Archive of Our Own

Ones ability to use their senses varies vastly from human to human. Some argue that their sense of hearing is keenest, focused on every little stir, every small signal it can detect. Other's might argue that their eyes, with the ability to see such a vast amount of color, recognize and know so many things, are most sensitive.

Megumi, if he was asked to pick, would say his sense of smell is the most attuned. Wrinkling up his nose at things or curiously peeking around as a child was a very common theme for him. He remembers waking up when Satoru and Tsumiki burnt toast one morning despite his room being upstairs, 'ruining' his birthday breakfast - Satoru's words, not his.

Though, aligned with his tepid attitude towards most people, he's picky with scents. A lot of them linger in the lower mediocrity or are downright disliked in Megumi's opinion. He doesn't keep a list, but in the instance of when he truly despises a certain thing, a person even, his body will signal him to keep his distance, will force the muscles in his face to form a grimace. It doesn't exactly make him more sociable — an aspect he already struggles with throughout his upbringing, even with Tsumiki's aid.

Satoru always found this reflex hilarious. He once suspected Megumi to have hyperosmia, since he figured such about himself as well. Though, Satoru in general seemed to have all his senses turned up significantly when compared to the entire rest of the populous nation.

An increased olfactory sensitivity. Megumi figured it's not outside the realm of possibilities. Though in all honesty, he was still a child and couldn't be bothered thinking about insignificant factors like such. As long as it didn't hinder his jujutsu, he had nothing to worry about there.

"It might go away with age, but as your fellow adult I can tell you that having a keen sense of smell can be useful as a sorcerer!"

"Whatever." He was pretty sure Satoru was just saying that console him. Even though it wasn't an upsetting fact to him to begin with.

His particular attitude didn't leave. Megumi still reacts the same he did as a child, distaste cursing his features when he comes across something of displeasure. It can be disgusting to the vast majority of people - like a rotting corpse - or even something that most people like. Megumi despises sweet smells, for example. They're always gruelingly over-saturated, covering his nose in powdery thrills that he can't waft away. It is contained in most shampoos, in deodorant, in perfumes. And as a person with a priority in good hygiene, it's the bane of Megumi's existence.

A large fraction of flowery scents aren't any good either. Their perfumery nature is too strong and due to how most solvents completely overpower their delicate chemicals Megumi tends to barely make them out in most salves or other beauty products. Though luckily there are plenty of alternatives he can use.

Despite his tendency to criticism, there are fragrances he thoroughly enjoys. Spices are a comfort of his. Cinnamon, anise, nutmeg, but most appealing of all ginger. He isn't too fond of peppers, usually having a compulsory urge to sneeze when smelling them up close. But compared to his dislikes even that ranks among the solid mediocre. Spices have a warmth to them that envelopes his smells as well as his taste buds, can be dosed appropriately very easily and therefore don't frequently overwhelm or underwhelm his palette.

Working similarly is incense. Lit only on special occasions and fleeting, Megumi finds the rarity of it to make the pleasant smell that much greater.

Contrasting those, another genre ranked high on his list is freshness. Cleaning products are one thing, but Megumi enjoys citrus y types of fragrance thoroughly, mints a close second. They're alike to spices, though their sting when they do overwhelm Megumi's nostrils is cold, not hot. They can also be dosed well, but Megumi finds that there isn't too much of a limit when it comes to them. Smelling clean is always very pleasing.

Satoru was perturbed to take care of a child that was so fond of folding laundry or helping him hang it up to dry outside. Or that didn't stick around the sweet treats section when buying groceries, but pouted at the sealed shakers of seasonings in the spice racks. A child that was often so easily annoyed, glared at strangers and was especially rebellious and stubborn when sick, becoming almost gleeful when told to have some ginger tea to recover quicker.

But Satoru always humored Megumi, even when it didn't make sense to him personally. So Megumi was gifted a lot of freedoms, even if he wasn't extremely fond of Satoru's presence most days. He was loud, overwhelming, downright reeking of extravagance at times.

So, as a introverted 'child' of a high-strung caffeine addicted benefactor, Megumi naturally took on reading by himself in his room a lot. And given that Satoru had more money than he knew what to do with, loved to spoil Megumi between lessons more than what was expected of a teacher and had an aforementioned weak spot to the child's requests, he had a very privileged position where he was granted almost infinite access to bookstores and a local library.

As a result, when he wasn't training his Ten Shadows Technique, he busied himself by burying his sensitive nose in thick books. And naturally, since they were topics he could relate his own sensitivities to, he picked up books about animals, and also scents. When he knew all about his favorite animals he moved onto the art of perfumery.

Part of the basics he learned are how a perfume is composed, similarly to an accord, through three symbiotically combined notes. Top notes or head notes are the fleeting opening to it all, light and quick to fade. Middle or heart notes provide the body of the piece, harmonizing with particular care towards the base notes, which forms its theme. Base notes settle in later throughout the wearing of the scent and are heavier and deep in their nature.

Megumi thought keeping a mental catalogue of recognizable smells, with an extended listing of ratings, was very useful to him. If he knew exactly which smells he disliked, he knew how to avoid them better. And vice versa for the ones he liked.

Satoru said he had expensive taste, reading up on such a topic at his age, but Megumi grumbled disagreement about it. He didn't buy his own first cologne until he was around twelve years old. The topic was simply interesting and that's all that there was to it.

However, Megumi did once buy a perfume for Satoru —with Satoru's credit card, though the man always seemed to care more about the thought contained in the gift rather than the monetary value, which made sense given his upbringing — because the aggressive solvent and fixatives were all Megumi could smell with how his benefactor doused himself with it. So he bought Satoru something with lower concentration. Satoru never read the labels, just always assumed the dosage stayed the same and didn't bother to ascertain even after Megumi explained it.

Megumi brought him something with the same heart and base notes to what he usually uses — or what he could decipher from the redolence — with green tea, chamomile and jasmine as the middle and mostly vanilla at the base. It had different citrus notes at the top, though he doesn't think Gojo would care for the difference between lemons, bergamot and yuzu.

It ended up becoming the standard go-to of what Satoru used, though Megumi isn't sure if that's due to his love for dramatic devotion or because he actually did prefer it to his old choice. All he knows is that Satoru's presence became a lot more tolerable.

Smells have a powerful influence to Megumi.

Nobara's first impression on Megumi was that her scent misrepresented her atrociously so. Her tenacious attitude and fiery spirit should not have the aroma of rotten-sweet peaches, roses and vanilla. While her attitude could be annoying, it was relatively easy to get used to. Whatever scent she used was not.

It worked out in Megumi's favor, since Nobara loved to get expensive gifts, especially when they suited her tastes. Megumi decided to fix the offensively inharmonious scent profile by taking advantage of that fact.

"Are you trying to tell me I stink or something?" Nobara huffs, looking at the box of gifts he presented her. It contains a perfume, together with a body lotion and wash. He wouldn't risk the shampoo part, since she was very serious about her hair and wouldn't take well to changing that part of her routine. Though these were simply a recommendation either way.

Megumi didn't get defensive in the face of her accusation, since it didn't apply to what he was trying to do. "No. But I thought there were smells that better suited you than that disaster of sweetness that's your current perfume." He explains with brutal honesty as she looks at the bottle, which doesn't carry a description of the notes. She does shift from offended to surprised when she looks at the lotion, so he seems to not be too off the mark. Or she recognizes the expensive brand.

Nobara then squints at him. "You're a real creep, y'know."

Megumi scoffs. "It's not like that. Satoru had the same problem. I'm just sensitive to smells." He nods to the flask of fragrance. "What you were using smelled cheap, like peaches and vanilla and something else." He gestures around vaguely with his hand. "This is more flowery and spicy and is more expensive. Please don't go overboard with it though, it can get vicious very fast." He knows the list of notes by heart, though the longer he rattles on about it the more embarrassment he feels. He doesn't particularly enjoy giving or receiving gifts. If Nobara isn't interested he'd prefer not to over-explain himself.

"Why do you know so much about this?" She then asks, opening the flask curiously and spraying some on her wrist and letting it dry on her wrist before she'd try it. Megumi can smell some of it wafting towards him. While it's not his personal preference, it suits her. The peppery top note goes great with her signature glare that's currently directed to him.

"I read a lot about it." Megumi shrugs. "Beats having to stroll through the shopping mall with Gojo."

"You're alone on that one." Nobara retorts, since she loves splurging on shopping trips with him. Mostly because he provides the money, though he's seen her enjoy coffee trips with Satoru so she must at least tolerate his company. When it comes to actually carrying the bags she calls up Yuji.

"You weren't with him since you were six. His dramatics get old." Megumi reiterates. The first time he told her he grew up with Satoru her jealousy was palpable.

Nobara hums, puts her wrist under her nose. "Spicy, huh?"

"For your sugary sweet attitude." Megumi jokes monotonously.

"Shush. Never said I'm opposed to it." Nobara corrects him with an index finger to his face. He frowns in reaction, backs up a little.

"It'll dry down into the more flowery notes after like half an hour. Depends on your skin." Megumi can't help but add. He feels like a salesman, standing at Nobara's door.

She seems to notice the awkward edge to his words and starts capitalizing off it. "Well don't leave me hanging, tell me more." Nobara encourages, with attitude.

Megumi's ears turn red. "I can't tell if you're mocking me or not."

"Oh I'm definitely not, this is the first time that we have something in common. You actually might not be as boring as I thought." She grins deviously.

"Gee, thanks." He rolls his eyes. "The top notes are mostly just Japanese pepper. I can't fully decipher what else but it's floral notes. What you'll smell later is cyclamen, jasmine, geranium, rose, cinnamon. Cedar and vanilla are in the base notes." He counts off with his fingers, looking to the ceiling in thought as he recalls them.

Nobara listens to him with - what must be the first time - full attention. She nods occasionally. "Why these scents specifically?"

Megumi shrugs, because he feels it's obvious. "It just suits your character."

"Huh." She grins. "Thanks, Fushiguro. Though if you give anyone perfumes in the future, you should work on being less creepy about it."

When Megumi first meets Yuji, his scent isn't what sticks out to him. He's the average sporty guy you'd meet in school, so he smells the part. Cheap deodorant, mostly sweat. It's more so the spike of cursed energy that Megumi notices first and investigates.

What truly sticks with Megumi from that point on is his determination, his motivation to save lives without second thought. A kind of unwavering humanity, one that he doesn't want the world to leave so early. Even though apparently, it seems all other aspects of fate wish to eradicate such a light, to snuff out the steadily flickering candle while it still can.

Life drips wax into Yuji's open flame, cuts the wick short, threatens to drown it out in water or tips it over countless times. And yet Yuji's flame doesn't seem to waver.

At first.

Post-Shibuya, Yuji's attitude has changed and adapted to a faded version of itself, much to Megumi's hidden away empathy. The empathy that wished for people to have their dignity above all never violated, the selfish part of him that saved Yuji from execution to see that human flame of motivation for a bit longer. He grows attached to the light, a ray of hope in his life of bitter shadows. Even then, the roots of his feelings have grown much deeper than he lets himself see.

After the Culling Game and the battle against Sukuna, what was already a closer, growing bond — the red string of fate between them — had turned into steel ropes within practically no time. Megumi finds himself antsy, anxious, when Yuji isn't by his side. He never puts words to the reasons for that, never speaks to Yuji about it, even when they start romantically pursuing each other — a turn of events that in all honestly, Megumi is still grappling with and feels undeserving of. Especially when he struggles to keep himself together some days. He feels selfish, despises not being able to carry his own weight and needing the aid of an equally traumatized soul.

But the fear of separation is a heavy, all-present weight after everything that occurred. His attachment goes deeper than any scars that were inflicted on him, mental and physical. It's by pure luck almost that he came back from it all. As if Yuji's presence was a shield to his innermost core, his soul, allowing him to survive by keeping it save from harm with his warmth. With or without Yuji meaning to.

This development of feelings in combination with the devastating blows of fate he endured caused him to develop habits he's not exactly proud of. Megumi tells himself it's to cope, and that's what it starts as. Stealing clothes from Yuji's closet, curling up in them in the darkness of his room on worse days. It's all innocent. Yuji's clothes are just comfortable and grounding.

Upon giving the mechanisms further attempts, attempts that don't scratch the itch Megumi has like it used to, he realizes it's the scent is what he craves.

And he can't stop thinking about it as soon as he realizes it's what he needs.

He picks it apart with his brain, dissects it into the notes that he recognizes. It's a woodsy-musk, paired with a almost citrus-y spice, subtle freshness. Top notes that he catches are cypress, pine, something close to ginger and occasionally yuzu. Heart notes of coconut, coriander or maybe even pink pepper. They're a mixture of the products Yuji uses to clean himself in, ridding him of some of the musk of his body odor that still penetrates the base notes of his scent profile. Their bitter-warm stings melt into the amber and sandalwood that stays, that underline the wonderful package of it all. What was once an average smell Megumi didn't blink twice at now consumed his brain. Because it's Yuji, and he loves him so.

Now, Megumi borrows Yuji's clothes for the scent. He buries his nose into their collars, presses the inside of the sleeves to his mouth if he snagged a hoodie or sweater. But the smell is weak, even for his fine-tuned sense. And it reaches a point where it's not enough.

Megumi dabs some of Yuji's cologne onto his own clothes, one sleeve mostly, so the scent stays fresh and he doesn't grow accustomed to it or fatigued from it. Then he goes further, showers with borrowed bath products or buys the same ones Yuji has for his own secret use that he keeps hidden in his room somewhere.

Desperation makes creative. Sometimes, even those things aren't intense enough to quiet his racing mind. Megumi washes bandage wraps with Yuji's soaps and lets them soak it up, wrapping them around his wrists and sometimes neck while they're still wet, dabs some of the product under them for good measure. Because he's shaking and panicking, and Yuji is on a mission and he needs him now. The bandaging stains his flesh if he's lucky, but also last longer than if he uses the products as intended.

This tactic he uses lightly, not too frequently. Only when he deems it absolutely necessary. Because while it helps, it doesn't make him feel any less insane.

He also doesn't want to overuse it and spoil it. And wants to be able to have his own scent in order to set himself apart, as to not make his dissolute habits public. It's a deep comfort ploy, one he uses when he's especially anxious or wound-up, misses Yuji most sincerely. He's careful to not let his ways go noticed. He'd hate for Yuji to see him this way.

He refrains from his more intense, creepier cravings, like wearing Yuji's worn clothes instead of the ones from his closet. The ones that carry the smell of his sweat, his musk. But he's ultimately weak to them. He always volunteers to do the laundry.

Which marks where his resolution snaps.

And one night where his head is buzzing with noise and uneasy, he gives in. He locks the door to the washroom once he's inside, sorts through the basket of clothes he carried around the hall, reminding others but Yuji most of all about laundry day. He finds work-out clothes that Yuji had just worn, digging his blunt fingernails into the breathable fabric. It's pure degeneracy, he tells himself. He's sitting on his knees in the damp darkness of the washroom, holding Yuji's clothes in his palms. Clothes that have absorbed his sweat and deodorant.

He's so gross.

But the temptation of contentment, a moment of quiet, is too great.

His brain turns nice and quiet when he brings the soft fabric to his face. He presses both palms up to himself, pinning Yuji's shirt and shorts to his nose. He takes deep breaths, holds them. Ones that help him through mundane panics. He parts his lips, as if opening his mouth could make the aroma even more palatable, to bring it even closer as the air brushes over his tongue.

There's none of the citrus freshness there. Neither the coconut or ginger are present either, though there is a certain spicy sting that comes with the odor and woodsy bitterness, with the amber that comes from his deodorant. It's warm, hot on his now panting mouth. He runs his hands higher, sliding the fabric up into his hairline, gathering more of the scent into his nostrils. The slower and lessened intake of oxygen has him feeling drunk, intoxicated on Yuji's essence. He's practically sedated and feels the noise in his skull fade. He nearly moans in relief.

Megumi bunches the clothes up in his hands, presses his untainted wrists into the damp fabric. He wishes for it to stay, as he slowly pulls away to send everything into the washing machine to change their scents anew. His face is flushed and his hair askew. He runs a hand over his face to ground himself a little, shame running through him like ice cold water in replacement of his hot blood.

Something about Yuji's scent drives him absolutely crazy.

𖦹

"Ew, are you actually going to eat that?"

Yuji's tastes have always been questioned by his peers. In elementary school, where most kids have to be weened off the luxuries of getting whatever they wish for — which in most cases is a constant rotation of the same highly caloric three dishes — Yuji emptied bento boxes with utmost appreciation and was deemed someone who could eat anything. So often, when other classmates of his preferred to not eat their green beans or simply due to texture reasons felt less inclined towards tamagoyaki and mushrooms, they'd offer them to the pink-haired 'weirdo' with the always cleanly emptied lunch tray.

Yuji started making his own lunches when he was ten years of age. It was a way for him to be considerate of his steadily growing older grandfather, who he didn't wish to have slaving over a stove with his already fragile back. He didn't mind the increase of responsibility in the slightest, took pride in carrying something in his bag that not only was — more or less — nutritionally balanced and to his tastes but also that he had made himself.

Giving a child culinary freedom also meant that Yuji had expanded and experimented with his palette through truly unheard of combinations — in his eyes, not always within good reason. Sometimes that meant spreading fruit jelly on the other side of a tuna salad sandwich, dipping salami sticks in yogurt or putting natto atop his breakfast cereal at home. It was trial and error, but Yuji seldom truly hated what he ate — the last of the aforementioned examples was definitely one of his more acquired tastes however.

The basis of Yuji's culinary studies all ended with more or less the same verdict: Tastes need a balance point if they succeed a certain intensity. Saltiness can be balanced with sweetness and vice versa, similarly to how the latter eases very intense bitterness. Acidity was also great for savory foods to break up their volume, and paired well in baked goods so sweets by association. Spiciness is hard to milden even with sugary or umami components but ultimately doesn't need a set partner to work well even when exceeding a limit that cannot be single-handedly surpassed by the other ones without spoiling something good. One just needs the tolerance for it.

Yuji keeps cooking as he grows older. He scavenges the attic of his grandfather's house for any recipes he can find, cooks them for the grumpy relative to see him press his lips into a thin satisfied line when he eats something that stirs his memories. Like scents, tastes have a way of bringing back even most vacant memories.

And it's those smiles and enthusiastic nods that keep Yuji's passion for culinary arts alive, keep him making baked goods for school events, though he almost always submits them anonymously. A good deed doesn't need recognition, because truly the only reward he needs then is seeing the happy faces to good food.

His results over the course of years of cooking experience go further. For example, the three factors that determine a dish's quality are as follows: Taste, appearance and texture. That opinion is generally accepted and recognized by the majority of society.

But if you ask Yuji, they all carry different percentages based on importance. Around 20% go to appearance. Yuji has never been picky, can look past sketchy or unappealing colors, shapes, preparations. For example, people can react negatively when facing animals prepared with almost no butchering of their original, living form. Whole roasted corpses, like fish, bugs, snails. Yuji never shied away from such even when he was little. For Yuji, presentation does have some influence nonetheless - a well put-together plate will always be more appetizing than something sloppily thrown on - but ultimately it is the least important factor to his appetite.

Taste is paramount to food. It's Yuji's best sense, it's what ultimately motivates his and humanity's love for eating. Food connects people to each other. Tastes have the ability to bring back memories. That matters, even if Yuji's palette is vastly tolerant and he barely has any preferences at all. He'd amount it to around 45% of the final grade.

The one aspect that is often neglected or underestimated is texture. Taste and presentation always have a well-known reputation, taste solely explaining the existence of differences in culture, the sustained existence of spices and seasonings in general, while presentation is the reason 'your eyes eat first' is so frequently used in culinary arts, where plating is taught and stressed on.

But texture is disregarded most often. Though, in all honesty, a dish can be as pretty, as delicious as it wants to be. To make it truly enjoyable, the texture needs to be done justice. If one could sustain themselves on blended-up meals or jello cakes, with no chewing required, there wouldn't be a need for teeth anymore. And the joy surrounding eating, food as a whole, would gradually disappear. It would just become a means to an end. So that is where the remaining 35% are left.

At least, that's Yuji's take on it. Consistency fulfills a special need that challenges ones intellect and stimulates muscles and minds.

Humans learn texture through touch. As a toddler, one discovers the world through grabbing, pressing objects to the much more concentrated nerves in human lips and mouths. Therefore, if one knows the touch of something in their hands, they will in theory know how it feels to eat it. Sometimes one can even guess the approximate taste.

Present day, Yuji knows Megumi blindly by touch. Softness, like his skin, hair, relaxed musculature, internal organs that aren't covered by the firmness of bones, sinew, joints and flexed muscles. Teeth and nails, too, ones that have marked Yuji back, have learned his texture mutually in depth. Roughness, like Megumi's scars, rippled jagged healing of the pale, velvet skin, painting its stark contrast. Wet, like his tongue, the saliva, tears and sweat, even his blood on occasion of injury, the water that soaks his hair and otherwise dry skin after a shower.

The thought of tasting Megumi isn't new to Yuji.

It started with little things. Yuji stealing Megumi's spoons, or cups, for example. Eating his leftovers with the exact same cutlery as he did, though Megumi does point it out to him that Yuji is taking used, unclean utensils.

"I don't mind." Yuji would respond neutrally, swallowing the thin remains of Megumi's saliva when he presses the metal or glass to his tongue. "Less dishes that way."

It's not so different from kissing if one thinks about it. Well, more so making out. And when their relationship changes, they indulge in such a lot. Yuji thoroughly enjoys the small noises that escape Megumi when he licks over his teeth, presses his tongue against the other's. Yuji's throat works eagerly, the very human, meaty taste settling on his tongue whenever he swallows both Megumi's words and his fluids.

Megumi doesn't question Yuji's preferences even after their established relationship gets to an even more intimate, sexual level. Before, Yuji's adamance to leaving Megumi's neck covered in hickeys was a mutual want, so just how intense Yuji's need for it got was unintentionally masked by Megumi's lack of questioning. Yuji's deeper motivations are hidden.

That fact stays when oral gets on their list of options. Though Megumi does notice that Yuji prefers giving such more than anything else they do in those moods. He is and always will be perceptive, especially when it comes to Yuji. Though it doesn't take a genius to realize that his boyfriend may have something of an oral fixation when he has been going at it for such long sessions Megumi feels tuckered out and almost sore with exhaustion after. Despite not being the one to do the work.

And the hickey situation is only intensified when Yuji has permission to get his mouth wherever he wants to. There are a vast expanse of colors being regularly painted on the plain canvas of Megumi's thighs and neck. His chest isn't out of the equation either, and if his ears could bruise he's sure Yuji would've given them the same treatment. Any sensitive part of him, parts where his flesh are especially soft and tender, are decorated with the changing hues of blues and later yellows, a field of blooms that hold much longer than the average flower bouquets.

Yuji's hands leave them too, though they are more unintentional. The way he grips his wrists and legs, holds Megumi's hips close to him, it leaves stains. But Megumi never minds, no, he almost clinically keeps track of them, contently running his fingers and eyes over the naked parts of him, curious where he has been left claimed.

He encourages the behavior. That's where the little things Yuji started with to get a taste of his boyfriend mutate into something different.

For Yuji, the urges get harder to tone down. Once a line is crossed it's hard to be redrawn, hard to put it exactly where it was and not move it closer to the goalpost. Yuji will leave bruises somewhere again if he has already had the courage to once, or if his hands left them unintentionally he will go back to their location and back them up with intention, with teeth.

The first time he draws blood is unintentional. Kind of. There's a split second where he knows himself, knows he won't let up enough to not make it hurt, to slice the pale skin before him. Megumi is beneath him, back bare, face pressed into their softest pillows.

His neck is already littered with forming bruises. The sight is like butter melting atop something warm, a thick, savory sauce poured over an already inviting piece of meat. It's mouth-watering.

Yuji loses the split second of self-awareness. He curls down and closes his mouth on Megumi's shoulder muscle, blaming it on the animal need to muffle his noises before they get too loud. Except he's lying, and the actual animal part of him wants to tear into the thick muscle beneath pale soft skin. To taste Megumi much more violently than ever before.

His jaw clamps down with a groan-turned-growl. Megumi gasps loudly for air beneath him, back arching up then deep down as he's overcome by his own orgasm. Yuji can feel his canines break skin not unlike the peel of a fruit as he ruts his hips forward, keeping Megumi pierced. Like a predator with its dying prey, as life leaves its body.

Blood, iron, has a savory taste if Yuji had to pick. Sweet and sour are far from it, though it carries the same excitement when it hits his tongue. Spice doesn't apply either, as it doesn't hurt his mouth in any way. It pleasantly coats the cavity of his mouth.

And bitter would have the characteristic of an acquired taste. Megumi is not.

So the closest is savory, umami. Powerful, spreading over his taste buds and coating them in warmth. Stimulating, intriguing, different.

Megumi melts on his tongue. He's warm inside, other than his skin which has been cooled with salty sweat. They've been at this for a while. Yet Yuji doesn't think, despite the long build-up, that his orgasm was the true triumph. He barely feels it, over the pleasure he feels drinking the crimson liquid of his loved one, gulping greedily from the golden goblet that holds the essence to Megumi's life.

It feels akin to being power-drunk, a determination to grow even more devoted rising within him. The connection that is between them has only been strengthened by this act, Yuji is sure.

Yuji relaxes his jaw, presses his twitching lips to the small wound. It's a kiss, but also has the advantage of letting him lap up more of Megumi by smearing it on his lips like red pigmented balm.

"I… I'm sorry." He speaks breathlessly, though not due to exhaustion. There's a bitter guilt that claws at him, though he swallows it down quickly to not spoil Megumi's taste. He tries to press some of the remains of it beneath his tongue, hide them for later in the backs of his teeth. But it dilutes due to the eager saliva that pools in his mouth. "Couldn't help myself." He speaks in honest, finally stalling his hips. The adrenaline leaves him feeling high. His blown pupils watch the little droplets that form in the square of four puncture marks. He feels violent and is mildly disgusted at how he salivates.

"It's okay." Megumi pants out beneath him, turning his head to look at Yuji over his shoulder. There are tear-tracks on the high of his cheekbone. X marks the spot. Yuji leans down to kiss there, sneakily tasting the salt clinging to Megumi's skin like the crust of something grilled. Salt and savory iron is new, a combination Yuji remembers fondly and burns into his taste buds.

Not all of Yuji's attempts to get closer to Megumi through taste are violent in nature or result from him losing control.

Sometimes he doesn't even need to taste him directly to get his fill. Yuji keeps a stash of breath mints and spicy ginger cough drops around, ones that Megumi likes. And when Yuji sees him take one, he steals one for himself as well. Knowing that the treat is a currently mutual tasting between them, a connection, makes him feel at ease somehow. And sometimes, he'll kiss Megumi, to steal it from him directly, curling his tongue around the dissolving pill that Megumi has coated so lovingly for him with his traces. Seeing Megumi flustered and a little annoyed at getting it stolen is an added bonus.

Yuji always wears his heart openly. It's what gets him injured and hurt over and over, but he doesn't know how to hide feelings long-term. He's a terrible liar, isn't partial to the arts of deception. Combined with a boyfriend known for his intellect, Megumi eventually finds out about Yuji's keen sense of taste and that he enjoys putting his mouth on Megumi not just because it gives the latter of the two pleasure, but because Yuji genuinely gets turned on to some degree, or satisfied by Megumi's taste.

Though Yuji wished it could've gone a little smoother. He was unprepared for Megumi to notice it so soon.

Yuji's in the kitchen, it's rather late in the evening. He's cooking, as he usually does when he is given spare time with nothing to do and no one to spend time with. He hears the familiar steps enter the shared space and doesn't need to turn around to recognize the person. "Welcome back." He coos.

"Mm, hi." Megumi's voice sounds from behind him before slender arms wrap around Yuji's front. "You're cooking dinner?"

"Yeah." Yuji smiles. "Are you hungry?"

"Sure am."

Yuji's grins at the tickling sensation when Megumi kisses his shoulder, then neck. He's cold, like usual. Yuji twitches when Megumi's hands run under his shirt, his abs tensing in reflex. "Ugh, you're so cold." He complains fondly.

"Forgot my gloves." Megumi mumbles against Yuji's skin. "You smell nice."

"Freshly showered, just for you." Yuji putting one hand over Megumi's while the other rocks the frying pan back and forth. Fried rice in the making, almost finished. "And because I don't really enjoy curse blood on me."

"How considerate." Megumi's hands track higher, fingers spreading across Yuji's chest muscles. "Did it go well?"

"Yeah, it was pretty easy so I came back earlier." Hence why he's cooking dinner. "You and Nobara?"

Megumi sighs behind him, putting his chin atop Yuji's shoulder. "I'm tired. All that damn running we had to do to catch it pissed both of us off." Megumi explains, his hands still moving. Yuji can't lie, it's a major distraction now. The way Megumi traces over his body feels great.

"Explains why you're clinging to me." Yuji teases. Megumi seems to seek his proximity whenever he's ticked off. He finds it very endearing.

"Mpf." Megumi pulls off him, flicking him at the back of his head. He can't go far though, because Yuji catches his wrist.

"Hey, don't go..." Yuji pouts with a soft whine. "You can stay, just don't distract me so much from cooking."

"Well if I'm distracting you so easily I should probably come back once you're done." Megumi crosses his arms over his chest when Yuji lets go of his wrist. The smirk on his face is very subtle, but the smugness is painted all over his body language. He's just playing with Yuji.

"I've learned to multitask pretty well." Yuji smiles with a wink and turns the heat of the stove off. Megumi's timing is pretty good, he just needs to keep the rice moving in the pan and then it's done.

Megumi actually laughs in surprise when Yuji pulls him in by his waist, pressing Megumi between him and the counter. Yuji wastes no time pressing his lips to Megumi, tilting his own head up to compensate for the subtle height difference - exaggerated by Yuji curling forward into him while Megumi arches backwards.

"You're going to burn it." Megumi mumbles into Yuji's mouth, reaching next to him to push the pan off the still warm stove top.

Yuji takes his hand away, stops him. "No I'm not. I'm still stirring." Barely. He can't exactly keep his lips and his hand moving independently. There's a clear winner of his attention. Yuji presses kisses to the corners of Megumi's mouth, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth briefly. "The heat's turned off, it'll be fine." He murmurs.

"Weird. I still feel like something's heating up in here." Megumi cups the bottom of Yuji's chin, running his index finger back and forth over the underside of his jaw. The emerald in his eyes is muted by his blown pupils when they look down at Yuji.

Yuji giggles, his left hand on Megumi's hipbone. "Didn't think I'd hear you make a joke like that."

"Mm, I'm trying to get you to quit it here and finish what you're doing." Megumi mumbles, muffled by Yuji's incessant kissing. His head tilts back with zero need for Yuji to coax him into doing so.

All he needs is Yuji's lips trailing lower on his face, crossing the cusp of his chin. "Well you're doing pretty terrible at convincing me right now, Megs."

"Yuji." Megumi lets out a shaky sigh, while Yuji remains unbothered.

'Fuck it', Yuji thinks. He pulls the pan off the stove, aware it must be done cooking by now. It has to be, because he's past the point of caring. There are more important things happening.

Megumi's neck is salty from dried sweat. The appetite he had for the fried rice still lingers in the back of his mind, but is starting to fade much faster than he'd be willing to admit. When someone is presented with their cravings, everything else pales in comparison. At this point, Yuji won't even make it to dinner.

"Yuji, please." Megumi groans softly as Yuji sucks a mark on his throat. Too high to be hidden effectively. That kind of snaps him out of it. Usually he asks before doing that.

"Fuck, sorry." Yuji clears his throat. He presses a soft peck to the spot in apology. "Got a bit carried away." Megumi's salt is still on the tip of his tongue.

"No shit." Megumi huffs, a fierce blush on his slightly scrunched expression. "Let's eat. You must be hungry too."

"Mm, not all that much to be honest." Yuji lets up, pulling back so Megumi can stand up straight.

Megumi raises an eyebrow. "When did you last eat?"

"... This morning." A prime example of where Yuji could've easily lied. But he only remembers that after already telling the truth.

"Then you're eating with me." Megumi demands, turning to the pan. None of the rice burned, luckily. "Sit down. I'll make you a plate."

"Yes sir." Yuji chuckles a little awkwardly, pressing a kiss to Megumi's cheek before he takes a seat.

Megumi makes him a generous portion and Yuji appreciates it, but it tastes bland in comparison to the lingering taste of Megumi. And he knows that, because he asks: "It's not bland, is it?"

And Megumi shakes his head in answer, frowning as if Yuji's question is ridiculous. "No, it's good." He then pauses before he takes another spoonful, squinting at Yuji. "You're acting weird."

Yuji's face feels hot, he stirs in his seat. "I'm always weird."

"Weirder than usual." Megumi corrects himself. "Is something wrong?"

"N-no, no, nothing's wrong. Not with you, at least." Yuji feels like an idiot for talking without thinking, but there's not much one can do to save themselves under Megumi's piercing gaze.

"... I can see that." Megumi continues eating, though speaks after he swallows. "We can continue later, if that's what this is about."

" Kind of. Not really. I don't know." Yuji coughs out.

"Okay?" Megumi looks at him expectantly. "Just tell me. Something clearly killed your appetite."

"It's just uhm. I have this thing." He lowers his head, rubs the back of his neck. "With uhm... Tasting and stuff, and I get a little weird about it?" He can't find a way to phrase it right. He needs to put it bluntly.

"I really like your taste." Yuji puts his face into his palms, peeking at Megumi over his the two nubs of his left pinky and ring fingers. His face is on fire.

Megumi looks confused, doesn't respond verbally. And when Yuji doesn't get a direct response he takes it as a signal to keep talking.

"And so when I kissed you neck and stuff, I kind of lost all interest in what I was actually going to eat." He glances up then quickly back down again, because Megumi is just staring. "Please say something. I know it's weird."

"Maybe a little." Megumi shrugs softly. "But that's not that bad."

In the end, Megumi doesn't tease him for it. He doesn't even mention it again after the truth slips out. Yuji is shocked he doesn't make one comment.

𖦹

But Megumi grows curious in silent. Until it bursts.

The backs of Megumi's teeth are dripping with saliva. "Let me taste you." He asks of Yuji, eyes veiled with desire.

Humans need food to survive. Their nutrition is paramount to their quality of life, their energy. And so as almost every one of his meals nowadays carries traces of Yuji in the form of his recipes or his skills of cooking, the love he puts into it, Yuji already is in charge and support of him living. And the next step is to have Yuji unconditionally fuel him, just by living himself.

And Megumi wants to know what that feels like. Getting to consume something so intimately shared, something violent yet good, something they both agree and consent to wholeheartedly. The animals they are, not humans like they partially pretend to be behind the rules of society and wounds of their past mistakes.

Ever since Yuji admitted to his true desires and Megumi connected it to the time Yuji bit his shoulder until it bled, he couldn't stop thinking about it.

"You don't have to ask." Yuji bares his neck in answer, eyes ablaze. He knows exactly what Megumi has in mind.

Yuji's neck is thick with knotted muscle. So is his shoulder, as Megumi scrapes his teeth over the tough skin. He bites down, his teeth sinking in.

"Wait." Yuji gasps out, pushing Megumi back a little by pressing his palms against the other's chest. "What if my blood poisons you?" He asks, Megumi looking from his shallow bite mark to his wide eyes.

Ah, that's true. The Death Painting Wombs have poisonous blood.

"We shouldn't risk it." Yuji mutters, and Megumi understands. He wouldn't mind being incapacitated, but also doesn't want to worry Yuji sick.

"I won't bite too hard then." Megumi compromises. He sees Yuji's subtle, thrilled expression leave and thinks on how to get it back. He sinks down again, licking over the fading indents his teeth left. More hickeys, then.

"That's too bad." He speaks lowly, sucking a hickey into the spot he bit. Yuji's blood is so close, but unobtainable in this way. He closest he'll get to safely witnessing it is when blue bruises form at the surface.

Then, a reminder. A wholly unpleasant one, but fact nonetheless. A violent hand gripping his chin, fingers digging into his massators. Something getting shoved down his throat, a palm atop his mouth so he can't spit.

"I wasn't really able to enjoy the first time I tasted you." He wraps his right hand around Yuji's left one, thumbing over the nub of Yuji's pinky finger. The one that was cut off by Sukuna, the same entity that forced him to swallow the severed limb. "I hope that doesn't make me greedy, to still want more of you. After you already gave me so much."

Yuji gasps beneath him, body arching up. He's shocked at the statement, though knows what Megumi is referring to immediately. "Fuck." It's possibly sick and twisted, to turn a traumatic event into something with different meaning. But it lessens the pain somehow, changes the perspective from what was unfortunate to what wasn't so bad.

Megumi almost lets a chuckle slip, seeing Yuji's pulse thrum fast at the bottom of his neck.

"I'm sure you taste intense. Maybe not so bitter like most. Since I already love your smell, I think it wouldn't be so far off to like your taste." He croons, letting his voice rumble against Yuji's ear. He has let Yuji know about his sensitivities to smells. But it's the first time he lets it slip that he specifically adores Yuji's.

"Tell me."

"Hm?" Megumi musters Yuji, whose flushed to the tips of his ears. His eyes don't look at Megumi, look past his left ear.

"What do I smell like to you?" Not in general. Not objectively. What does he smell like to the one person that matter at this moment.

"Depends." Megumi answers, eyes not leaving Yuji's, daring him to look. He sits down on Yuji's lap, taking Yuji's left hand and placing it close to his chest. "If I take your hands, for example, they often smell of spices, most of all ginger. Since you're always so busy making meals for us."

"Like you?"

"What do you mean?"

"You taste like ginger a lot." Yuji chuckles. "So my hands smell like you."

Megumi squints, doesn't let it knock him off-balance. "I think that's also to blame on you not keeping your hands off me."

"Mm, I guess that's not untrue." Yuji smiles warmly, his left hand tracing Megumi's collar, the column of his neck. The motion and tone triggers a start of goosebumps on Megumi's arms.

"Don't let me stop you." Yuji breaks the minute silence, teasing.

"Let me think." Megumi doesn't need to think. He needs to calm himself, not let his emotions slip. Yuji asking him to elaborate more, as if Megumi hasn't sunken his face into his worn clothes, bought products he used, hasn't spent due time in depravity dissecting his scent into the most nuanced notes. This is his muse, his favorite subject, asking itself to be explained through his eyes.

"No need to get embarrassed. I am interested in your honest opinion, you know." Yuji speaks again, and Megumi really needs him to do less of it.

"Something about your scent drives me crazy." Megumi speaks, as honest Yuji could have him. It silences him effectively, though his body responds. The heat under Megumi's hips pulses.

"It's pine and cypress, but also yuzu and coconut. Those come from what you use to wash yourself with, the soaps that you have. And then there are spice notes that come from your cooking. Ginger, coriander, pepper." He ignores the warmth, the color that penetrates his cheeks against his will. "Beneath all of that, is you. Sweat, desperation, unwavering humanity." He's been stalking the man beneath him practically, studying something intimate of his. Yet he can't find Yuji to be the least bit disturbed. Yuji's response is in fact laughably lighthearted.

"Do I stink?"

"No. That's what has me hooked to you."

"Oh. Is that so..." Yuji chuckles, flustered. He then reaches for Megumi's sweater, fiddling with one of his sleeves. "Take this off, please?" Right. They were kind of in the middle of something before Megumi started this.

Then Yuji pauses when Megumi hesitates, and looks closer when he sees white fabric peak out under the elastic sleeve when he moves it.

"What's this? Bandages?" Yuji presses his fingers around Megumi's wrist, pushing up the sleeve of his sweater.

"Wait, don't-"

Yuji's fingertips dig into the white fabric, face tense with concern. "Did you get hurt?" His nails snag on the material, dig under it to loosen its hold.

"No." Megumi wraps his other hand over Yuji's but the movement has already knocked the wrappings loose. Because there's no crusted, oxygenated blood to hold it to his skin, no pin holding its ends in place. Because it isn't meant to be a serious plaster to a wound.

Only a comforting pressure, scented.

Megumi was so relieved to have Yuji come back from his late mission that he forgot to take it off.

Yuji pulls the wrapping off and reveals slick skin, reflective from moisture. Wafts of coconut and yuzu fill the approximate air.

Yuji's eyebrows knit together, his concern transforming to confusion, then realization. "That smells like... My shampoo?" He runs his thumb over Megumi's pulse point, spreading the remaining cream along the tender warmth of his skin. The shampoo can't sink into Megumi's skin like he desires, not like the lotion that also soaks the discarded bandages can. It sits atop alone, staining its scent into the points of his body where his arteries are closest, allow the intensity of the fragrance to blossom most.

Megumi turns his head away, humiliation a dark sludge in his gut. His depravity floats to the surface. He wishes for nothing more than to drown it once more.

His body freezes, his throat dries. There's no excuse he can come up with, no room for plausible deniability.

"You like my scent this much?" Yuji asks, tone lower than before. Megumi is very aware of how their hips are pressed together, how Yuji would be able to tell how much that tone affects him soon. He needs to get off to save himself the embarrassment.

But before he does, Yuji's other hand is placed firmly on his upper thigh. "Why not just ask me to stick close?"

"It's..." It's not enough, he almost says. Megumi curses under his breath. Yuji's still thumbing over his wrist, smearing the soap around. The sensation chases swirling sparks through his abdomen. "You were on a mission today. So I couldn't." He explains, even if that doesn't make it any less of a big issue. There's something seriously wrong with him, and he's still waiting for Yuji to realize that.

"I see." Yuji answers despite his hopeful expectations, a soft smirk now on his lips. "It's nice that my scent comforts you this much... But in all honesty..."

Megumi braces for impact. Prepares for the sting, the stabbing pain that makes all this heat and feeling leak out with his guts. For his degeneracy to be Yuji's final straw. That this is too much, even for him.

"I don't think this is you just liking my scent. Correct me if I'm wrong, but..." He pulls Megumi's wrist behind himself, closing the distance between their torsos. He sits up, his other hand gripping Megumi's thigh, sliding to its side to hook a finger into a belt loop. "I think part of you is getting off on smelling like me."

What?

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

How Megumi hasn't taken such a thing into consideration is beyond himself. But perhaps he was so occupied to refrain from perverted paths of action that he hasn't gotten to the core of his reasoning. That this isn't just a coping mechanism, or him being obsessed with Yuji's smell. It's keeping part of Yuji with him at all times, marking himself with his essence so they become inseparable. So Yuji claims something else of his, other than his marked skin and thoughts, the focus of his eyes, the direction and tone of his words. His smell, the thing that is Megumi's expertise, a congenital quality.

It's all of the above. Megumi is a disturbed, lonely person, one that yearns above all else to be close to Yuji. The lone person he loves and hasn't lost, who controls his whims to an extent Megumi himself isn't aware of.

A weak gasp escapes his throat, his eyes finding Yuji's again.

"Again, just an assump-"

"You're right. " Megumi tells him. His hips want to move so badly, but he dials down the urge. He can't break this easily, can he? "I haven't considered it, but you're right." He huffs, Yuji's hand slowly letting go of his wrist. "It's to keep a piece of you with me. That's what comforts me."

Yuji's reaction is yet again not something he accounts for. The other closes his eyes tightly, as if concentrating, holding something back. Megumi can see him chew, bite his own tongue.

"What?"

"You can't phrase it like that." Yuji answers, but it's no explanation. Not even in the slightest. Before Megumi can ask him to elaborate, he continues. "Or this will get bad."

"What will?"

"Megumi." Yuji's groans, pushes the edge of his palm to his forehead. "It's the exact reason why I... Bit you. Why I have this... Urge to keep doing it." He opens his eyes, though avoids Megumi.

Megumi doesn't respond, only feels the steadily increasing heat inside him.

"I've been able to dial it back, but the problem is... You taste so good. And when you say things like that, you give me exactly what that part of me wants to hear. I just don't want to ruin anything because of those issues."

Megumi frowns, snarls as he speaks. "Stop making yourself out to be worse. You don't know how bad this has gotten for me as well."

"Tell me, then." Yuji urges him. "Tell me something that's grosser than me wanting to drink your blood, wanting to cling to every taste of you that I can get."

Megumi snaps and he fails to care about his dignity. "You think I haven't done worse? I've borrowed, then I've bought the same products you use for your showers. I've stolen countless hoodies from your closet because they smell like you. And-" He cuts himself off, the feeling he had kneeling in the washing room flooding back to him. Yuji's dirty clothes in his hands. The feeling of the fabric on his face.

The smell.

"What else?" Yuji asks, then looks down.

Megumi is getting aroused. He can feel it. Yuji can see it and feel it.

Megumi needs to shift it back to Yuji, to dial down his guilt. "I don't mind giving you my blood if it's something that helps you. Or if it's just something that you want. It's barely a sacrifice for me."

"You getting hurt for my pleasure isn't fucking weird to you? At all?" Yuji's voice is raised now, appalled.

Megumi is in disbelief as well, almost offended. "After everything that we lived through, you think me getting bitten by you is where I draw the line? The pain isn't even bad."

"It's not… It's not about the amount of pain." Yuji sighs. "I should be avoiding you getting hurt. I should hate it."

"This is clearly different. You still hate when I get injured on missions, or worry for my well-being. If I allow you explicitly to do what you want to do, why is this still an issue?" Megumi looks away, shaking his head subtly. "And you clearly know I enjoy it in some capacity as well."

"Okay, fine." Yuji huffs out. "Then I will forget about the guilt related to that. Or I'll try. But compared to what you did, it's much worse."

"It's not. I violated your privacy without you even being aware of it."

Yuji laughs softly and Megumi feels a frustrated blush fill his cheeks. "You looking through what bath products I use is hardly private, Megumi. I think we worry too much about what we think of each other." He runs his hands up and down Megumi's thighs. Slow, warm circles. "It just needs to make sense to us, right? There's no normal."

'No one can judge us unless they've been us.'

Megumi hums, slowly calming down. "Yeah, okay."

"I'm still glad we talked. Even if you look embarrassed." Yuji teases.

"I'm not embarrassed." Megumi looks at Yuji, who's gaze is fond and gentle. It's dumb, but his heart skips higher when he meets it. "But I'm also glad we got that cleared up."

The topic stays down for a little while, but doesn't die. Whenever they get into the territory of emotional situations, those now admitted-to feelings come bubbling up a lot faster. And their curiosity is only heightened by their mutual devotion. They want to learn the appeal of the other's preferences, what makes them tick.

And while Megumi wouldn't dare to, Yuji plainly asks. Because they're truly beyond the point where they should be ashamed of what they feel. But he can tell it's a bit more difficult to get past it for Megumi. So an equal exchange is in order.

"Tell me your sins and I'll tell you mine." Yuji challenges, staring right into Megumi's eyes. He has him pinned, their hands clasped together as Megumi is beneath him. Again, in the middle of something else. "What were you going to say last time? About what you did?"

"Nothing."

Yuji chuckles. "Sure it wasn't. Do you think I'll judge you?"

Megumi glares at him, then looks down. "Tell me one of yours first."

Yuji hums. "Okay." He loosens his hold a tad, but his weight atop Megumi is still there. He still has the upper hand. "The reason I stole your chewing gum from you the other day was not because I needed some myself, but because it just tastes like you when you've chewed it enough." He chuckles, a little uneasy from the eye contact. "Your turn, Megs."

Megumi feels inadequate. Stealing gum is not that big of a deal, but what he has refrained from saying is a whole other story. But it's only fair, now. "There's a reason I have been adamant about... Doing the laundry."

"What do you mean?" Yuji tilts his head in curiosity.

Megumi huffs in annoyance, flushes in humiliation. Does he need to spell it out? "Y... You know what I mean." Is he doing this on purpose? Playing dumb?

Yuji shakes his head. "I don't."

"What do you think I'd do with your worn workout clothes?"

"You tell me, Megumi." Yuji's smile is almost a little sinister to Megumi. He's playing with his squirming food. He has never seen Yuji with a sadistic side, and doesn't think this is it either. No, the shame Megumi is feeling is making him interpret it this way.

"Don't do this." Megumi whispers, a whine underlining his words.

Yuji pouts softly. "Tell me. I told you. It's only fair." He leans down, pressing their temples together, muttering. "What did you do with my laundry?"

"I got your workout clothes. And then I... Pressed my face into them." Megumi nearly chokes on his own spit. "It was just one time, I-"

"You don't need to clarify, Megumi." Yuji pulls back again, and his smile is light, amused. "It's interesting." He admits, breaking the eye contact. "You always seemed so well-adjusted, I never would've guessed you can be like that too. I like it. Did you think I'd be mad?"

Megumi's heavy heart lets go of some of the weight it's been subjected to.

Yuji doesn't judge him. But as they move past the foreplay, as Megumi is prepped and thrust into, Megumi can see by Yuji's expression alone that he's thinking about it. Contemplating something.

It's in the middle of a relentless pace. Megumi rhythmically rocking back and forth on his back, legs pressed to his chest by Yuji. Then Yuji stops, pulls out.

Megumi has a cry stuck in his throat still, groans at the sudden missing stimulation. He better have a good reason for doing this.

Yuji leans over, grabbing his previously discarded shirt. His eyes are dark when they look back at Megumi, pliant beneath him. His next words come out stagnant, through labored breaths.

"You love smelling like me, right? So how about we make sure that you're drowning in my scent once we're done here." Yuji presses their bodies together, smears his sweat against Megumi's colder skin. "I'm all sweaty now, so it should be easy. But maybe you could wear my shirt, hm?" He dangles the fabric in front of Megumi's face, who's trying to process it still. Megumi sits up with some struggle, but pulls Yuji's shirt over his head. Yuji's cologne cuts through the thick mist of their sweat, the smell of sex rounded out by warm wooden notes.

Yuji presses him back down, eyes focused on his body language before he pushes back inside. "Much better, right?"

Megumi nods softly, chin tilting up at the intrusion. "Please... Don't stop again." He begs.

"Don't even worry about it."

Megumi moans when Yuji resumes his rhythm, his back taught under the other's weight. He's encased in Yuji's presence, the sheets of his bed beneath him, his shirt around his torso, the firmness of his body above. He's sure to have Yuji's scent stained to his skin later on.

Yuji drives his hips deep and keeps them there for a moment, Megumi's abdominal muscles shaking as his hips are lifted further so Yuji's face can come closer to his.

"You always look so good in my clothes." Yuji's words make Megumi tighten around him, his body completely transparent with the person who has been practically tearing it apart with pleasure and ecstasy for the past hour or so. Megumi's body is defenseless, doesn't hide anything from Yuji out of pure instinct and trust. It's akin to being put under, his body sliced open to be inspected most intimately by one enthusiastic but caring surgeon. Megumi's insides getting prodded, his heart being watched for any noticeable change in patterns, his stomach under review to always have enough food in it, to never let him get hungry. Megumi truly feels vulnerable, and is so relieved that Yuji is not the person to take advantage of such a situation. The only thing he does is spill light into his ribcage, dosing it so heavily until Megumi's self-doubt crumbles to dust.

Yuji presses a kiss to Megumi's forehead, presses their sweaty hairlines together. His hips are still and Megumi stirs, trying to get Yuji back on track. This feels wonderful, but he can only take a pause so long before he grows needy.

"Please, keep moving." Megumi whispers, his chest pounding against Yuji's as their bodies press together. Yuji is rutting against his sweet spot, and Megumi has been getting closer than he'd like to be.

"I get it now. Why you like this so much." Yuji's hips don't thrust as he speaks, they grind. Swallow movements, but ones that hit Megumi's prostate nonetheless. "The scent is marking you."

Megumi wishes Yuji would talk less. His body is not getting the idea that it should hold out for much longer than this.

Yuji's hips part from his just a little, but the thrust is so slow it doesn't ring out the pleasure, doesn't echo the tension all the way down Megumi's legs. No, it's only precisely where it hits that Megumi can feel him.

𖦹

Yuji's head spins. He truly feels animalistic. Megumi shakes beneath him and yet he can only continue his slow thrusts as his mind races.

Megumi's scent is covered up almost completely. Yuji can smell his own deodorant, can smell sweat. He can smell his own cologne. Megumi's body is like marked territory, and it should feel dehumanizing, but Yuji doesn't think it's a deserved comparison. It's more like an armor, of sorts, wrapping around Megumi. They're signaling who he belongs to, from his scent to the marks on his neck and thighs. Yuji can't believe they haven't done this sooner.

Yuji speeds up his hips, because he can hear Megumi muffled through his line of though, but he can tell Megumi is getting close and needs him faster than this.

And he can tell Megumi has been waiting too long because the first thing he breathlessly cries out are 'thank you's. Five ones, marking each thrust Yuji takes.

"I'm sorry baby, I got distracted. I'm here now, I got you."

Megumi doesn't reply with words, only noises. His hands grip Yuji's biceps, his head tilting back along with his pupils. Yuji wraps a hand around his length, making sure the mess Megumi makes doesn't stain his shirt. He wants it to stay on for a bit longer.

And also because it'd be a waste. He licks his fingers once Megumi is calming down, savoring it. Megumi's eyes are veiled as they watch him do it.

The theme of distraction increases in size. Yuji's urges are unbound now, free to roam.

It doesn't always stay good like Yuji expects and wants it to. It melts into the same areas of his brain that care for Megumi, poisons the well of his empathy. Sometimes, Yuji can't stop those two parts of himself from mixing.

Megumi is bleeding. A slash across his gut, blood leaks heavily from him. He can't tell if it's shallow or not. Yuji exorcised the curse no second later, but it doesn't erase the wound it left on Megumi.

"Let me see." Yuji tells him, kneeling next to Megumi as he does as well, curling into himself with bitten back grunts of pain. Megumi lifts his forearm from the wound, his sleeve soaking up some of the blood.

Yuji unbuttons his jacket, takes it off as well as his clean shirt beneath. That formerly white underlayer is then pressed to Megumi's abdomen with the firm pressure it needs. Yuji could try to heal it, but he's terrified of making a mistake. Reverse Cursed Technique is still new to him. He doesn't have the refined ways of it down how Shoko or Yuta has. The idea of leaving Megumi marked with his failures even further frightens him too much.

Megumi huffs out in pain, isn't taking deep breaths like he should. "Damnit." Megumi speaks through gritted teeth and a sharp tongue.

Yuji picks him up, the option he prefers most being getting Megumi back to safe ground, to someone who can heal him with confidence.

He finds Yuta first. And Yuji knows that he owes Yuta a lot more favors than the other way around, but he hopes Yuta will spare him one once more.

"You should really find Shoko, next time. I'm not as good as healing others." Yuji apologizes once again in response to Yuta's words.

Yuji carefully kneels down, still keeping Megumi in his arms. He doesn't want to put him down on the hard flooring.

"Yuji."

Yuji doesn't know he spaced out until Yuta snaps him out of it. "He'll be fine. You can relax." Yuta reassures him.

"Right."

Yuji is staring at Megumi's blood. The one staining his clothes, trailing behind them as a physical path. And then there's the collide. For one, it's a monument of Megumi's hurt, his pain. He's still quietly biting back groans, trying to keep it to himself but Yuji hears it clear as day. And it makes Yuji sick with shameful guilt and sympathy.

And then there's the other side of the same coin. Where Yuji views Megumi's leaking blood as parts of him that are lost, when they could've been cherished. Yuji could've swallowed them, kept them safe, carried their delicate warmth in his. Now that warmth evaporates, sinks into the cold wooden flooring of school grounds.

Yuji vows to keep Megumi within his protection. And that means all of it. He grows angry, knowing he failed, that he let parts of Megumi grow cold. Even as they are replaced with new blood by Yuta, even if Megumi is barely aware of that fact himself. Yuji still feels he could've done better, prevented it all.

In the aftermath, as Megumi retreats to his room and so does Yuji, the latter's palms are still red. Slick with the crimson of Megumi's blood, some of it oxygenated and almost black, a brittle thin crust on Yuji's skin. It doesn't grow cold like the spilled blood on the floor does.

Yuji's tongue acts quick. He speaks quiet apologies through confused tears, tears that don't know why he has this capacity of upset for something otherwise so little. Megumi is save, yet he feels this way.

He laps up the blood from his palms, scrapes the dried bits of it off with his teeth. He drinks up what he can, doesn't care about the possible curse blood that stains the thin space between his fingers since he exorcised one right before. He only focuses on Megumi.

"I'm sorry. That shouldn't have happened."

His need to consume Megumi feeds into his constant wariness, his so easily triggered guilt. In moments like these it's suffocating.

"Yuji?"

Yuji turns around without thinking, because he can't face away from Megumi's voice. He will always turn back to look at him.

Megumi sees him with saliva-slicked palms, with crimson around his lips. With dying apologies on his hungry tongue and drying tears on his cheeks.

And still, Megumi doesn't deem him a monster.

Yuji wonders if he ever will.