Chapter 2: Breeding the Curse User
The stillness in the kitchen was a living thing, thick and honeyed. Yuji’s breath slowly evened against Choso’s neck, but the frantic energy between them hadn’t dissipated; it had only condensed, become a palpable charge waiting for a spark.
Yuji shifted, his arms tightening around Choso’s waist. Without a word, he bent and hooked an arm behind Choso’s knees, lifting him easily. Choso’s surprised gasp was swallowed by another kiss as Yuji carried him the few steps from the table and lowered him gently onto the woven rug near the back door. The floor was cool through the thin lace still tangled around Choso’s thighs.
“Yuji,” Choso breathed, the name both question and answer.
“Just wanna see you,” Yuji murmured, his voice rough. He settled on his knees between Choso’s legs, pushing the shirt up to his chest. His gaze was hot, reverent, and utterly possessive. He looked at the mess they’d made, his own release beginning to seep from between Choso’s thighs, and a low sound caught in his throat.
He pressed a flat palm to Choso’s lower belly, a firm, warm weight. With his other hand, he guided himself, watching as he pushed back inside, a slow, slick re-entry that made them both shudder. Choso’s back arched off the rug, a choked moan escaping him. Yuji set a deep, relentless rhythm, his eyes locked on where their bodies joined.
It was over faster this time, a sharp, bright crescendo that crashed through Yuji. He groaned, burying himself as deep as he could, pulse after pulse spilling inside. He stayed there for a long moment, hips pressed flush, before pulling out slowly.
He watched, transfixed, as more of him trickled out. The sight was raw, primal. He couldn’t look away. Gently, he lifted Choso’s hips higher, a soft pillow of lace and rug under his back.
“Look at that,” Yuji whispered, his thumb tracing the swollen, sensitive rim. Then he pressed the pad of his thumb inside, just barely, rubbing firmly against the front wall within.
Choso jolted, a sharp cry tearing from him. His legs fell open wider, completely pliant. “Ah—!”
“Right there, huh?” Yuji’s voice was thick with awe. He kept up the pressure, a slow, intimate massage. “Feels so deep in you. Like you’re keeping all of me.”
He leaned down, his free hand still splayed on Choso’s stomach. He imagined a curve there, a firmness that wasn’t from muscle. The fantasy unspooled hot and sudden in his mind.
“Wish I could get you pregnant,” he mumbled against Choso’s hipbone, the words falling out unbidden, feral and sincere. “I’d do it. I would. Wanna see you full of me like that. Round with it. Everyone would know.” His thumb pressed deeper, and Choso sobbed, his hands fisting in the rug.
“Yuji, please—”
“They’d see,” Yuji continued, mesmerized by the way Choso’s body clenched around the simple intrusion of his thumb, by the wet sound of it. “They’d know you’re mine. That I did this to you.” He added a finger, scissoring gently, spreading himself inside. “You’d be so beautiful. Fuck, Choso. Can you imagine?”
It was impossible. A biological fantasy. But in the heat-drenched haze of the kitchen floor, with Choso spread out beneath him, truth was less important than feeling. Choso’s eyes were screwed shut, tears leaking from the corners. His chest heaved.
“More,” he begged, his voice broken. “More fingers. Want—want you to fill me up again. Please.”
The raw need in his tone shattered the last of Yuji’s control. He withdrew his hand and spat into his palm, slicking himself quickly. He was hard again, aching. He pushed back in, and Choso screamed, the sound ringing off the cabinets. It was tight, almost too much, oversensitive and perfect.
Yuji fucked him like that, with Choso’s hips canted up, his thumb rubbing circles on that same spot low on his belly, chasing the impossible. The pace was brutal, owning. Every thrust pushed more of his earlier release out, making a mess of the lace, the rug, Choso’s skin.
“Gonna give you more,” Yuji panted, his own climax coiling fast. “Gonna put another baby in you. Keep you full. Always.”
The vulgar promise tipped Choso over. He came with a silent, breathless shudder, his whole body seizing, pulsing around Yuji so tightly it stole his vision. Yuji followed, a white-hot rush, spilling with a groan that felt ripped from his soul.
He collapsed forward, catching himself on his elbows above Choso, their foreheads touching. Both of them were slick with sweat, trembling. The kitchen air, once fragrant with tea, now carried the heavy, intimate scent of sex.
For a long time, the only sound was their ragged breathing slowly synchronizing.
Yuji pressed a soft, closed-mouth kiss to Choso’s lips. “Hey.”
Choso’s eyes opened. They were dark, bottomless pools. He looked utterly ruined, and more beautiful than anything Yuji had ever seen. A slow, trembling smile touched his mouth. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Yeah?” Yuji grinned, rolling off to lie beside him on the rug. He traced the lines of Choso’s hip. “You liked it.”
Choso turned his head, his cheek against the rough weave. “I did.” The admission was quiet, honest. He glanced at the forgotten kettle, the two cold mugs on the table. “The tea is definitely cold now.”
Yuji laughed, the sound loud and happy in the quiet room. “Told you I didn’t care.” He sat up, wincing at the stickiness on his skin. “C’mon. Bath. Then I’ll make you more tea. Properly this time.”
He stood and offered a hand. Choso took it, letting Yuji pull him up. His legs were unsteady. Yuji kept an arm around him, supporting his weight as they navigated out of the kitchen, down the dim hall. The shadows felt protective, a cocoon around their nakedness, their quiet.
Under the spray of the shower, Yuji washed him with a practical tenderness, hands gentle on the tender skin of his inner thighs. The fantasy of moments ago faded into a different kind of warmth, a domestic care. Choso leaned into his touch, his head resting on Yuji’s shoulder.
Later, wrapped in clean, soft clothes, they sat on the worn sofa. A fresh mug of jasmine tea steamed in Choso’s hands. Yuji had an arm around him, his nose buried in Choso’s damp, dark hair.
The fear Choso had felt earlier, the sense of borrowed peace, hadn’t vanished. It lingered in the corners of the room, in the silence between their heartbeats. But for now, it was quiet. For now, Yuji’s solid warmth against him, the taste of tea on his tongue, the faint, pleasant ache in his body—these were real. They were anchors.
Yuji’s fingers stroked his scalp. “Stay tomorrow, too,” he said, his voice already heavy with impending sleep.
It wasn’t a question. Choso closed his eyes, letting the heat of the mug seep into his bones. Outside, the world with its curses and its violence waited. But in this room, there was only the rhythm of Yuji’s breathing, and the terrifying, glorious hope that tomorrow could be just like this.