Maybe Tomorrow, Satan

“Ah.” Itadori really looks at him then; his eyes are no less red, no less bright. “Then you’re worried I’ll hurt him.”

“That’s not it either,” Yuuji says firmly. “This is my soul too. I don’t trust you two with it.”

“That’s fair,” Itadori allows, “but you’ll have to leave eventually.”

“I know that.” Yuuji’s both dreading and desperately looking forward to it. “And I will. But not yet.”

Itadori nods, turning back to Sukuna’s strung-up body. “I guess we do owe you a show.”

“That’s not what I said!”

Itadori doesn’t even bother acknowledging that, once again fully focused on molesting Sukuna with his eyes. Yuuji doesn’t really get it. He’s been doing hands-on groping this whole time, and now he’s just standing there eye-fucking Sukuna like the bastard will melt away or something if he reaches out to touch.

But Yuuji can admit there’s a lot to look at. Sukuna’s been moved again, the bloody tendrils he’s wrapped up in rearranging him at what must be Itadori’s whim. His whole body’s parallel to the blood-drenched ground again, and his legs have been stretched out to match the splay of his arms. It leaves every hard plane and bulging muscle of his body on obscene display.

Put like that, it’s pretty obvious why Itadori’s taking his sweet time with this.

Sukuna doesn’t exactly seem happy about it, but he’s not bitching at them either. Or attacking them all with those slashes. Yuuji doubts it’s because Sukuna knows it won’t work—that didn’t stop him the last couple of times. Plus, he hasn’t really complained for a while now.

Since we ate his heart, a corner of his mind corrects mercilessly.

The proof of that whole nasty affair is also almost gone. The hole over Sukuna’s heart has healed, and while there’s blood smeared all over his mouth and chest, it just blends in with the blood all over his domain and on their bodies. What gives it away is the look on his face—the hot satisfaction still lingering in the low sweep of his lashes and the lazy curl of his mouth.

“Are you just going to stand there and stare at him?” Yuuji asks, since Sukuna sure isn’t going to. “It’s been, like, ten minutes.”

“Has it?” Itadori asks, with a dull sort of surprise. “I can’t tell time very well these days.”

“Well, it’s not like I’ve been timing it,” Yuuji mutters. “But I’m pretty sure it’s been a while. So cut it out. Do something.”

“You do want that show then.”

Yuuji opens his mouth in automatic protest—and closes it. He did walk into that.

At least Itadori’s finally moving, even if it’s just to step into the cradle of Sukuna’s legs instead of just staring into the space between them like a special-grade creep. Not that he’s less creepy about it now. Both of his hands drag along Sukuna’s legs from ankles to thighs. The coils of blood in their path seem to tremble when he touches them, but the bindings don’t loosen at all. It’s the stretches of skin in between that Itadori focuses on, squeezing or stroking or just rubbing his fingers against each one, and even though Yuuji saw him do exactly this to Sukuna’s arms earlier, the sight isn’t any less unsettling.

Finally, Itadori’s hands come to a rest on Sukuna’s hips—and Yuuji is reminded uncomfortably of the fact that he must have looked exactly the same a few minutes ago.

His naked lower half feels like an accusation whenever he focuses on it. He’d only shoved his pants and boxers down to his ankles before fucking Sukuna, but when he finished, he found that they were just…gone. Like the blood had turned into acid and dissolved them or something. And he’s seen Sukuna just wish clothes into being—or at least that same old-fashioned get-up he always wears—but Yuuji has no idea how to do that. He’s still not sure how he’s managing to stand on the blood instead of sinking into it. Thinking about his pants sure hasn’t made them magically appear.

And he’s not going to ask Itadori, at least not while he’s in the middle of yet another one of his Sukuna harassment routines.

“Does it hurt?” Itadori asks suddenly, and Yuuji refocuses on the others to find that Itadori’s hands have migrated to Sukuna’s ass, gripping thick handfuls that Yuuji isn’t far enough away to not see. “Or have you gone and healed it already?”

Sukuna snorts, the sound and his expression radiating disdain. “As if I’d spare any thought for such inconsequential pain.”

“Hm,” says Itadori—and one of his hands vanish from Sukuna’s ass.

Yuuji knows, from the angle and Sukuna’s sudden snarl, exactly what Itadori’s done with it.

Sure enough, a moment later, Itadori’s holding up a couple of bloodstained fingers in front of his face. He rubs his thumb over them, smearing the red. Something squirms in Yuuji’s stomach, and he can’t quite tell whether it’s discomfort or something worse.

Itadori asks, “Want me to kiss it better?”

Sukuna’s glare doubles in intensity. “Keep your filthy mouth to yourself.”

“Hey, don’t knock it till you’ve tried it,” Itadori says mildly. “Come to think of it, has anyone eaten you out? I can’t quite see anyone offering. King of Curses isn’t a very inviting title, is it? Bet that mouth on your belly would give them all sorts of other ideas anyway. Maybe that little monk you liked so much—”

“Enough,” Sukuna snaps. “You know nothing.”

“No,” Itadori agrees, “but I can guess a thing or two. And I’d wager I’m about to blow your mind.”

Sukuna lets out a short burst of laughter that drips with derision. “You overestimate yourself, as always. Do you truly believe you and your perversions are any different from those in my time? Human nature is constant. Only the lies you tell yourselves vary, and even they’re so dreadfully dull.”

“You always did take a dim view of humanity,” Itadori murmurs, his eyes growing distant. He’s smiling too, small and strangely wistful. “A narrow one too. Tell me then—how am I lying to myself?”

Sukuna’s eyes all flicker down, as if he’s taking in the length of his own bound, suspended body. “The audacity to believe you’ve earned the right to put your mouth on me is a graver sin than any mere lie.”

“Now who’s lying?” Itadori leans forward, crossing his arms on Sukuna’s underbelly—the oversized mouth right above it snaps furiously, catching only air. “I have earned it, Sukuna.”

“Presumptuous fool,” Sukuna growls.

“Might makes right—that’s your philosophy.” Itadori lifts a foot, tucking it over the heel of his shoe, and more of his weight seems to bear down on Sukuna, whose body doesn’t even waver in the air. “You’re helpless right now, completely at my mercy. Doesn’t that give me the right to do whatever I want to you?”

“It’s not ours,” Yuuji says, his throat tight around the words, and six separate eyes snap to him, all of them burning red. He chokes down whatever the fuck he’s feeling and says, more loudly, “That’s his philosophy. Not ours.”

“Not yours,” Itadori agrees softly. The distinction isn’t lost on Yuuji, and it’s no surprise, not after everything he’s seen Itadori do, and it’s hypocritical too, given what Yuuji’s done too, but— “Not mine either, if it helps. Well, not always. It’s complicated.”

Yuuji breathes out roughly through his nose; he doesn’t know what to feel about that either.

“Just…do whatever you’re going to do,” he says in the end, making more eye contact with Sukuna despite his better judgement. The cold fury there makes infinitely more sense to Yuuji than the perverse satisfaction earlier. “It’s creepier when you try to justify it.”

“Is that what you think I’m doing?” Itadori asks, now sounding way too amused. “Man, I must be really bad at flirting now. In my defense, it’s been a while.”

Yuuji gapes at him, and in his periphery, he can see Sukuna’s features distort with the same outrage he’s choking on.