Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The only difference between medicine and poison is the dose. Which is why Rin is carefully scanning the instructions on the box of cold medicine.

Practically skipping down the hall, the joy from his footsteps bouncing off the linoleum. Rin couldn't be happier. Sae is sick. Stupid, perfect Sae is sick. And now Rin is gonna caretake the shit out of him.

He’ll keep the glass full. Stack the blankets into a fortress. Force Sae to rest even if it kills him. And prove to all of Blue Lock—Sae included—that Rin isn’t annoying, isn't just tolerable, but indispensable.

He's needed.

Perfect circumstances entirely created by Rin. Or the universe.

Sae only caught this cold because Rin had it first.

Because Rin was weak. Sae had mocked him, but he’d also touched Rin’s forehead, held out a glass of water, softened for half a second—then paid for it with his own fever.

That was Rin's good luck working for him. Cruel, yes, but he was going to make it right.

He rounds the corner toward their dorm, rehearsing how he’ll say, sit down, idiot, let me take care of you, when he slows.

There’s… a crowd. A cluster of Blue Lock players huddled outside his door, craning their necks like they’re watching the season finale of a show Rin forgot to binge.

Rin frowns. His grip tightens on the medicine. He pushes forward, about to snarl at them to move—when he follows their gaze.

And freezes.

Because there, in the middle of the room, in plain view through the open doorway, is Sae. Naked.

Not just naked—moving. Naked and gracefully, repeatedly kicking the air like some deranged fever-possessed martial artist. Each arc of his leg is too high, too sharp, too beautiful for someone allegedly bedridden.

The crowd murmurs appreciatively. Someone (Bachira? It better not be Bachira) is doing an Ego impression, like:
"Observe his form. No—observe his ass."

Someone actually claps.

Rin nearly drops the medicine. His brain short-circuits between everyone can see him and he’s supposed to be resting and I'll kill him!

He lunges forward, shoving through the spectators. “He’s sick! He’s contagious! Don’t—stop staring!”

Sae doesn’t glance his way, just pivots on his heel and launches another absurdly high kick, slicing Rin's perfect caretaking dreams in half in the stale dorm air.

He's dead, Rin thinks, already planning his alibi.

Chapter Text

“Get back in bed,” Rin orders.

“No,” Sae says, wobbling. “You can't make me.”

“You’re burning up. You can’t even stand straight.”

“I don’t get sick. My body’s just—” Sae lifts a hand like he’s giving a lecture—“optimizing its temperature regulation.”

“You’re naked.”

“Air circulation. You wouldn’t understand.”

He stumbles. Rin grabs him by the arm and drags him back toward the bed, cursing under his breath.

The cold medicine waits on the nightstand. Menacing.

Rin measures it out in the little plastic cup—he knows how much he needs to knock him out, but pours past that, filling to the comatose line. He offers it to Sae.

Sae squints. “What’s this?”

“It’s medicine, you idiot.” Then Rin remembers: no insults, no death threats. Just wholesome caretaker. “Something to make you feel better. To help you sleep.”

Sae opens his mouth obediently. Rin tips the syrup in.

And immediately gets it spit back in his face.

“I know you’re trying to poison me,” Sae says calmly, his lips sticky green.

Rin crushes the plastic cup in his fist.

Sae just grins, cough syrup smeared across his teeth like some nightmare toothpaste commercial.

Rin glances at the pillow.

He thinks: suffocate him.
He thinks: no, poison him.
He thinks: okay fine, maybe not poison, but definitely sedation.

He’s already failing as a caretaker. The dorm is a biohazard: tissues everywhere, Sae’s clothes peeled off in damp little piles, Rin’s own dirty laundry stranded on the floor. He's gonna have to close his eyes and pretend hard that he's in domestic heaven.

Rin uncrumples the cup with shaking fingers. “What do I have to do to get you to take your medicine?”

“Beg,” Sae says.

The cup buckles in Rin’s hand again. His eyes flick back to the pillow. He could end this. He could kill both of them. Smother Sae with the heavy, soft kiss of the pillow. Watch as he kicks, struggles, mutters something annoying to Rin as his final words.

Or maybe if Rin's lucky, the idiot might apologize and accept fate like: “I'm sorry. I'm an ass. You were right to suffocate me.”

If Sae said that, Rin could die happy.

Wait—

Is he seriously fantasizing about double suicide with his brother?

Honestly, that’s love. And self-care.

But maybe not good caretaking…

So, he forces the words through his teeth: “Take your medicine. Please. You idiot.”

This time, Sae grabs the entire bottle, tilts his head back, and downs it like he’s winning a drinking contest. Rin lunges, wrestles the bottle out of his hands before he can kill himself. And then, finally manages to shove him back into bed.

Sae curls up, lips green, smiling like a kid who just drank a Slimer Hi-C juice box. High on sugar, or something more lethal. Naked.

Rin stands over him, vibrating with fury.
Medicine bottle dripping in his hand.
This is wholesome.
Loving.
Caretaking—

Fuck.

He's going to have to pretend harder than this.

Chapter Text

Rin sits on the edge of the bed, stroking Sae’s hair. It’s damp with sweat, but he doesn’t care.

He remembers Sae doing the same for him last week—the careful, absentminded head pats—and how he’d pretended to still be asleep just so Sae wouldn’t stop.

The memory makes Rin smile before he can stop himself. He tugs the blanket higher, tucking Sae in like he means it.

For ten minutes, Sae lies still. Then he shudders awake, shivering violently.

“This is because you took all your clothes off,” Rin mutters.

“No. The room temperature is hostile. Fix it.”

“…what do you want me to do, crawl inside you and fix your thermostat manually?”

Rin snorts at himself, like he just wrote a line for one of his horny fanfics.

“No,” Sae whines. “Be useful for once.”

Sae’s arm hooks clumsily around Rin’s waist, tugging—or trying to. His strength fails.

Weak, stupid, idiot. Rin almost laughs.

But then—

“Hold me,” Sae says.

It’s so small, so quiet, Rin almost mistakes it for begging.

So he climbs in beside him. Spoons Sae gently, his arm wrapping across Sae’s narrow waist.

Sae clutches his hand like he needs it, like Rin is warmth itself.

And Rin—the weak, stupid, idiot—melts like a parent going back on no desserts and serving ice cream for dinner. One little request for comfort in Sae's miserable state, and suddenly Rin is putty.

Suddenly Sae’s not a naked, little toxic green menace.

He’s Rin’s sick little spoon.

Rin brushes Sae’s hair off his neck and presses a kiss there without thinking.

I’m sorry I got you sick, he wants to say. I’ll be here as long as you need me.

He kisses his nape again, softer this time.

Sae breathes raggedly, through his mouth, congested. Rin squeezes his hand like a promise. He thinks maybe, impossibly, his love could squeeze the sickness out of him.

Sae squeezes back. Brings Rin’s hand to his lips. Kisses his knuckles, syrup-sticky.

Rin’s chest aches. Like:
Is this love?
This is love.

“Nii-chan…” Rin whispers, awe flooding him.
Now ready to give all of himself,
all of his love,
to confess—

But Sae slides Rin’s hand lower.
Nestles it against the bare curve of his thigh.
Closes Rin’s fingers around the softest, most vulnerable part of him.

Rin blinks. And now he’s the one burning up.

Sae’s chest rattles with wheezing laughter. “Pervert,” he croaks, shaking Rin’s own hand so his balls jiggle like some warm, egg-shaped silly putty.

Rin’s fingers twitch, then grip, just for a second. Soft velvet, spilling into his palm—

He rips his hand away like it burned him. “Go to sleep,” he snaps, face hot, throat dry.

Sae’s grin is green-stained and dripping with poison.

He burrows back into the blanket, smug in his nakedness.

Rin lies stiff behind him, humiliated, furious, mentally drafting his confession—for fratricide.

Not love or anything stupid like that.

Chapter Text

Fifteen minutes later, Rin is stuck.

Sae radiates heat like a dying furnace—trembling, sweat soaking through the blanket, plastering Rin to his side.

“Now you’re sweating all over me,” Rin mutters.

“That’s you,” Sae says without opening his eyes. “You’re projecting your sweat onto me.”

“That’s not even—” Rin grimaces. “You’re dripping onto my face.”

Sae rolls just enough to peer blearily at him. His pupils dilated, wet, glassy, reflecting the light. Then, with deadly calm:

“Hallucinations are another symptom of your weak constitution.”

Rin glares, throat full of curses, while Sae—satisfied—shuts his eyes like he’s drifting into a cozy dream he just earned.

Rin’s hand curls around the pillow.

Warm, relaxing images flash before him:
Rin: lounging on the beach—somewhere tropical, foreign—sipping from a coconut.
Sae: dead, face down floating in a swamp of his own creation.
Rin: zero chill, zero cares.

It could work. But he’ll have to pick a country without an extradition treaty.

Rin lifts the pillow, but before he can make a violent decision, Sae’s nose begins to run.

Reflex overtakes him. Rin snatches a tissue from the nightstand, presses it against Sae’s face.

“Blow,” he orders.

Sae lies still.

“Blow!”

Sae shakes his head, in earnest, like he’s scared, like he’s some stupid troll hoarding snot for next Halloween.

Rin wants to dump milk on him.

“Just blow already,” Rin hisses.

Finally, Sae exhales with such force that mucus splatters onto Rin’s hand.

Normally, Rin would be disgusted. He’d gag, shove Sae away, maybe even wipe it back on him.

But something’s wrong with Rin.
Something’s happening.

He just thinks: it’s Sae’s snot.

And wipes it away like it’s water.

He wipes Sae’s face too, gentle despite the mess.

Sae exhales again, softer. Rin hears the faint whistle of air through his nose—finally, Sae can breathe again.

Warm, validating images flash before him:
Rin, on stage in front of all of Blue Lock, receiving his best caretaker award.
Sae hands it to him, places a hand to the small of his back, leans in and says, “Thank you, for taking such good care of me.” Quiet enough that it’s a secret soft moment shared just between the two of them.

The mattress whines as Sae rolls over and buries his damp face against Rin’s chest like he belongs there.

Rin doesn’t fight it.
Rin embraces it.
With a hand pressing against Sae’s back.

Within minutes they’re both asleep, Sae drooling openly on Rin’s shirt.

Rin hating how much he doesn’t hate it.

Rin hating how he secretly loves it.

Chapter Text

Rin wakes with his face wet.

Sae’s rolled halfway on top of him, fever-hot and sloppy, mouthing at his lips like he’s forgotten how kissing works. Rin sighs—more exasperated than flustered—but his hands still move:
into Sae’s damp hair, down the slick line of his spine.
This is wholesome.
This is loving.

This is fucking caretaking—that’s what Rin tells himself, at least.

The kiss tastes sweet, cool like mentholated death poison. Sae licks Rin's mouth, shaking his head like he's imagining motorboating Rin's ass.
It's almost funny.
But then Rin tastes salt, and, yea there’s definitely snot mixed in this witch's brew of a kiss.

Rin almost gags. Like he should stop, but something's wrong with him.
He pulls Sae closer instead.
And let's the cursed makeout session continue.

When Sae finally goes slack against him, Rin feels a heat—stiff and shameful—strangled against his waistband. He’s hard. Worse—Sae’s hard too. Even while knocked half-unconscious, he's pressing his naked boner right into Rin.

Sae’s perfect, straight demeanor, smug.
Teasing.
Mocking Rin's bent dick trapped in underwear hell.

Rin tells himself he’s going to ignore it. Don't give that clean-cut cock the time of day. He'll lie still until it gets bored and goes away.

But Sae won’t stay still. His leg hooks over Rin’s hip, dragging him closer. His body shifts, hips flexing. And suddenly Sae’s whimpering, humping Rin like a dog dreaming about its favorite leg.

Sae's hard insistence is slapping against Rin's weak-willed wet willy. It's linear, naked perfection taunts Rin’s curved clothed cock, like:

Step into the light.
Breathe.
Touch grass.
Come out and play you twisted, tumescent shut in.

Okay, Rin clearly isn't thinking straight.

Rin closes his eyes and mentally backspaces the five or six dick metaphors.

This is wholesome.

Rin just holds Sae, nothing more.

This is loving.

Rin grits his teeth. Sae grinds in little circles.

This is fucking—

Sae whines, a sound so pathetic that Rin really has to pretend this is still caretaking.

But then his hands slip lower.
Almost experimentally.

He tells himself he'll just hold it, caringly. But the feel of Sae's stupid, perfect round ass sitting in the palms of Rin's hands—Rin's brain starts looping like it's running broken script. Suddenly pi was invented from this moment, from the circumference of perfection, and Rin hates how the mental math is mathing.
Like reality is he doesn't want to want his brother.
But it's inevitable.

It's just science—I mean math.

And somewhere between ass math and the caring brother act, Rin squeezes Sae's butt.

Sae doesn’t flinch.
Just breathes heavy, like he's doing the sleeping brother act. Then the grinding starts again—deeper this time.

Rin’s pulse pounds.

Reckless now, he lets a finger slide further. Circling the rim, an impulse ruminating on a thought: Rin wants to fuck him. The thought slams in.

Selfish.
Undeniable.

Instantly Rin is burned, scorched by the fever, sweat dripping molten down his knuckle. It's wrong. He's sick. But Sae shudders, choking on each gasp, each push, like each stretch is shortening his lifespan.

Rin pulls Sae's struggling body into him. Locking an arm around the waist. Kissing the damp of Sae's neck every time the thighs spasm.

“You like that, huh?” he pants. “You want it, Nii-chan?”

He pushes deeper, curling, testing.

Sae’s insides flutter around him.
Weak, desperate.
Begging.

Rin loves it.

And Rin hates it.
Hates himself. Hates the way his cock twitches every time he's dragged deeper. This isn’t supposed to be about him. It’s about caretaking. About emptying Sae out, wringing him clean, working him until sleep takes him.

Sae claws weakly at Rin's shoulder, whimpering like a child in pain. Still his eyes are shut, like he's sleeping. And Rin tells himself he's just giving him a good dream. Something gentle, caring, giving.

But the heat inside him is brutal. It takes.

The wet walls clench Rin’s fingers like they’re the only cool thing left in the room. He thinks about suffocating him again, this time with his hand, this time from the inside. Maybe even with his mouth. Smother him until he stops writhing. End him with tenderness.

Rin presses a second finger in.

And then—

Sae’s eyes crack open, fevered but still sharp enough. His voice low, cutting:

“What are you doing?”

Rin jerks his hand back, only half awake from the dream. “I—I was taking your temperature. You’ve got a fever.”

The slap comes fast. Hard. Knocking the fog from Rin's brain. Sending a hot jolt between his thighs.

“What the fuck!” Rin snarls, fully awake now.

Sae, voice hoarse but smug and a little pouty:

“I’m sick. I’m not supposed to feel good.”

Rin’s ears burn.

“…Wait.”  He thinks. “You liked it?”

And then, as if the world splits in two, suddenly, Sae has no words.

In that moment, Rin swears he sees it:

Sae lost, eyes searching like he's calculating his slip up.
Did he just admit to liking something Rin did?
To liking Rin?

But the moment dies when that sick green grin spreads over Sae's mouth. Like he's found his answer. And Rin isn't going to like it.

Rin feels the blood drain out of him, then rush back twice as hot.

He wants to kill him. He wants to fuck him. He wants to put two fingers back in and kiss him again.

Chapter Text

I’m not supposed to feel good.
He's sick.

But Rin burns in a different way now. Not fever. Not shame—

Desire.

Turned on by the thought that he made Sae feel good. That Sae’s body chose him. Wrapped him in its heat, clung to him, begged and sucked his fingers in—as if holding on for dear life.
Even the words I'm not supposed to feel good still echo for Rin.

Like a truth not even Sae can twist.

Rin traces a line of sweat along Sae's thigh. The last slow moment before Rin flips him.

The mattress creaks.

Sae, on his back.
Rin straddling him, mouth pressing down, hungry.
It's sloppy, hard, but it's Rin.
It’s good. And it’s bad.
It’s a kiss and it’s a punishment, Rin’s tongue everywhere licking mouth-corners, bumping against the nose, teeth—like bad NPC pathfinding.

He doesn't really know what he's doing, but he keeps sucking and licking.

Sae breaks for breath, rasping:

“You’re bad at kissing.”

Rin glares, doesn’t stop. Except to say:

“Shut up.”

His hand slips, brushing against Sae’s perfect pale pink princess nipples—a place Sae never lets Rin touch.

But when Sae squeaks. Startled, honest. Rin's eyes gleam like he's stumbled upon royal treasure unguarded.

He laughs, then, does it again.
Fingers rolling the peak until Sae arches under him.
His body, his cries—caught, trapped and too weak to hide.

Rin grins. “Oh, so you do feel things.”

Another slap.
Right across Rin's face.

So hard, his dick jumps like it's offended.

“What the fuck!” Rin growls.

Sae’s lips are swollen, the green gone, now licked and sucked clean thanks to Rin.
But there's no smile.
Lips tight. He just looks pissed or serious or—

Humiliated?

It's the pink in Sae's cheek, the quickened breathing, that makes Rin lean in again. He kisses down Sae’s chest. Teeth grazing, tongue circling, until Sae’s nipples glisten.

Rin feels him writhing underneath his weight.

Struggling under a hunger bigger, more powerful than his weak frame.

He palms lower, hand sliding over Sae's hot, slippery length. When he grips the tip and squeezes, Rin stills.

His hand has war flashbacks: the flimsy tissue, just blow already, warm sticky snot dripping down his fingers.

Sae sneezes. And Rin just looks at him. Face flushed, nose wet, lips bitten raw. He's leaking everywhere.

It’s disgusting.

It’s hot.

“Let me take care of you,” Rin mutters, desperate. Because this is still caretaking.

He lifts Sae’s leg, spreads him open. Sweat runs down the split. It's hot. Sae’s hole flexes like it’s gasping, finally able to breathe.

Rin presses the tip against him. Nudges. Pleads:

“Let me fuck your ass to sleep.”

Sae jerks. Kicks. His heel slams straight in Rin’s face.

Swearing, Rin drops back—nose stinging. He clamps his hand over the pain, but when he pulls away there's a tinge of red smeared across his thumb.

A deadly heat rises in him. It should be sharp, but it's soft, lingering in the corner of his vision. Beside Sae's glistening head—
The pillow.
Begging to be used in a fit of blood lust.

But then, Sae, curling in fetal position like a cute little unborn baby, says:

“I’m sick. That means I get to top. Otherwise, you’re taking advantage of me.”

Rin just stares. “Are you serious?!”

But Sae smiles.
Innocent.

Like a baby who doesn't know how close he is to being aborted.

Rin growls, muttering, “Whatever,” but refuses to give him the satisfaction.

If he's fucking this stupid baby, he's doing it in reverse.
Sae doesn't deserve to look Rin in his beautiful eyes as his fat ass fucks him to heaven.

Of course, Rin should've known this would be hell.
Now they're both naked, suffering under wet squelches.

Sae: stretched out, on his back, arms folded behind his head—relaxing like a terminal patient too stupid to realize this is his last sunny vacation before the sweet release of death.
Rin: riding him in reverse and hating every moment of his poorly planned decision—like maybe he should’ve made Sae look him in the eyes. Hold his gaze as he takes him calm, in controlled pulls.
But instead, Rin’s staring at twitching feet while Sae stares a hole in his ass.

But this is wholesome.
Sae: "Who taught you how to shake ass like that?"

This is loving.
Sae’s voice, smug even wrecked: “See? I told you I wasn’t sick. If I was, would I be fucking you this good?”
Rin blurts, furious: “You’re literally not moving!”

This is fucking.
"Don't be shy. I know it feels good. Why else would you be dripping down my cock like that?"
Rin thinks: It's sweat you fucking moron.
No. He thinks: Shut up before I crush you.
No, he really thinks: Okay. Fuck, it feels good. Why the hell does it feel so good?!
Each slap against Sae’s hips is like mashing butt into a greasy banana peel, sloppy, sliding on cold linoleum.

Absolutely the opposite of hot.

Absolutely—shiver-inducing anyway.

Sae’s hands slide over him. Hot and cold. Wet and slithering. Gripping Rin’s ass, spreading him, owning him.

Rin freezes. Wants to complain. Wants to run.

But his body won’t.

Every grope, every wet squeeze makes him clench tighter, makes his cock throb, makes his pride crumble.

Rin is so miserable, he could die.
But he moans instead. Long, slow, drawn out. Tears sting his eyes, like he’s mourning every wave of pleasure—as it crashes and dies—right before the next drags out.
Rin watches the little pinky toe curl.
Sae squeaks: “Not yet.” Holding on. Not ready to let go.
Rin’s heart aches at the sound—sick little spoon crying out—like he needs him.  Needs a wet, hot, hole—squeezing hard—just to milk him.
Rin, whispering: “It’s okay, baby. I got you.” Wraps his fingers right along his own aching length. Like it’s begging, crying out. Wet, hot, sticky.
Grips it tighter. Gasps. Rocks into his fist
like he needs a good, hard—
Fuck. It feels so good he could die.

“Rin—”
The rhythm stutters with the flinch of a pinky toe.

“My sick, desperate, little brother.”
Sae laughs, low, sticky, sliding under Rin’s skin.
Slow.
“How long have you been fantasizing riding your Nii-chan like he’s the last dick on earth?”

“Only—” Rin chokes.
Fuck.
Hopefully Sae didn’t hear that.
 “Shut up and cum already so you can sleep,” Rin mutters, rocking faster.

Yes.
This is caretaking. For sure.

Sae slaps his ass and he tightens.
Hums and he rides him faster.

Like his body sings Sae’s rhythm—obediently—when instructed.

It’s wet.
Hot.

Humiliating.

The mattress squeaks, laughing at him.
A repetitive, mocking chorus.

He loves it.
Hates it.

He loves hating it.

But he's not supposed to feel good.
It's sick.

Chapter Text

The air in the room hovers—still, slow and condensed—like dew beading on a cold glass pane.

Sae lies in bed, stiff as the quiet fogs around him.
A dark puddle of slick dampens the sheets.
Humidifier mist kisses his drenched skin.

As Rin quietly fucks away at him—sweaty-ass wet slaps echoing like a ripple in a tranquil pond.

Each press against Sae in reverse—each deep seat and release—feels controlled and deliberate. Slow enough to lull the room to sleep.

But how it feels is a lie.

Rin is mindlessly fucking away.

Drift off to sleep.
Drift off to sleep.

Drums against Rin's mushy brain as he keeps a steady pace.

He almost falls for it.

Rin's chin dips. Starts to nod off, but just like clockwork, once things get too peaceful—Sae ruins it.

"Mm." His dick stirs. Jerks, scraping the soaked walls.
"I'm awake!" Rin snaps up, too sharp, then drops all his weight—down—wrong.

Sae hums again—higher, sharper. His leg kicks out, seizing, tremors rattling the bed.

Rin freezes.
Is it happening?
Finally?

His eyes widen. Watches as the winning sequence plays out:

Thigh trembling. Calf tensing. Foot flexing—
Toes clenched!

“Yes!” Rin shoots up, fists in the air, kneeling like he just hit the jackpot.

"No!" Sae gasps as his dick slips out.
The bed creaks as he tries to sit up.
Arm stretched out, straining for Rin's warm ass.

The moist air punches his dick—hard, cold—and Sae collapses. His back hits the mattress soundless—sweat-soaked sheets cradle him, then trace his outline like chalk on asphalt.

Sae opens his mouth but nothing comes out.
Rin's perfect plush yet firm curves hovering over his hips like a tease.

Sae can't help but notice how it jiggles each time Rin thrusts his arm.

Rin punches the air—and the air punches Sae’s pathetic dick back.

Sae's lip trembles. Fingers clutch the nothing, the distance between them.

But his mouth won't form the words his brain screams:

Don't you dare beg. Don't you—

The humidifier coughs up a fog, setting the scene:

Sae’s balls tighten against him like a Victorian orphan, searching for warmth on the cold, foggy London streets.

But no one will have him. No one will look his way.

Darkness nearly takes him, but then—
The sound of proud, wet slaps—rich-people shoes on cobblestone.

He opens his eyes and there's Rin—dangling two fat, round money sacks directly in front of the desperate orphan.

Cruelly, Rin jiggles the sacks—teasing, daring him like:

BEG YOU IDIOT!

The humidifier hums, snaking mist around Rin in a victory lap.

Quiet takes the room.

And Sae—
Tears it back in chaos, begging, screaming:
"Fuck me again, bitch!"

Surprised, Rin falls back.
Sae's impossibly straight pole spears him—thrusting him back into hell, back into submission.

Sae hisses.

Rin moans achingly—half of it choked in a wet sob.
Tears streak his cheeks, and he clutches the sheets, trying impossibly to steady himself.

But gravity’s a cruel bitch; it drags him back again—until the back of his skull cracks against Sae’s jaw.

"Fuck!" Rin kicks, twists. His head throbbing.
The shock sends thoughts flying like: Why is his chin so hard! Shit, wait— Is he okay?

His chest tightens. Rin sits up as Sae lets out a flat "Ow." He wants to help—but the tension beneath him… Something’s wrong.

Rin tilts, lifts off enough—

And Sae grabs his hips and slams him back down.

A wet squelch, sticky, smacking Rin’s ass back where it belongs.

"Mm." Sae, relieved. His dick does a weak, little happy tug. Claiming from the inside—

Stay where you are—you’re mine.

And Rin, helpless, squeezes back. Hard, holding the tension.
His breath stutters.
Eyes clench shut. Locks his fist at the base of his cock.

Strokes.

Sae fucks him in tiny, slow, deliberate thrusts.

Fingers dig into Rin's hips, pulling him into each push. Controlled. Commanding:

Get back to work, slut.

The room stinks of sex. The air tastes nauseating.

"Wait— Why are you still hard?"

Sae relaxes back into his sweat puddle throne. His eyes bounce every time Rin does.

Sae smirks. "Because you didn't finish me."
Sucks his teeth. Shakes his head. "Bad caretaker," he mutters.

Rin tries to ignore him, but something about that stings. He rubs his chest, slick—hollow.

Sae settles down, thrusts gradually more shallow until—

He’s still.

The bed squeaks, relentless, under Rin’s flushed, slippery butt. It laughs on every bounce, gossiping to no one.

Bad caretaker.

It's just a joke.

But each time Rin lands on it—it aches. His thighs drip with slick. His eyes follow.

Whatever. It’s not serious. He’s not crying.
Still Rin coughs trying to hide his sad little sniff.

Thoughtlessly, his position shifts. A hand taps the hip and Rin tilts like he needs the instruction.

Which is a lie. He doesn't.

He wipes his eyes, but that makes them sting worse.

Blinking, Rin changes thought.
How is he still hard?!

Sae’s been dragging this whole thing out for his own twisted pleasure. The king of edging, smug in his throne, staring at the cliff blurred in the horizon.

What is Rin doing wrong?

This has to end.
In peace or chaos, doesn’t matter—

He'll finish him.

The air in the room has all but congealed close to forming that weird mash of hard meets amoeba soup. Like gelatin dinner, it’s tricky to swallow.

The taste slides on Rin’s tongue as he slurps air in. Bitter and sick, a mix.

Sae's little piggies wiggle and Rin grunts, tired, annoyed.

Thinks to end Sae with a finishing move. It’s something he practiced maybe once.

Read it in a fanfic actually—so he knows it’ll work.

Rin glances back.
Sae with that dopey grin. He keeps poking the dimple in Rin’s ass. Then giggling to himself, soundless.

He looks like a lunatic.

He has to die.
Rin decides.
It’s an act of care.

So he’ll get it done quickly.

Like a controlled, precise sequence of stick wiggles and button presses, Rin lifts, twists and sits disastrously WRONG.

His butt bone collides with something hard.

And Sae kicks the blanket off the bed. His piggies curl over in pain. Like someone kicked them in their little piggy balls.

Rin doesn’t realize why at first—but he feels the ache tangled in his gut.

It pulses. Soft, fragile, easy to break.

Rin watches the sequence of movements like déjà vu:

Thigh trembling. Calf tensing. Foot flexing—

His stomach tightens, eyes widen and Rin freezes. His hips shut down.

Looks over his shoulder and sees Sae gritting his teeth—eyes focused on Rin's backside. Disassociating the pain away with ass.

Toes grip and release—a tiny heartbeat. Pulse spike.

Ow.

That sting again.
Bad caretaker echoes in his head.

So his brother kicks when it hurts…

Rin tucks his chin into his chest. Sae's thigh tenses beneath him and his heart aches.

Rin ruins everything he touches.
Why can’t he be more like Sae?

Sae cared for Rin perfectly only a week ago—surprisingly gentle and more patient.
Rin tugs on his bangs too ashamed to move.

This whole time he felt he was comforting Sae.

But how it feels is a lie.

Sae hums low. The sound holds, like it’s stretching time. It feels like a lingering moment of pleasure released.

For a second, Rin wants to believe it—

No…

It can’t feel good.

It’s a lie.

All he does is hurt him.

Neither of them really moves at all.

The air stills. The bed’s gone silent.

Somehow, in the dim, even Sae’s sweat puddle seems lighter.

They’re tethered in the same position.
Rin seated with his back toward Sae.
His spine curved, slumping forward.

For Rin, Sae doesn’t exist beyond the waist down.
And the legs he’d rather not see, so Sae only exists in the revolving motion of Rin poking his sack—they roll over each other and Rin watches mindlessly.

Tiny, uncooperative stress balls

Rin sighs. Rolls through another loop of mentally hating himself. An image emerges from the spiral: Rin, on stage being awarded Worst Caretaker—as Sae, wheelchair-bound, lobs tomatoes at him from the audience.

He sighs, louder.

Pokes Sae’s balls some more.

His finger sinks into the crease that splits his brother’s soft orbs into separate but safe pouches.

His world is a hideous place with me in it, Rin thinks.

The sheets rustle. Rin blinks. And a shiver runs up his spine.

A delicate touch at the small of his back. Tiny pressure—a poke tickling boney vertebrae.

Rin arches, sitting up as fingers trace the length of his spine, slow and deliberate. A sigh, quiet, almost imperceptible—like the world never held its breath.
Only hushed to admire another part of itself.

Rin hums, presses back. His own fingers stretching the skin, watching carefully as bouncing balls shrink when released.
Warm, pliable. They stretch and compact.
Like they’re alive, separate but tethered to the same pulse.

Another flicker of skin-on-skin.

Another link in the spine.

Mindful fingertips continue pressing every angle, corner, and ridge of awkward protruding bone. Trailing the dip in the seam where the two halves of its brother connect into Rin.

The faint tremor pulls hard and Rin sits deeper, anchored.

Sae’s hand exists now and Rin feels it against his cheek.
Two quiet pats and Rin feels it in his head—his Nii-chan’s palm, heavy, real resting on his crown.
Pat. Pat. "It's okay."

Rin closes his eyes like he’s sick again—if he pretends to sleep, then the hand will stay.

A shiver. Fear in a blink he might lose it.

But this time he wants to see.
Needs to know what real care looks like.

He turns back just enough to catch a glimpse. A peek over the shoulder.

Quiet. Careful not to ruin.
Rin sees his world, perfect, real—like a bambi in a clearing.
A flower trembling beneath its lips, a butterfly tracing invisible paths above.
The world seems to have blinked, leaving only him and this fleeting, unbreakable peace.

Nii-chan—dazed, silent—a slant of light paints his damp forehead. A halo pressing ugly, sweat slicked bangs to skin.
Eyes half-lidded, doesn’t even notice Rin watching.
Simply lost in the depths of rounded perfection. His finger traces the curve lower and the smile on his face fades as he blinks.
Brow furrows.
Sniffs.
A second of regret when he palms his nose. Hand immediately returns, rests along Rin’s hip.
A twinkle of longing, need, awe—as he rubs at his eye. Lashes flutter and blink away the final tear.

“What’s with that face?” Rin laughs.

The angel does the tiniest yawn. Inhales in stutters.
One, breath. Two, breath.

Yawns and collapses.

And Rin mirrors him.
Peaceful.

But a tinge of regret sits on Rin’s final question.

Sae glances up.
Blinks.

Smirks.

Peace was never an option.

He’ll ruin his brother in four words.

Chapter Text

"What's with that face?" Rin laughs. It sounds rhetorical but he wants to understand. Needs an answer and yet—

The humidifier gurgles.

Sae blinks. Looks up at Rin for a moment. Long enough to smile at him like a secret code before returning to more pressing matters.
Rin's butt—motionless, weighing his flattened frame into the mattress. Pale like the moon, mysterious. Soft. Firm. Powerful and yet it yields given the right encouragement.

Sae pokes the butt with a single probing finger. His shoulders shake weakly as he laughs silently to himself.

Probably thinking something like "lol butt."

Head empty.

The quiet closes around him until it vanishes. Not into sound, just unnecessary to notice.
Rin's soft warmth smushed against him occupies the space quiet used to hold.

What a silly thing to be so into.
And how lovely it is to own that feeling.

A rectangular light blinks from the nightstand.
Winks at Sae.
Catches the corner of his eye.
Rin unaware how deep Sae’s love for him goes.

The humidifier whirrs—a droning sound that blurs quiet into nothing.

It's a cycle that repeats. Always has always will.

The phone on the nightstand goes dark. Restraining.

Sae pats the tender moment.
Pooling warmth in his palm.
Sunlight dripping into cupped hands—can’t control it, only surrender in the feeling.
Or the memory a week ago: Sae watching over sick Rin lying face down in bed—drooling. Heavy, aching body finally relaxed and floating off into nothing.
Sae pats him twice, whispers sweet words to him and kisses goodnight.

The nightstand’s dark.

Sae knows Rin’s light was always at its finest unrestrained.

The humidifier spits out mist in exhaust.
The warmth suspends the air around them overcast.

Sae lies still on the bed, Rin’s heat wrapped around him.
This moment means nothing but it still hurts to want it.
Sae holds Rin cupped, dripping heavy in the palm of his hands.
Rin means everything and Sae refuses to release him.

The phone on the nightstand blinks bright.

Rin's blinks slow. His question hangs in the still air, patient words—caring, soft.

Playful.

Sae feels the question and reflects.

Cute little brother clinging in his lap, sleepy—thinks he’s safe but he's not.
Night falls and surrender calls him.
Sick little brother, needy, loving—dreaming, suspended unaware
Light from the night winks at them with a secret.

Sae's trapped in a cycle

Rin repeats, "What's with that face?"

The springs in the mattress stretch under Rin’s weight.

Rin glares at the twitch of Sae's mouth.
Then twist back around to the legs sticking out from under him—lying flat and lifeless like Rin pressed the feeling out of them.

He thinks to wake it up.
Needs the answer. Needs attention.
Goes to pinch Sae's muscular thigh. Fingers poised pincer-like freeze before taking a bite.

Sae's fingers kiss Rin's hip light as mist, tracing the curve—reverent and slow.

Feel the answer: it’s love.

Rin looks back over his shoulder. Their eyes don't connect but Rin presses his hand to Sae's closing it down against his waist.

This is giving. Comfort.

Sae's hands cold and trembling as if awed, humbled by grace. He’s steadied under Rin’s light touch.

Sae answers, mindful, eyes lingering on their shared embrace. "I was just thinking…"

Rin's breath hitches as fingers flex under his then thread the gap. Even when beneath him, Sae finds a way to hold him.

Rin's heart flutters and Sae sighs.

"I own this ass." He says dreamily.

Delusionally.

Rin takes a deep breath, starts counting in his head, trying to release the anger.

Well, he makes it to four.
Gives up.

Bites his lips. Curls his fingers under until he's holding Sae's hand so hard, his nails bite crescents into his brother's palm.

"Ow," Sae mouths. And he doesn't have to say, well, another word.

The quiet is ruined.

The rest of the world folds back in under Rin's death grip.
Humidifier gurgles like it's choking on itself.
Sound of muffled, playful voices vibrate along the bedside wall—reminding Rin he's still in the Blue Lock dorms.

Rin's over it.

He shakes Sae's hand loose from his, like Sae was the only one holding on.

"Alright. I'm done. I'm getting off."

"No," Sae snaps.
He slaps his hands to Rin's hips.
Grips so hard Rin hisses.
Moves Rin's hips. "Mine."

And Rin moves with him.

The bed shudders, Rin’s thighs shake.
Instinct takes control. Rin rolls into his brother's tiny slow push.
Drips and digs in deeper—losing himself to the heat.
Exhausted, his brain whittles down to need, feeling.
Acts for Sae.

Rin looks back over his shoulder at his cruel director.

He gasps when he sees Sae, grinning, holding a phone up recording the sick play. Rin keeps moving, only breaking character enough to swat at the phone.

Sae grips it tighter and dodges Rin, eyes glued to the obscene motion on screen.
Never changing focus unless glancing at the real thing—sliding, greedy, performing like a hungry slut.
Sweaty ass shaking—light catches a bead, shuddering, trembling under each clap.

"Dance for me, little butterfly," Sae whispers happily to himself. But Rin keeps swatting, ruining the shot.

Sae slaps the bothersome hand.

"Stop it," Rin snaps.

Sae glares. At the phone—but it's meant for Rin's face.
Never the ass.

Respect the butt.

"No," Sae whines, still stubborn. He needs this, needs Rin holding him—and proof of this moment.

It’s real—in front of him, bending, pulsing and loving every thick inch of him.
Real, now.
Soon, though…

The sweat bead on Rin’s ass shakes free and plops. Melts lost in the pool of Sae’s fevered slick.

Wet slaps come quicker. Rin pants, “Fuck me..” deeper, closer in surrender.

Sae steadies Rin’s wild hips, fingers trembling against the fever of skin.

“Don’t stop,” Rin mutters, voice cracked open.

Sae’s legs squirm for balance. Still intent on ruining him, his hips tilt in—grinds slow, deliberate, chasing that one perfect seam of friction.

It tightens, pulling a single shallow gasp from Sae as he holds his position.

Pushes in slow. Teasing.

The wet, needy hole pulses—shivering and begging

“Fuck me harder, please—Nii-chan!”

Rin rides him faster, deeper—impatiently chasing.

“You need me,” Sae murmurs. “Don’t you ever let me go.”

He grips Rin’s ass, spreads and watches—the shine on his wet cock sucked and smothered in his little brother’s moans.

It grips him tight—letting Sae know it listens to its master.
Does exactly as it’s told.

The bed squeaks and Rin lets go. He wants it. Wants to give in to this feeling.
This comfort.
His love.

Heat floods through Rin—spilling the late-afternoon sun along the curve of his spine. He folds forward—mind blank, breath soaked in sheets.

A faint desire to move passes by. Fight, maybe. But Sae’s rolling thrusts bury him. Lifts him. Pushes him through a wave of submission.

Could struggle but—

It feels too good.

Rin shuts his eyes. Every muscle draws tight, every thread connecting, pulls taut around the moment, around Sae.

He knows he can’t hold on forever…

He tries to breathe, but it releases in coughs. Spits out in the most painstaking groan—like a wounded beast tamed.
Sae’s close to pushing him to tears but—

It’s never felt this good before.

Sae’s never known Rin this deeply, and still—he hits the spot like he’s done this in every lifetime.

Rin whines softly, “Please…”

It’s never been this way before.

The hand drifts along Rin’s back, rising, falling—a wave tugging him under, a breath keeping him afloat. Sae’s hand finds the center, slips between them. A finger pressing into the soft, wet pulse that clings to his brother.

Sae’s cock tilting, rubbing under a light touch.
Rin feels the pressure harder.

Bright white heat burns through his skin.

He clings but Sae's the one who has the hold on him.

The angle, the way Sae twists and rocks his hips—reads as command. Rin's need to submit rises in him—feral, animal—relational.

Sae asserts his dominance—like a canine pinning his weak brother and fucking him into place.

And Rin would let it happen.

He rolls over in bed, like he's told, and lies flat.
His cock aches, wedged between belly and mattress.

He breathes the hot dorm air and waits.

His ass shakes, prepared to get ran through—like it’s his birthright to lie there and take it.

Sae climbs on top and shoves in deep, to the hilt.
All in one go.
Hums as his cock jerks.

The heat pulls Rin into a long, tense arch. He whimpers, writhes, and drags the sheets up with him.

His brother’s fucking him raw from behind.

And Rin just feels that’s where he belongs.

He relaxes and lets it happen.
A metronome holds time—the sound of hips snapping into soft, yielding flesh echoes. Pace speeds up.
But somehow it feels slow—droning, blurring into a pool of ripples.

Rin sinks.

It'll never feel this good again.

He shuts his eyes and drifts off to sleep.

Rin.

Rin.

"Rin!"

"I'm awake," Rin blurts. His face wet, sticky—cheek in a warm puddle of drool against the sheets.
Rin pushes up with his hands, but his stomach stays flat against the bed.

He can't move.

Sae is lying limp against Rin's back, his brother's dead weight like an albatross, pinning Rin.

Rin stretches his legs, blood flows upward—followed by the sinking sensation still heavy in his gut.

Sae—impossibly, infuriatingly—is still hard.
Cock still buried deep inside Rin.

Rin huffs exhausted, annoyed. Mood shifts to uncaring until Sae whines—loud and annoying, directly in his ear.

"Rin!"

It's so humiliatingly needy and pathetic that Rin flips tone. Warmth floods his chest with a protective ache.

His nipples tingle.

Sae cries. "Rin, there's something wrong…I can't move."

"What?" Rin tries to look over his shoulder but can't see. Sae's head against Rin's spine burns hot and feverish. "What happened? Are you okay, baby?"

Sae doesn’t answer back and that only makes Rin worry more. He strains for any sound or sign his brother is still alive.

The wiggle in Rin's butt is faint, like a tiny blip before a flatline.

Sae coughs wet against Rin's shoulder blade. "Baby?"

"Yeah?" Rin, happy to hear his voice again.

Sae replies flat. "I'm older than you. Don't call me that."

And now Rin's over Sae's stupid voice.

The moment’s gone, ruined.

Rin's over everything. "Get off," he says, tone flipping back to I am now forced to address my idiot older brother.

"I can't move."

"Get off." Rin rolls on his side and flips Sae off his back. He freezes half a second, feeling phantom claws digging in his arm. Refusing to let go.

But no, Sae's motionless behind him, eyes wide, watching like he's gearing up for what comes next.

Rin shakes the rest of the dick out of his ass, then jumps when he feels something else hard against his leg.

He picks it up—Sae’s phone.

Oh, this is too good.

He smirks right as Sae lets out his first death scream. "I'm deleting the video you took of me," Rin teases.

"No!"

It sounds like a threat.

Rin scoots back against the wall. Unlocks the phone, then peeks a sec, nudges Sae with his foot—checking to see if the monster is still dangerous.

The bed shakes, barely, but not because of Sae's motionless tantrum.

Rin decides he's safe.

"I'm deleting it."

Sae shrieks high, sharp—wielding his voice like a weapon honed to murder Rin's ears.

It numbs Rin’s brain, but he still laughs.
Sae the unhinged menace only exists because Rin infected him and now he's sick, feverish, and acting like a toddler.

Sae would die if he saw himself acting this way.

It's almost cute, Rin thinks. He'll never see Sae this way again.

Rin scratches at his chest as Sae takes a deep breath.

Round three of the screams burst out.

And Rin laughs, looks at his ass on the phone screen and pokes the red trash can.

In between the silent gap of the next scream, something goes wrong.

Rin should be laughing, mocking his brother—relieved the video is gone.

Instead, Sae screams, the video still exists, and Rin accidentally clicked on a message notif that popped up at the wrong time.

The texts in the group chat roll in one after another. Each one gripping Rin and dragging the curve of his lip into a flat, straight tense line.

 

Bachira: uh… anyone else hearing that??

Chigiri: if you mean the screaming from 108, yes.

Reo: sounds like a horror movie.

Nagi: or a honeymoon. can’t tell.

Kunigami: should we check on them? it’s been a while.

Isagi: i swear it sounds like rin is killing sae.

Bachira: maybe it’s a workout thing?

Chigiri: no workout involves that much begging.

Gagamaru: 8 minutes, 14 seconds.

Reo: why are you timing it?!

Gagamaru: curiosity is data.

Isagi: ok, if it doesn’t stop in 5 minutes we’re doing a wellness check.

Bachira: who’s going in?

Shidou: me 😈

Chigiri: absolutely not.

Isagi: you said that too fast.

Shidou: what? i just think maybe… they need a buffer.

Reo: define buffer.

Shidou: like, a warm, flexible body to slide in between and calm things down 😇

Nagi: that’s not first aid, dude.

Shidou: it is if you do it right.

Isagi: muting this chat.

Nagi: can someone mute sae

Shidou: I can try.

Shidou: but he might scream louder

Chigiri: NO.

They could hear it? They heard everything?

"No no no no no," Sae whines, stiff like a corpse on the bed, his words unknowingly translating Rin's racing thoughts.

Rin drags a knee up to his chest, the slick sheets pull under him.
He chews his thumb, scrolling, reading the messages over.

The text becomes verbal—the muffled voices in the adjacent room, vibrate against Rin's back through the shared wall.

Sae mumbles through another line of no's.

"Shut up," Rin says, low at first, still lost in the trance.

Sae doesn't stop.

"No no no," flooding in as fast as the text messages.

The thoughts circling Rin's head grow louder, more forceful.

Rin is killing Sae.
Bad caretaker.
If it doesn't stop.
Screaming

"Shut up!" Rin, louder, more forceful this time.

He instantly regrets his outburst. The world around him opens back up, quiet.

The voices that burned through the wall and crawled up Rin's back—they wait, holding their breath, like they heard Rin. Like they're listening.

Sae lies flat on his back, next to Rin, hopeless, motionless and finally, silent. He stares up at the ceiling, eyes wet, glassy. Lip trembles.

If there's a sympathetic ache for his brother welling in Rin's breast, he can't feel it.
The panic in his pounding heart overrides it.
Sae has to stay silent. Half of Blue Lock is two screams away from mobilizing at their door and branding Rin:

"Worst Caretaker"

No. Even worse—

"Brother Fucker."

No.

"Worst Caretaker." Rin was right the first time—that’s the one he can't handle.

So Sae needs to stop being a baby, go to sleep, and for the love of Rin's caregiving reputation, stay quiet.

Rin glances back at Sae. A thud, something knocked against the floor in the adjacent dorm. It strikes Rin like a warning: he's tempting fate with a single look.

Sae—face red, cheeks wet with sweat or tears—his eyes narrow to slits. In that fever-addled brain of his, he's cursing Rin, carving every last death threat into the blank ceiling.
Quietly plotting his brother's end.

Quietly.

Rin watches as a shiver runs through Sae's limp body.

"Stay," Rin whispers like a prayer.

Watches Sae's fists clench.

Shake. Like a carbonated bottle.

"Quiet," Rin whispers.

Sae bites his lip. Exhales sharp. His eyes flick to Rin and Rin looks back.

Sae opens his mouth.

Silent, Rin screams with his eyes.

Silent! Shakes his head, furious.

Sae:

Rin:

Sae: "No."

Chapter Text

Sae is being a brat and causing Rin a bunch of issues. If he keeps screaming, the rest of Blue Lock will know Rin is a bad babysitter.

Bad caregiver.
If he keeps screaming.

Ping.

The light from the door flickers—footsteps pass by.
The sound of sneakers flattening the chatter.

Sae lies flat on his back on the bed, screaming.

Not words. Not threats.
Screaming—like its mission or only purpose is to obliterate Rin.
Sae thought it would take four words to ruin Rin.

Now he's using none.
Just shrill death shrieks.
Sonic warfare.

Focus.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

Rin's finger following the rules, keeping quiet, but keeping time. Drumming against the rectangular light, Rin clings to Sae's phone.

The grip is involuntary, cursed, something his body decided before his mind could protest—focus.

Fingers wrap around the phone.
Spine curls against the wall.
Sheets swirl around his bottom like a sinkhole.

Sae's screams reverberate foreboding.

Ping.

More text messages stream in, outlining Rin's social demise.

He climbs over Sae, slides off the bed, then paces the room. Focus ping-ponging from phone to Sae shrieks to sound of footsteps outside the hallway door.

Multiple loud threats competing and clashing against each other—
Everything should be deafening, but somehow it all goes flat, muted.

Ping.
Fingers tap the phone.
Scream.

Focus.
Rin paces.
Feet tap the floor.

Ping.
Fingers grip the phone, hard.
Light flickering as Rin paces.

Sae screams—

Deafening.

A muted thud—

Sae's body rolling out of bed and hitting the floor—dampened by the soft blanket he landed on.

And now he’s on his stomach, naked, stretching—reaching for Rin’s back like a zombie with broken legs, dragging himself forward through imaginary rubble.
His mouth trembles, but no sound comes out.

Rin notices, imagines him shakily droning: "Butt…butt…"

Rin almost laughs and that's when he feels it—the ache in his heart.

It pounds.
Won't calm down.
Won't rest.

Keeps straining—reaching for comfort in the very thing that stresses it out.

Finger taps the flickering light. Watching Sae stutter invisible words. Focus.

The footsteps started when the text messages kept pouring when Sae wouldn't stop screaming

"Give it back!"

Rin twists, looming over Sae still pathetically on the floor.
Rin holds the phone further out of reach.

Eerily, Sae calms.
He goes completely silent.
His eyes flick to Rin's hands.
"What? I don't care about the phone," he deadpans.  "Give it back."

Rin confused by the quiet, by Sae's sudden sanity reset.

Rin blinks. "Huh?"

"The butt. Give the butt back, now."

The dorm falls silent as if even the world needs time to process Sae's stoic composure and insane request.

Rin tries to form words, but nothing comes out.

Sae exhales. Hips pressed into the blanket. Holding himself up by his forearms like a deranged sphinx.

He looks Rin dead in the eyes. Then—hot, desperate fury pounds out under his fist slamming the floor.
Muted thuds as punctuation.

"Mine. My ass! My ass my ass my ass!"

Rin laughs like he left his body and now he's watching someone else's Greek tragedy.
"You're insane."

Sae keeps screaming about ass and then the text messages start pulling Rin back down.

The last flicker of hope in Rin's eyes dies out.
Clipped.
Short.

"Sae. Shut up. Go to sleep."

Sae screams.

Rin dampens him.

They fight on the floor. A quiet scuffle where every movement, every sound unmade—channels the pressure, the fury to one precise, pointed moment.

Sae on his stomach tangled in the blanket. Rin sitting on Sae's back, hand clamped over his mouth.
The phone slides under the bed.

Sae's voice hot, wet, desperate but swallowed under Rin's grip.
He shakes his head—not that he wants Rin to let go.
Not that he understands he wants Rin to hold on tighter.

He needs contact.
Needs to press against the wall, hard, relentless, yielding.
And feel it fight back, pulsing, screaming hot, wet—

Unforgiving.

Tears well in Sae's eyes.
Snorts the palm of Rin's hand.
The grip tightens.
Teeth catch skin, bites down.

And Rin shrieks for him, yanking the hand away.

Sae licks the edge of his teeth, tasting the sound Rin gave under him.

The blanket on the floor twists—Rin yields a little, Sae rolls over underneath him.

Sae looks up at Rin sitting on top of him—his little brother's face red, shaking—furious and unforgiving.

Sae bites his tongue.
Almost the right position.
Reverse in Reverse.

He smirks—just as Rin's fist raises above him, ready to strike.

Reflexively, Sae shields his face.

"You're gonna hit me when I'm sick?!"

Rin growls then drops his fist. "I'm not gonna hit you. Shut up."
Rin sits down on Sae's thighs and watches Sae slowly relax his arms.
"I just wanted to think about it. Fantasize beating the shitty brother out of you."

Sae laughs to himself nervously like the lunatic is coming back in bursts.

Rin notices the pitched fabric, the blanket standing tall over Sae's lap.
Horror.
Insanity.

Rin almost says something.
Almost makes the mistake of pointing it out. But—Sae lies under him, wrapped up in the warm blanket like a little demon baby burrito. Lips pressed tight.

Silence is the safer option.

Rin retrieves the phone from under the bed. The text messages have slowed down—only a few lingering pings before the texts switch topic.

"Turn around."

Rin hears the command and just mindlessly obeys, like his body is focused—knows it's facing the wrong way.
Turns around until naked-butt is sitting on blanket-thighs. Eyes focused on the phone but those feet wiggle in the peripherals.

Rin's mind scrolls backwards to his original objective.

Reverse reversing into Reverse.

They've both returned to the cursed position.

Sae giggles. "Butt." Pacified.

Rin clicks back over to the photos app to finish what he started—delete the ass video Sae took. But a wall of thumbnails…prolongs the task. Rin doomscrolls like an invasive girlfriend. Focused on curves trapped in tiny squares. Endless view—eyes flickering, pinging between the very thing that lights up his brother's singular braincell.

A wall of Rin’s ass.
Butt in practice shorts.
Butt in sweats at breakfast.
Butt in the dorm.
Butt—naked, 10-minute video.

What the hell.

"Butt," Sae giggles, unaware.

Rin taps the video and Sae pokes his ass like it's a silly toy.

Just pokes it and watches it jiggle and then laughs and then does it again over and over.

Both in reality and in the recording.
Only difference is Rin's lying face-down, ass-up on the bed in the video.

And he remembers none of this.

Sae laughs in real time in the real world.

And Rin's thighs tense around his brother's.

Rin's voice starts out low but gets louder, faster with each word. "Why do you have so many pictures of my ass!"

Sae looks up and their eyes meet as Rin turns completely around to face him.

Reverse re-reversing in Reverse.

"Don't look at other people's private things," Sae says, offended.
He holds his hand out, palm flat, but Rin tucks the phone away near his side.
The video is still playing.

Sae squeezes Rin's butt on the phone.

"What's wrong with you?"

"I'm sick," Sae answers. "You can't be mad at me."

Rin sees the date the video was recorded. A week ago. When Rin was sick. And Sae was being the perfect caregiver…
At least Rin had believed—truly felt—Sae was selfless and caring, up until this specific moment in time.

But how it felt was a lie.

"You weren't sick when you took these."

Sae looks to the side like he's thinking.
Tries not to laugh.

He laughs.

And Rin hates the muted sound. Hates knowing his brother is an ass-obsessed freak.

Sae's voice, digitized, answers back from the video:

"Would Rin hate this? Doesn't matter. He's knocked out after all that cold medicine."

Rin groans in both realities like his body and soul remembers.

Video Sae, voice clipped. "Rin. Shut up. Go back to sleep."

This is caregiving.

Sae in the final seconds of the video—face next to Rin's ass like he's taking a selfie.
He whispers. "Please get sick more often."
Then he kisses Rin's cheek.
Both of them.

Perfect caregiving.
Definitely.
Not.

Rin glares at the real Sae, but both are disgusting.

Sae smiles.
"I told you I was sick…"

Chapter Text

They take a 10-minute ceasefire, letting their brains process and reset.

Rin spends 2 minutes of it watering Sae like a dehydrated plant.
Spills most of it down Sae's chin and neck.
Rin didn't hold his head up enough.
Didn't care.

Now Rin sits up against the bed, his ass pressed flat against the cold floor where Sae can't get to it.

Sae lies next to Rin, blanket drawn up to his waist.
The way it hangs over Sae's hips is suspicious.
Well, obvious really at this point.

Rin knows Sae is alive and thriving down there.

Sae's head—hot, sweaty ,and defeated—lies against Rin's thigh.

Rin thoughtlessly brushes the ugly sweat-slicked bangs from Sae's forehead.

Sae's bangs are ugly, limp, and too straight.

Rin refuses to pretend otherwise.

He lovingly strokes them back into place anyway…hoping Sae suffers the consequences of his hairstyle choices.

Rin smiles and quietly reflects on his caregiving. Sae's alive.
At least, so far no one has shown up at the door demanding a pic of him with today's newspaper.

The dorm goes eerily silent for a second.

Sae hasn't made a sound in a while.

He is still breathing, right?
Rin glances down.

The humidifier clicks.
Sae's chest rises.

Yeah, so Sae's still alive. So Rin's giving himself an A+.

Sae's chest rises, barely—slow.

Rin hopes…

He pretends…he's not thinking it—pretends he's not jinxing himself but—there's a good chance Sae's finally asleep.

Rin smiles brighter.

Sae rolls over, belly up—vulnerable and needy. His sweaty nape slots perfectly against Rin's thigh. Eyes wide open.
Blinking.

The bed pressed behind Rin's back doesn't make a sound.
Rin's face—dark, blank.

Absence is its own beauty.

Sae looks up.

"Rin," Sae calls.

Rin doesn't look down.

Sae pokes Rin in the face until he begrudgingly looks back.

Sae misses sound, the squeaking bed mocking his weak hips, the ugly look on Rin's face whenever Sae opens his mouth.
He loves it.
The way Rin gives attention so easily.
Being held in contempt is its own heaven.

Rin sighs—still hot, still annoyed, still watching Sae even when he's pretending he's not.

And Sae loves it.
And Rin pretends he does not.

Rin parts Sae's bangs, exposing his pallid, sick human flesh. The humid mist clears from the air. Rin concentrates, rubs a single spot between Sae’s eyes and chants in his head: rain, rain go away.
Praying Sae's lunacy away.

Rin is hot and sticky and probably going insane himself.
Rin pretends he's not.

A single drop of sweat falls onto Sae like opening rain.

Rin wipes his thumb against Sae's forehead, anointing him.

So peaceful.
It hurts.

"Rin, I'm having a moment of sanity," Sae states calm as ever.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah and I just want you to know…"
"That you're sorry?"
"...that those weren't all the photos."

Rin's eyes narrow.

"They're just the best ones," Sae explains dreamily like every picture is flashing before his eyes. He sighs and smiles, gaze fixed on the imaginary ass slideshow projected on the ceiling.

So peaceful.
This must be funny to watch.

"What?" Rin flicks Sae's forehead.
"I maxed out my cloud storage and they won't sell me anymore space."
"You're dead."

Sae's vision flickers static white.

When he blinks, his head knocks against the floor. In between his fear of the dark, Rin's already gone—standing next to the nightstand. Flickering light in his hands.

Rin holds Sae's phone like a threat.

Sae rolls against the floor.
Rin's ass stands over him. Glowing.

Sae reaches up. He tries for the ass but only manages to grab the thigh.
"I tried," Sae cries dramatically, begging Rin to understand. "Your ass just can't be contained!"

Rin doesn't look at him. He peels Sae from his leg.

One. Finger. At. A. Time.
"I'm deleting everything."

"You hypocrite!" Sae spits.

"What?"

"Don't act like you didn’t poison me with green goo and then stick your finger in me."

"I—" Rin freezes. He did do something like that, he thinks. Wait—are they both bad caregivers?

Rin shuts his eyes. He doesn't want to see himself in Sae.
A tickle, a drip down his spine.
Rin tries to slap it before it gets too far. But it's too late.

He peeks at Sae first—lying on the floor patting an absent place with reverence.
Fingers sticking, peeling on each pat.

That's where Rin sat.
That's Rin's sweaty butt print.

Kissed wearily into the floor like a water-stained Christ.

Rin peeks at the phone in his hand. The screen dark, hiding untold, unholy, unsanctioned booty pics.

The 10-min video of Sae poking his butt. The screen reflects Rin's disgusted face back—right as Rin remembers how Sae's naked, perfect ass fit in the palm of his hands like Sae was pre-made for him.

He felt light in his hands.

So are they both bad caregivers?
Rin shakes his head.
He puts the phone back on the nightstand—back up, facedown.

Without deleting anything.

Image is a way of protecting memory. He can give Sae at least that much.

A smile lights up his face as Rin mentally corrects his grade, giving himself an A++.
He's a better, more understanding caregiver than Sae and that fills Rin with unbridled joy.

Sae in his own world, now dissatisfied with the floor, with his counterfeit gluteal god, turns his attention to the real, the corporeal.
He whines, "Give the butt back."

Rin, voice clipped: "Sae. Shut up. Go back to sleep." A+++

"No."

"Why not?"

"I'm sick…" Sae lies back against the floor, arms and legs splayed as he thinks. His eyes flick around erratically like he's searching for Rin's weakness. He falls on: "Your ass.."

Rin rolls his eyes.

"Your ass was curing me, I think."

Rin drops a pillow on the floor. Final offer. "Go to sleep."

The bed missing its blanket, missing its pillow—stripped down.

Absence is its own beauty.

Sae misses the bed, misses being cuddled, being Rin's poor little sick spoon.
He coughs, cute.
"What do I have to do for you to give me my medicine?"

Rin remembers asking Sae something similar.
Rin remembers Sae spitting cough medicine in his face.
Rin laughs.
"Beg."

The humidifier coughs up wet, dense smoke.
Sae's balls ache.

Beg.

The one thing he never learned to do properly.
The one thing he won't.

Warmth fabricated, hips tilt into the nothing beneath the blanket. A motion of memory he leans into for comfort because he's too afraid to learn anything new.
He fucks anyway, confused. Why it still feels good—rubbing, touching, thrusting into nothing but air.

His thighs tense, shake for no one. The weight of his world, refused.
to grace, step down
stoop or sit flush

A meeting below the level denied.
A crushing decision he can’t reverse.

But he lifts his hips anyway

Calls a motion, a memory,
moves to strike
nothing
and hits light with precision.

The one thing he knows how to do properly.
For the one thing that no longer wants him.

His thighs tense, shake for no one.
The weight of his world refuses sit
the weight of his whole world on his hips.

But he fucks anyway. Still rubbing, touching—giving himself into nothing but air.

The floor moans.

Fuck.
It's not supposed to feel this good.

Rin clicks his tongue.
And Sae immediately sits his whole butt back to the floor, confused.

Rin's been watching him the whole time—waiting for him to beg.

Sae squints, refusing to look at Rin.
Folds his arms. "No," he whispers like a defiant secret.

Quiet refusal is all Sae has now.
Absence is its own beauty—and Sae just cucked Rin while fucking absence beautifully, humiliatingly.
So, no.

He’s not begging after that.

Plus the last time Sae tried begging he called Rin a bitch.

Sae laughs in recollection, menacingly.
It would be funny to call Rin a bitch, again—he deserves it.
But Sae doubts screaming profanities at Rin a second time will get him to sit on his dick.

Sae knows Rin's limits—and knows he's already broken the line, tied it back together in a sloppy knot, and has been skipping rope with it for the past hour.

Rin laughs in disbelief. "You don't know what begging is, do you?"

Sae squints so hard he almost closes his eyes.
"Shut up." That's two words. "Shut up.” Still two words.

Sae pouts. “…bitch”

Sae laughs—remembers how he crafted the perfect four words to break Rin into his submissive little bitch and now Sae's the one on the floor, on his back—Sae stops laughing. He pouts. Wait—how is he the one on his back, belly up, begging Daddy to give him a little treat!

He’s not begging.

Sae glances over at Rin, hoping Rin breaks first.
But Rin's turned his back on him.

Turned his butt on him.

It's not a reward, it's indifference—but Sae's brain works differently.
Forget pouting, forget breaking, forget the little treat—
Daddy just fed him a taste.

A whole meal, actually.

All 10-courses, dessert included.

And Sae's lucid enough to know he'd be insane to not get on his knees, bark a little, and plead for Rin to just—put it in his face.

Sae's tongue flicks out, tasting:

Nothing but air.

The floor gives a little—sighs, swoons as Rin stretches, bends—ass perfect, positioned perfectly
Infuriatingly just out of reach of its most diehard fan.

Sae's tongue licks the space, the heat, the nothing
The butt air.

God, he has never hated or loved air so much in his life.

Sae inhales so deep, he recalls snot.
Recalls the memory of his poor, sick Rin—ass up, face-down. Scent of sunbeams and unguarded warmth spilling out as fingers carefully, lovingly peeled Rin's underwear down the peak of his curves.

Just for a peek.

Sae glances up.
His tongue hangs out his mouth—limp, flat, pathetic. Dripping in the warm air.

The floor gives a little—a hint, a whimper. Rin turns around and sees Sae's wounded pup posture.

It says everything Rin's thinking.
Everything but the word Sae needs to say.
Everything but please.
Rin sighs.

He stares down at Sae, arms folded, eyebrow raised.

Waiting.

The humidifier coughs marking the awkward silence.
Sae's balls ache.

"Fuck," Sae swears under his breath. He needs that ass. He wants the butt.
Rin likes cute—likes cute, vulnerable and sick.

Sae coughs tiny, weak, pathetic.
He pretends to die, lies stiller than still.
Closes one eye, halfway.

Rin rolls his eyes and turns on his heel.

"Fuck."
The floor cries as Sae tries to roll on his side—anything to get closer.
But he's too weak, he fails, he falls back flat on his back.

He dies.

Rin pretends he does not.

Rin takes one step away.

The impending distance echoes through the floor.
Vibrating through the flat line splitting Sae's back.
Shocking him.

Sae panics.

How do you beg? Please?

No, that sounds gross. He's not doing that.
"Fuck that," he declares, secretly, quietly to himself.

Sae yanks the blanket away from his hips and wiggles his dick.

Yeah, fuck it. He's not begging—he'll just piss Rin off again until Rin hate-fucks him.

"I'm still hard," Sae offers. His voice so cute, sweet like birdsong.

"I don't—" Rin stretches, bends over low, touches his toes. "—care."

Sae hears the hesitation—sees the stretch.
He blacks out.
There is hideous, abject contempt seething in absence.

Sae blinks back awake, furious—his heart screaming from the eternity it spent in hell trying to claw its way out.
Air hates him. His lungs betray him, they don't know how to breathe and now he's suffocating.
He can't be away from Rin.
He can't fall asleep.
He can't die.

He coughs, inhales. Deep.

Recalls clear sunbeams, light unrestrained spilling, pooling warm. Rin—only a week ago—pretending he's asleep. The fingers carefully brushing, guarding the soft curve of his head. Palm resting over the peak.

Rin opening an eye, only for a peek.
Before falling asleep.

This is calming.
This is love.
Sae can't be away from Rin.

He inhales.

Exhales.

Breathes.

And God he has never loved air so much before in his life.

Sae rolls over on the floor, looking for the love of his life—but Rin's ass has moved to the other side of the room.

Sae draws the blanket up to his chest. His balls ache.

Sae needs Rin to hold him—with a gaze, with love, with tight butt love preferably. But one way or another, he needs Rin to hold him. Close.

The butt strategically retreats out of view. So Sae settles for the next best thing—he watches Rin.

Rin pulls something out the dresser drawer. Rin turns around.

Sae smiles at him.

Rin doesn't pretend he does not see it.

Rin just doesn't care. He takes both hands, holds up a pair of boxers, square and tight. Expression: flat.

Sae's eyes go wide.

"You wouldn't dare," Sae hisses.

Rin, facing Sae straight on, bends over and raises a knee up.

Sae's breath hitches.
Rin's naked, soft—sun-scented butt—bent over and positioned against the wall.

What Sae would give to be the wall behind Rin:

Anything but beg.

Rin stretches elastic.
Sae's stomach sinks.

He leaks pathetic and sticky from top to bottom.

Rin steps a foot through the fabric.
Sae's dick folds like laundry.

Rin puts the other leg through.
Sae takes psychic damage.
Curls into himself, gripping his stomach, twisting, turning, coughing. The humidifier gags, leaks and Sae's balls weep quietly, a single, limp drop—like a wilted rose gingerly placed at the burial site. Here lies Sae's orphaned balls: unloved, unwanted, and locked away—never saw the light of day.

The floor takes—vibrates, hums as Sae stretches, reaches for—the butt infuriatingly, heartbreakingly gone before its time.

The pacing's off.
London is calling.

The sound of Rin's foot knocks heavy against the floor.

Darkness falls.

A thought flickers:

What Sae would give to be the nothing under Rin:

Everything.