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A button undone, another one, and the side of Ogata’s neck is bared.
”Just go ahead, sir. It’s fine,” he says, bored, polite, but his tone soft.
”B-but brother...! No,” Yuusaku protests. He’s shaking his head lightly, brow furrowed, but his sharp teeth glisten when he speaks, and Ogata leans in closer next to him where they’re sitting on the tatami, tea and sweets on the table, a rented room for an evening of brotherly bonding, so it was said.
”With all due respect, you told me that it only gets worse if you wait, sir,” Ogata sighs. His hand adjusts the collar further, bares more skin. ”I had assumed the reason you confided in me was because you were in need of assistance.”
”That is not — I — I did not mean to ask this of you,” Yuusaku answers, his voice shaky, swallows nervously, eyes darting between Ogata’s blank expression and his inviting neck.
”It appears it would be a convenient arrangement for you,” Ogata continues, lightly rolling his shoulders to stretch, narrow gaze directly meeting his brother’s. ”It must be difficult, managing such a condition in secret.”
”Yes, but this isn’t right,” Yuusaku shakes his head again, licks his lips, unaware. ”I... I could not bear to hurt you, brother.”
Ogata smiles, very briefly, breathes out. ”You would stop when you had taken the sufficient amount, I’m sure, sir. You told me you do not need much. It would not hurt me.”
”It will hurt you,” Yuusaku disagrees.
”I've surely had much worse. In training, sir.”
”That does not pacify me. I don’t wish you any pain.”
Hand moving to his brother’s shoulder, softly, Ogata strokes his thumb over his collarbone, through his jacket.
”And do you think I wish to see you struggle, to know of your predicament but go on as if I could do nothing about it?” he asks, a strange gentleness to his voice. ”Let me relieve you of your thirst, sir. Allow me to be of help to you, as any brother would.”
Yuusaku swallows hard. Silence, breathing, as Ogata removes his hand from his shoulder, and returns it to his own collar.
”Go ahead, sir.”
There’s a finality to his words that spreads through the air between them. Yuusaku licks his lips, unaware, maybe, but with purpose now. His eyes drift unhappily across the hand, the collar, the jaw. The welcoming skin.
Without lifting his gaze, he leans in, slowly. Despite himself, Ogata almost leans away as he feels his brother’s breath on him, as a hand comes to grasp the other side of his neck. A face intimately close.
A tentative press of the teeth, and Ogata’s heart pounds loudly, quickly, as does the strange one of his brother, the one running on borrowed blood; and if the idea of the supposed full-blood son filling himself up with the half-blood of his discarded brother isn’t irresistible, he doesn’t know what is.
A sharply drawn breath —
”No,” he sighs. He lets go, and retreats. He stands.
”Sir,” Ogata tries, breath uneven.
”Thank you, brother,” Yuusaku says, meets his eyes from above, but quickly turns away. Adjusts the sleeves of his jacket. ”But there are other ways. I will not harm you.”
He doesn’t want an answer, and Ogata doesn’t give him any.
Yuusaku leaves.
Ogata huffs.