his loud pants, his racing heartbeat, and the soft grunts of restraint from the front Karamatsu as he hilted himself. It was an agonizing process, but… holy shit. Holy fucking shit. Ichi swore he felt his spirit leaving his body entirely, fingers flexing and tightly gripping the biceps of the Kara he sat on.
It was just… so… bizarre. He couldn’t help the tinny, bubbly laugh that left him, crazed and drunk on the feeling of practically being worshipped by not one, but two of the brother he was so fucking crazy for. His life could not have been better in this moment.
Which was a stupid thought, because it hadn’t occurred to him that either of the Karamatsus could move.
The one that was currently balls-deep in him gave a teasing thrust, and Ichi immediately arched his back again and moaned in response. The response to that was a pinch to one of his nipples and a bite to his neck that he was sure would leave a mark, and the process of writhing and moaning was repeated again. And again. The two of them had a perfect synchronicity that shouldn’t have surprised him but did, an endless circle of torture that was pushing him way too far way too fast.
A warm hand left his sweat-slick chest and he turned his head again in confusion, a soft noise of question directed at the owner. The only response was another chuckle, and the feeling of something (a finger, obviously) teasing the edge of his stretched asshole. Once again, the feeling of dread washed over him, and he lurched forward - only to be eased back. Front Karamatsu leaned with him this time, kissing his throat through his own sexual noises as the other bit his neck, still playing with his ass. That and the undulating grip on his thighs was the only movement for now, and Ichi wasn’t sure if he should have been relieved or not. It gave him an opportunity to catch his breath a little, respond extremely favorably to the attention on his tender neck, and try and stop the ever-present tremble his stupid body insisted on keeping up.
A new pain came up suddenly, hips shifting to try and get away from the finger in his ass next to the dick that currently resided there. Both Karamatsus hushed him again, murmuring something about ‘being good’ and ‘letting them love him’. The pain did eventually subside, though that did little to prevent the next finger from getting curious. His jaw clenched and his chest shuddered with another sob, nails digging into the arms he held.
“K-Ka… K… nnnhn-” He decided to give up on words at this point, only able to produce a small repertoire of sounds that could barely count as speech. Reduced to a vernacular of a more amorous variety, he was sure the Karamatsus didn’t mind this sudden shift. It wasn’t as if there was a language barrier for sex.
In all likelihood, the time between the Karamatsu in back fingering him to trying to shove his own cock next to his clone’s after he leaned back (taking Ichi with him) could have been minutes as opposed to the hours it felt like, but time had real funny ways of operating in the face of pain and bliss alike. A fun chorus of grunts surrounded him as he was shifted like a ragdoll in their laps, his body useless for anything other than the tight ass his brothers were fucking him in. His entire form seized up at the intense pain, a mouth on his blocking most of the noise from it. The two bodies beneath him tensed similarly, and the mutual chaos the three shared was evident in a fair share of injuries. Ichi broke skin on front Karamatsu’s lip, while the one behind him returned the favor and tore into his neck.
It was probably for the best Ichi had lost the capability of speech, because there weren’t words to describe how he was feeling right now. ‘Euphoric’ maybe came close. The pain, while obviously painful, mixed with the weightless pleasure that swam in his veins, putting his body in a love-hate limbo. He couldn’t feel much of his extremities, but he was pretty sure he was vibrating.
The pair of Karamatsus were curled around him, the blessed creatures perfectly still as they gave him time to adjust. Well, mostly still. They were both breathing heavily, their hands were shaking, and they… clung to him. If it wasn’t such a baseless act of fairly animalistic sex, it would have been very comforting. Intimate. Minus about sixty gallons of sweat, probably.
“Ichi,” the one behind him panted in his ear, kissing the mark on his neck, “you’re okay?”
“Nnh… B-brother…” Kisses to the opposite shoulder from the opposite Karamatsu. “You’d tell us to… t-to stop, right?”
Stop? Did such a thing exist? Blearily, he shook his head, a number of sounds leaving him before words did.
“G-good…” he whispered, thumb weakly rubbing over the skin of the arm he held. “I’d… I… tell you…” At no point had he wanted any of this to stop, really. The pain, while overwhelming, was par for the course. Means to a very satisfying end. While a majority of his body was numb for now, he did feel a smile stretch across his face. Idly, he wondered if they could all tangle in a gross, sweaty mess of bodies after this and sleep for ten years.
Without another word spoken between them, the pair of Karamatsus began to move. Slow rocking of their hips in tandem brought a strangled little moan from the object of their attention, a veil of stars permanently painted over his vision. It was incredible. Dead weight as he was against front Karamatsu’s chest, he managed to find a little energy in himself to move with them. Call it a second wind, but all this love and attention was re-energizing his batteries. And giving him an odd sense of give and take. Granted, in this position the ‘take’ was a lot easier than the ‘give’, but underneath all his aggression and harsh words he did have some strong, confusing feelings for Karamatsu, and since this was a special occasion and all he wanted to be present and accounted for for any fond memories it created.
With the three of them working together, it didn’t take long. Ichi had so much build up to this point, between the arm wrestling foreplay and the general displays of machismo and grotesque romanticism the Karamatsus displayed, he was surprised he’d lasted this long. His orgasm was as good as he’d anticipated it to be, a full body affair that left him feeling like he’d been electrocuted. He was rendered completely immobile as every muscle in his body tensed at once, which he expected. What he hadn’t expected (nor really ever imagined, honestly) was the feeling of both his brothers cumming in him in unison and squeezing him between them so tightly it literally crushed the air out of him coupled with the breathlessness of his own climax.
The tears that had dried on his face previously were renewed, body beyond the point of coping with the physical trauma any other way. He wasn’t upset, wasn’t in any significant pain or discomfort - his brain was just acting out of pure instinct. The front Karamatsu must have thought Ichi tremendously dissatisfied, because he was soon being kissed again, sweetly and gently, with plenty of breathy apologies in between. The one behind him, hearing this, began doing much of the same as he rubbed his chest soothingly and nuzzled his hair. Mind-blowing sex and fuzzy lovey-doveys? So this was heaven. It didn’t even matter that no one was really around to see it. He didn’t care. This was… Comforting. Nice. Exactly what he’d always wanted, pretty much.
It took them all about twenty minutes to get themselves sorted and cleaned up, and with all the noise they’d been making Ichi had forgotten it was storming outside. He looked out the window and frowned from his completely drained position on the couch, a Karamatsu flanking him on either side. The one on his right gazed out the window too, clothed in a pair of sleeping pants, and also frowned.
“You’re not… going to send me back outside, are you?” He asked, voice quiet. Aha. So he was the clone. Ichi didn’t respond right away, taking a moment to grab one of his arms. It had angry red crescent-shaped marks in it. He’d broken skin, but not enough to bleed. He also had a split lip. So the clone had been in front. ...Huh. Had he instigated the whole thing? Had the real one just gone along with it? ...Which was the one that had wanted him? It wasn’t a nice thought, and he didn’t want it to ruin the pleasant soreness creeping into his bones or the hazy bliss that the three shared on the couch. It didn’t really matter, did it? If he truly was a clone, that meant they both felt the same way. He shook his head, leaning over onto him, pulling the other closer.
“You can stay. Until Dekapan figures out how to get rid of you.”
He maybe thought the clone would protest, but he only nodded; apparently placated by the simple fact he didn’t have to sit in a shed during a storm.
“Who won the kissing contest?” The Real Karamatsu asked in an equally quiet tone, his cheek on Ichi’s opposite shoulder, arm lazily draped around his waist. In spite of himself, Ichi let out a weak laugh.
“I forgot about it. You both suck equally. Sorry, Shittymatsus.” The pair of them let out respective heated remarks. “Now now boys,” Ichi teased quietly, snuggling between them, “you can have a rematch later. But for now, fuck you both, I’m going to sleep.”
The Karamatsus shifted together, both leaning to have him support their weight; arms around his waist. Ichi might have questioned the closeness if he wasn’t so damn exhausted, and if any part of this scenario had made sense to begin with. Instead of arguing, he accepted the gentle kisses to his hair on either side of his head and the murmured sentiments, dozing off before either of them had settled completely.
What a fucked up night.