Chapter 4: The Shower and the Promise
Sukuna’s patience for cuddling was a finite resource. It lasted approximately five minutes—the time it took for his whiskey glass to empty and for the sticky residue on Megumi’s skin to begin itching his own.
“Alright. Up,” he grunted, disentangling himself. He stood, plucking Megumi from the couch as if she weighed nothing, her slight frame folding automatically against his chest. She let out a soft, startled sound, her arms looping around his neck. “You’re getting sticky shit all over my good leather. Bath time for the messy princess.”
Yorozu uncurled herself with a grin, padding after them, her hips swinging. “I’ll wash her hair. You know you just get shampoo in her eyes.”
“And whose fault is it that she had her eyes closed?” Sukuna shot back, shouldering open the bathroom door.
Steam from the earlier shower still hazed the air, clinging to the cold black marble. The obscene carvings on the shower walls—figures in eternal, gymnastic congress—glistened with condensation. Sukuna set Megumi down on the shower floor, her bare feet on the warm, textured stone. He reached in to crank the taps. Water roared from the multiple rainfall heads, quickly filling the cavernous space with a hot, dense fog.
Yorozu stepped in behind Megumi, the water sluicing over her fiery hair and making it a dark, slick curtain down her back. “Come here, baby,” she murmured, pulling Megumi under the direct spray.
The heat was a balm. Megumi sighed, her head dropping forward as Yorozu’s fingers began working through her tangled black hair. The gentleness was a shocking contrast to the last hour. Yorozu poured a dollop of citrus-scented shampoo, massaging her scalp with firm, knowing pressure. “See? No soap in the eyes. I’m a professional.”
Sukuna stepped in, the space narrowing instantly. He was all towering, water-slicked muscle and intent. He took a bar of dark, sandalwood soap and worked up a lather in his palms. His touch, when it found Megumi’s small breasts, was not gentle, but it was purposeful. He soaped the pale curves, his thumbs brushing roughly over her nipples, making them peak instantly under the slick slide.
“Still trembling,” he observed, his voice a low rumble under the water’s roar. “Like a little rabbit.”
His hand drifted down, over the quivering plane of her stomach. He didn’t ask. His soapy fingers slid through her folds, already swollen and sensitive, and pushed two inside her with a blunt, effortless motion.
Megumi jerked, a sharp cry swallowed by the steam. Her hands flew back, bracing against Yorozu’s thighs. “Nii-chan—!”
“Sensitive?” Sukuna’s grin was wolfish. He pumped his fingers slowly, the soap creating a strange, slick burn that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. “Good. Remember that feeling. You’re gonna need it later.”
He crooked his fingers, finding a spot that made her legs buckle. Yorozu held her up, cooing into her ear. “He’s just checking, Gumi. Making sure everything’s still working after all that fun.”
Sukuna withdrew his fingers, giving her clit a final, mocking tap that made her squeak. He rinsed his hand under the spray. “Behave yourself for the rest of the night,” he said, as if discussing a curfew. “No more clumsy shit. And maybe I’ll give you a reward. Something better than my cock down your throat.”
The promise, vile and thrilling, hung in the steam. Megumi could only nod, her forehead resting against Yorozu’s collarbone.
Yorozu’s hands finished rinsing her hair. Then they slid around Megumi’s torso, palms skimming up to cup her breasts, her thumbs mirroring Sukuna’s earlier motion. Yorozu’s body pressed flush against her back, the hard nubs of her pierced nipples a distinct, grounding pressure against Megumi’s spine.
“He’s not the only one with plans,” Yorozu whispered, her lips moving against the shell of Megumi’s wet ear. Her voice was a conspiratorial, hungry thread. “Later, when he’s done with you… I’m going to lay you out on that big bed. I’m going to taste every single part of you he came on. And then I’m going to ride your pretty little thigh until you scream into my tits. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Being my little scratch post?”
Megumi’s whimper was answer enough. Her body, traitorously, throbbed in agreement, a fresh pulse of wetness mixing with the shower water.
Sukuna watched them, a dark, possessive satisfaction in his red eyes. He reached for a bottle, squeezing body wash into his hand. “Enough plotting. Turn her around.”
Yorozu spun Megumi gently. Sukuna’s soapy hands slid over her shoulders, down her back, washing away the last traces of wine and salt and spent desire. It was an oddly utilitarian intimacy. He washed her as if she were a prized possession, ensuring every inch was clean and returned to its proper state—his.
He knelt, washing her legs, even between her toes. The absurd care of it, from him, made her heart clench dangerously. When he rose, water streaming down the stark lines of his face, he looked at her—really looked—and for a second, there was no insult, no greed, just a pure, uncomplicated ownership that felt more like shelter than chains.
“There,” he said, his voice losing its edge. “My princess. Back in working order.”
He shut off the water. The sudden silence was loud, broken only by their dripping and the distant hum of the city. Yorozu reached for a vast, black towel, wrapping Megumi in it and rubbing her briskly, kissing her shoulder between strokes.
Sukuna toweled himself off with a few efficient swipes, then did the same for Yorozu, his hands slapping her ass playfully through the fabric. “Get her something to wear. Not one of your slutty lace numbers. Something soft.”
Yorozu rolled her eyes but was already dragging Megumi into the bedroom. She pulled out an oversized, heather-gray sweatshirt from Sukuna’s drawer and a pair of soft cotton shorts. “Here. Princess pajamas.”
Megumi dressed, the clean fabric smelling faintly of his cologne. She felt hollowed out, scoured clean, and impossibly full all at once.
When they returned to the living room, the stained carpet was gone. In its place was a stark, empty expanse of polished concrete floor. Sukuna stood at the window, a fresh glass of whiskey in hand, wearing only low-slung sweats.
He glanced over his shoulder. “Told the night crew to replace it. Couldn’t look at that fucking eyesore.”
He said it like he was complaining about a broken appliance, but Megumi knew. The rug was a casualty of their game, of her mistake. Erasing it was his way of drawing a line. The punishment was over. The memory, however, was not. It was stored now, in the gleam in Yorozu’s eyes, in the new, lingering sensitivity between Megumi’s legs, in the unspoken promise of a ‘reward’ that hung in the air, heavier than the steam ever was.
Sukuna took a sip, his gaze returning to the city. “Movie’s on. Don’t fall asleep. I’m not carrying you to bed again.”
Yorozu pulled Megumi down onto the couch, tucking her under her arm. The screen flickered to life with some violent, loud action film Sukuna favored. Megumi nestled into the warmth, surrounded by their heat and their scent, the residual ache in her body a sweet, persistent whisper.
The chapter was closed. The night, she understood, was far from over.