Ominous Messages From The Void

Sukuna’s lips twist into a sneer. “Desperate whore.”

“Not yet,” Itadori says placidly. “But you will be.”

“The years must truly have addled your mind,” Sukuna drawls, “if you’re mistaking me for Gojou Satoru.”

Even from this distance, Yuuji can see how Itadori’s hand clamps down on Sukuna’s groin. But Sukuna just laughs like Itadori isn’t crushing his cock.

Itadori yanks, his arm sweeping to the side like a conductor’s grand gesture. For a moment, Yuuji thinks he’s ripped Sukuna’s dick off, and he can’t help wincing, even though Sukuna doesn’t deserve his sympathy. Yuuji’s gone for the crotch a time or two when fighting too, mostly when he thought the other guy really deserved it, but a punch or a kick to the dick is a lot different from—

Then it registers, the unbloodied scrap of white fabric dangling from Itadori’s fist, and suddenly, Yuuji’s not sure if he wouldn’t have preferred a severed cock.

“Hey!” he protests, except it sounds weak and wavering even to himself. And then he sees what Itadori’s newest bullshit has exposed. “Why the hell does he have two dicks? And why are they hard, you bastard?!”

“Stop blathering, boy.” All four of Sukuna’s eyes throw Yuuji a scalding glare. “You’re an eyesore through and through.”

Yuuji gapes at him for a moment. Then he turns to Itadori, finding him watching Yuuji with a faint smile.

“You want me to fuck that?” Yuuji asks him, gesturing wildly at Sukuna.

“I’m asking if you want to,” Itadori corrects. A corner of his mouth quirks sharply up. “Aren’t you tempted though? You could finally shut him up.”

“I can just break his jaw.”

“This one talks too,” Itadori says, tapping the thick lower lip of Sukuna’s belly mouth. It snaps at him, monstrous teeth clacking shut around thin air. “He’d heal anyway. And no matter how badly you hurt him, he won’t change. I guess we’re a lot alike that way.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Sukuna says flatly.

“It’s different when it’s pleasure,” Itadori continues, ignoring Sukuna again. He also stops groping him, even walking backward until he’s no longer between those splayed legs. But his hand’s quick to return to Sukuna, clasping an ankle. “And you’re all about pleasure, aren’t you, Sukuna?”

“Bold of you to think you can please me,” Sukuna says, his tone and his expression all imperious in a way that clashes terribly with the state he’s in. “You might be willing to fuck anything with a pulse, but I have far more discerning tastes.”

Itadori hums thoughtfully. “A pulse isn’t strictly necessary. Technically, we don’t have one down here. These bodies are just simulacra—our souls copying the shapes we know.”

“That is so not the point,” Yuuji mutters, dragging a hand over his face.

Whatever Sukuna might have replied with is lost to the sudden violent movement of the ropes of blood binding his legs. Yuuji startles a little as they squirm and shift and tighten, crushing the loose hakama between their coils to emphasize the sheer thickness of the legs underneath. Then a bunch of smaller tendrils shoot up from the apparently endless pool of blood below, their tips weirdly sharp—like spearpoints.

They pierce the fabric and slide inside, the coils wrapped over the hakama loosening to let the new invaders move freely, and even knowing what’s coming, Yuuji still gasps as Sukuna’s pants are shredded from the inside.

The scraps fall to the ground, soaking up the blood and sinking right in. Or maybe they’re just vanishing. Yuuji can’t quite tell. He spends an extra second half-heartedly trying to figure it out, just so he can avoid looking up.

“Stop fighting,” Itadori says, sounding half amused and half chiding. “We both know you’re not going anywhere.”

“I’ll peel off your skin and feed it to you charred.”

“You won’t even cook it properly? Wow, it’s almost like you hate me.”

“Hatred,” Sukuna says tightly, “doesn’t capture a fraction of my loathing for you.”

“That’s fine.” Itadori’s voice is very soft. Almost tender. Yuuji continues staring blankly at the blood below. “I decided a very long time ago that I’d chew up every single curse in your belly.”

Sukuna makes a noise then, thick and dark with fury and other writhing things, and Yuuji finally looks up, freezing when he realizes that he’s somehow a lot closer to the other two now, even though he has no memory of taking those steps.

Itadori is standing beside Sukuna’s hip now, with his right hand resting idly on the space right under the mouth on Sukuna’s stomach. Yuuji tries not to look, but his eyes still slip to the two thick cocks jutting out side by side near that hand. They’re still obscenely hard, and the whole visual is even more lewd now because Sukuna’s legs are naked and also all bent, the calves pressed flush to the underside of his thighs, a dozen thick tendrils of fresh red blood binding them tightly together. They’re spread so wide too, and Yuuji doesn’t know if he’s relieved or disappointed that he can’t see between them from where he’s standing.

Sukuna makes another noise, mostly a growl, and Yuuji drags his eyes to less guilty lands, except that also backfires when he sees Itadori dig his fingers into Sukuna’s underbelly like he plans to tear those curses out of his stomach by the fistful, and the violence of it wouldn’t have bothered Yuuji, not when Sukuna’s the victim, but there’s something about the taut curve of Itadori’s knuckles that makes him think of naked bodies and clasped hands, and the heat it pours into his veins is festering with filth.

I’m not gonna get hard about this, Yuuji tells himself. I refuse.

His cock throbs like it couldn’t give less of a shit what he wants or doesn’t want.

At least the other two aren’t in any danger of noticing. Itadori’s stopped trying to claw into Sukuna’s stomach and is sliding that hand upward, right over the massive mouth that tries and fails to take a chunk out of that hand, again, and along the impossibly broad chest above it. It drifts to the side, with an ease that’d have looked casual if anything about this was normal or even sane. As it is, Yuuji just feels a dull set of resignation as that hand closes around a narrow slab of muscle that Yuuji first thought was part of Sukuna’s abs but is now being forced to realize is a second, smaller pair of tits. There are nipples and everything.

And Itadori’s merrily squeezing it.

Sukuna’s watching his hand like he’s imagining it flayed open and probably fried or something. The expression doesn’t change even when Itadori’s hand graduates to the larger, more familiar-looking pec above it.

Still, Yuuji doesn’t trust that expression either. Sukuna’s cocks are still hard.

Itadori’s hand moves again, ghosting over the curve of a collarbone and sliding more firmly up the side of that thick throat. It settles on the side of Sukuna’s face, cupping it and tilting it toward Itadori.

Sukuna bares both sets of teeth.

Itadori bends down to kiss him on the mouth.

Maybe, if Yuuji tries really hard, he can swim back up to his body and leave these two to fuck in his soul. It can’t dirty the thing more than Sukuna already has.

Not that Yuuji’s any less guilty.

He doesn’t actually try to leave. Something keeps him rooted to the spot, keeps his eyes fixed on the mouths slotted together only a few feet in front of him, and he doesn’t look away even as blood starts to sluice down Sukuna’s jaw.

Itadori rises from the kiss with blood smeared all over his chin, and below, Sukuna’s teeth are still bared, now with blood bubbling between them as he hisses something incomprehensible at Itadori, and Yuuji’s so sure that Itadori lost a lip or maybe a tongue to that bastard’s mouth, but then he looks, really looks, at Itadori’s face and—

There’s a tongue clutched between his teeth, wet and red and twitching.

Itadori tilts his head back and opens his mouth, and the tongue vanishes down his maw. His throat swells as it swallows.

Yuuji’s stomach churns, heat and bile mixing together into an unholy mess.

Yuuji knows eyes like that. He grew up knowing them, learning them, until he started seeing them in the mirror too. He can’t decide if Gojou’s storm of blues is really more unsettling than the ringed red he’s used to—but they’re still very pretty.

He lifts his other arm from the floor, adjusting his body for better balance, and cups the side of Gojou’s face, stroking his thumb over the sharp curve of a cheekbone. Gojou’s eyes don’t waver from Yuuji’s, but Yuuji still feels like he’s being watched and seen everywhere—his mouth, his hands, even the cock aching dully between his legs.

He swallows thickly.

Gojou swallows too, just more gracefully. His tongue flexes again, but this time, it moves, twisting out from under Yuuji’s fingers to push into the gap between them, hot and slick and dirty, and before Yuuji can do more than choke down a moan, Gojou’s mouth closes properly around his fingers and sucks, spilling filthy little noises into the air.

Yuuji’s cock throbs.

“Fuck,” he says again, a hundred times more helplessly.

Gojou’s eyes flutter almost shut, only thin slivers of blue visible between thick white lashes, and his mouth grows more enthusiastic around Yuuji’s fingers, alternating between wet twists of that tongue and sheer, searing suction, and Yuuji can’t not imagine all of it focused on another part of his body, and he can’t tell if the answering pulse of his cock is needy jealousy or sympathetic pleasure. He half wishes he had a hand to spare to touch it, and he does, technically, but he finds that he doesn’t want to stop touching Gojou’s face.

His skin is soft. Its warmth is almost gentle compared to the blistering heat of his mouth.

Yuuji drags his thumb from the underside of Gojou’s eyes to the corner of his occupied mouth, feeling the shape of his own fingers through the flesh of his cheek. Hot suction threatens to melt down the fingers inside Gojou’s mouth, and the other three fingers on that hand feel cold and bereft.