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good company

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He shouldn't have let Usami get him on his back, Ogata thinks. He should've gotten to his hands and knees while he still had the chance. Usami would've shoved his face into the floor, probably, but he doesn't mind that. He likes the dull ache of pressure at the base of his skull, or the suffocating weight between his shoulder blades, when Usami holds him down. And that way, at least, Ogata wouldn't have to look at him.

But he's here now, sprawled naked against the tatami mats with one leg hooked over Usami's shoulder. Usami's still half-dressed, shirt unbuttoned and trousers open, flashing his teeth as he grins.

"What?" Ogata snaps, because he's going to find out either way.

Usami reaches over for the cap that's gotten knocked off of him, plucks it almost primly from the floor. "Don't you think," he says, smile stretching wider as he squares the cap on his head, "that I look a little like him?"

"No," Ogata says, although it's telling enough that he knows exactly who Usami means. He could leave it at that, he knows. Usami won't drop it, because Usami's a dog with a bone, when he gets an idea in his head. But Ogata's participation in whatever game he's playing now is optional. He knows that.

Still, he reaches up and tips the cap low enough that he can't see Usami's eyes. "Now you look like him."

The curve of his mouth is all wrong, the angle of his jaw too soft. But in the dim light, with the shadows stark over his face, Usami almost looks like him. It's something in the way the light catches on the bridge of his nose, the crest of his cheekbones. Wide shoulders and slender waist, a similar heft of lean muscle. 

"How nasty of you, Hyakunosuke," Usami says, with clear delight.

Even the girth of his cock is almost right, too, the way it makes Ogata's body tense up as it pushes in. The fullness of it, the protest that crawls under his skin when he can't take any more, but there's still more to take. There's the echo of a memory in the way he's shaking by the time Usami gets the whole thing inside of him.

"Shut up."

"Mm," Usami hums, like he's considering it. He's holding Ogata open on his cock, stroking idly over his chest as it rises and falls unsteadily. "No, I don't think I will," he says, and the deliberate sing-song cadence has dropped out of his voice. It's lower, softer, and he's holding his words more politely on his tongue. "You can't hide from me, Brother."

Ogata hates, desperately, the way his insides grip Usami's cock in response, sudden and hungry. "Don't fucking call me that," he bites out, but he's also looking away from Usami's sharp grin, the tell-tale dots of his moles. Looking at the parts of Usami that don't look like Usami.

"I'm inside of you," Usami says, almost blandly, like he might have forgotten. Like Ogata isn't panting and squirming on his cock. He's still using his prettier words, his neater tone. "I can feel what you like."

"You're disgusting," Ogata tells him, but he's still watching Usami through his eyelashes, at just the right angle that it doesn't quite look like Usami.

Usami ignores him and goes on, almost dreamily, as he fucks Ogata with a languid press of his hips. "I bet he was gentle, wasn't he? A sweet boy like that? He wouldn't know how to use you like the whore that you are."

Ogata's been called far worse by men who knew far less about him, and mostly he finds the accusation rote. But for Usami to be dragging Yuusaku into it now—for Usami to invoke Yuusaku while fucking him—is somehow a more grievous insult. He knows better than to rise to Usami's baiting. He knows well enough that the best way to get Usami to stop doing anything is to make it boring for him. Still, he catches himself biting down a retort.

"Hmm. But maybe he couldn't help himself," Usami continues, edging Ogata's hips higher. "So pent up, and with his dear elder brother so willing... well, maybe he just couldn't resist. Could he?"

Ogata doesn't answer, and Usami's mouth tightens into a little frown.

"Tell me," Usami demands, pulling Ogata's hips against his, punctuating his words with a sharp thrust. "Did he bend you over and fuck you stupid? Or was he so incorruptible after all? Hmm?"

"Shut up," Ogata growls, despite himself, and hates the way Usami laughs in response.

"Aww. Do you want me to treat you nice?" Usami asks, teeth gleaming in the half-dark. "Do you want me to fuck you slow and call you Brother so you can pretend it's him?"

Ogata reaches up without thinking and backhands him across his smirking face, the crack of skin on skin deafening in the quiet room. His hand stings with the impact of it, and Usami's face swivels back from where it's been snapped suddenly aside, eyes bright with glee. He shakes his head like a dog, like he's shedding Ogata's touch, and thrusts hard enough to hurt. The force of it jostles Ogata up against the tatami, friction burning his back, pushing the breath out of him.

"You little shit," Usami says, voice edging higher with delight, and he's smiling as he fits his palm over Ogata's throat and squeezes. "I'm going to fuck you until you cry."

"Yes," Ogata rasps, because Usami likes it better when he's defiant, and he isn't going to give Usami what he likes. Usami hasn't earned the satisfaction of seeing him struggle.

Usami's grip sinks against the soft underbelly of his jaw, pinching firmly, and he can't speak, can't breathe. The feeling of it leaps under his skin, immediate and distant at once. He's hyper-aware of everywhere they're touching, and everywhere they aren't.

"You never want it nice," Usami says, grinning too wide, snapping his hips forward at a punishing pace. "I bet he was too nice for you. I bet you had to fake it for him."

Ogata remembers, hazily, being held so close and so sweetly that it felt like being swallowed alive. Remembers the careful, seeking press of mouths, remembers their hands pressed palm to palm. The tenderness had been its own brand of cruelty, terrifying and incomprehensible.

But, well, Ogata had returned Yuusaku's cruelty with his own. It isn't worth thinking about, not anymore.

His heartbeat pounds heavily in his ears, and he rides the swelling tide of panic and nausea until Usami's grip lets up. He gasps for air, reflexive and unthinking, so quick that it leaves him coughing wetly. There's the flood of relief and the warm, ruddy pleasure of it. His head swims.

Usami is petting at his throat, thumb stroking over his hammering pulse. More of a threat than a reassurance, still fucking into him relentlessly.

"There, there," Usami murmurs, a mockery of kindness, before he closes his hand over Ogata's throat once more. More pressure on his windpipe, now, heavy and tight and painful.

Ogata hears himself make a strangled noise, somewhere between a gurgle and a moan. His cock jerks against his belly as he's choked again, achingly hard and sticky with precum. He hadn't even noticed. He can't focus on all of it at once.

"Do you still want it to be him?" Usami asks, as Ogata wheezes underneath him. "Do you want your sweet baby brother to punish you for what you did to him?"

"Hhghh," Ogata manages. He rolls his hips back, fucks himself on Usami's cock with a shamelessness that should appall him. At least with Usami, he's in something like good company. Usami's seen worse. There's no point in holding back around him.

Both hands are at his throat now, squeezing, not just cutting off the airflow but constricting tightly enough to hurt. He realizes with dull alarm that it might be too much, that he might lose consciousness, but the slow bloom of panic is exciting in its own way. His whole body is buzzing, and he's wound tight on Usami's cock, his entire awareness stinging like a raw nerve.

It feels good. It feels real

He grabs at Usami's forearms, just to have something to hold onto, digging his fingers in forcefully enough to bruise. His vision is going hazy, and Usami is blurred out of focus above him, just the vague shape of a man.

"Do you want to come," Usami purrs, voice low and soft. "Brother?"

Ogata gasps as Usami's grip lets up just enough for him to drag in a single breath, shaky and half-formed, and then Usami's hands close around his throat again. Usami's cock is pushing insistently inside of him, and it would be punching the air out of him if he could still breathe.

At least Usami's hands are catching his moans in his throat, he thinks. At least he's only embarrassing himself so much.

"You need my dick, don't you?" Usami demands, breathless with excitement. "You need to be fucked like this. You slut." His voice is a little mean, or a little happy. It's the same sound on him, more often than not. "It's all you're good for, isn't it?"

Yes, Ogata thinks, deliriously, as his vision dims.

The world tips out of focus and when he blinks his eyes open again, his hands have fallen away from Usami's forearms, lying limp against the tatami. Usami's still fucking him, still pinning him by the throat. Lightly enough that he can breathe, but maybe he just likes to see his hand against Ogata's neck.

"There you are," Usami says, as Ogata lifts his gaze to stare blearily up at him. He can't have been out for long, but it's still disarming. He feels freshly exposed, repulsed by the weakness he's allowed Usami to see. He's still hard, and he knows better than to be surprised by it.

Usami isn't talking, now. He's quiet as he presses his hand over Ogata's face, smothering him a little. Ogata pulls in half-breaths under his sweaty palm, between the space of his fingers. And still only half-aware, it's easy for Ogata to imagine that it's Yuusaku. 

How horrified would his brother be, he wonders, at choking him out? How fervently would he apologize?

The idea of Yuusaku losing his control so thoroughly is ridiculous, impossible, but Ogata finds that he still wants to see it. It twists low in his belly, the dissatisfaction of knowing that he never pushed Yuusaku so far. That he never got to see him like this.

Maybe Yuusaku will come back as a wraith, he thinks. Maybe he'll come back wrong. Maybe the ghost of his brother will kill him. Maybe the ghost of his brother will fuck him like this, covering his nose and mouth, the way Usami is now.

He imagines being held under Yuusaku's broad-knuckled hands, the burning in his lungs amplifying until it overtakes him. He imagines Yuusaku saying how dare you. Saying, I trusted you, how could you. He imagines not waking up.

Usami's free hand folds around his cock, and Ogata reaches for him without thinking. He presses his hands at Usami's back, squeezing at the curve of his muscle, and Usami leans in, noses at the bolt of his jaw.

"Brother," Usami murmurs, and there's a knife in it, in his unsettling mimicry of softness.

It doesn't sound anything like him—it doesn't—but for the space of a moment, Ogata lets himself believe that it does. He's lost in the feeling of being filled and trapped underneath a warm body, of fingers slipping wetly against the head of his cock.

"Yuusaku," he gasps, without quite meaning to, senseless in the daze of asphyxiation and jittering on the edge of orgasm. He regrets it instantly, flinches from the way Usami laughs breathlessly against his ear, but Usami doesn't stop fucking him. "Sir—"

"Mm." Usami's mouth is hot against his aching throat, and Ogata ruts into his fist with a strangled moan. "Brother, brother, you're so needy—"

Ogata's head is spinning, hazy with the weight of endorphins. So he just gasps wordlessly and lets Usami fuck him quick and frantic until they're both shaking apart. Usami pulls out at the last moment and spills all over his belly, their cum smearing together on his skin. It feels strangely polite, compared to the rest of it.

Ogata rubs at his bruised throat as Usami flops over on the tatami beside him, landing flat on his back with a loud, satisfied sigh. 

"You're such a freak," Usami says, matter-of-fact and almost fond.

Ogata casts him a pointed glance. "I'm a freak?"

Usami makes a pleased little noise and turns, nuzzling into his shoulder. All docile now, in the way that only Usami can quite manage to be. It's a special kind of contentment reserved for after he's trotted out his violence, after he's made a spectacle of himself. He's almost harmless, like this.

"You know," he says, dragging his fingertips through the cum on Ogata's belly. "I could get my hands on an officer's uniform. What do you think?"

"Absolutely not," Ogata snaps, but he's already picturing it. The braided cords hanging open as Usami fucks him, cap pulled low over his face. The familiar soft fabric crushing underneath his hands. It's an unduly pleasing thought.

And Usami laughs knowingly against his skin, the clear pealing of a bell in the dark.