Work Text:
Akito only hears the camera shutter after he snatches the phone out of Ena’s hand. He’s doing her nails — a Saturday and Sunday tradition. Saturday is for her fingers and Sunday is for her toes. Today is a Sunday, which means that after they finish drying properly, Ena will wear flip flops and treat him to cheesecake using Dad’s credit card.
“Were you trying to take a picture of your foot?” Akito asks incredulously, staring at the blurred patch of Ena’s skin and the ginger of his hair.
“And what if I was?” Ena snaps back. She reaches for her phone, but it’s a half assed endeavor because she doesn’t want to mess up Akito’s work.
“To post online?” Akito asks. “Oh god, are you trying to appeal to a new demographic?”
“The cats keep getting more likes than me,” Ena whines. “I need to use everything at my disposal.”
“With feet pics?” Akito only feels more incredulous.
“It was only gonna be captioned something like ‘Getting my nails done!’,” Ena defends. “I was also gonna ask for color suggestions so I can have more interaction.”
Akito deletes the photo. “Ena, you’re asking for dick pics. Are you stupid or are you stupid?”
“Smarter than you! How many followers do you have on Instagram, huh?”
“Zero, because I don’t use Instagram. Don’t ever do this again,” Akito barks.
“Trying to tell me what to do — what are you, Dad?” Ena sneers.
Akito bristles. “Better than Dad, because I actually care about you.”
The stuns her. Stuns him.
All Akito can hear is the whirr of the fan. It sends Ena’s strawberry-scented shampoo in his direction. Her petal-pink lips part slightly, and a flash of realization courses through her eyes like an ocean wave lapping at the sand. It’s gone in a flash.
“Alright,” She grins like the cat that caught the canary. “I won’t post feet pics.”
Suddenly, Akito is scared.
Suddenly, he can’t stop noticing her feet.
Summer demands flip flops and sandals. Ena has always worn slippers inside, but she’s transitioned to flip flops because she doesn’t want to get her feet sweaty. Akito plays soccer, and the locker room is rank after practice, so he understands, but still; it’s distracting.
The sole against her foot creates clapping noises whenever she walks, and the material at the bottom gives little clops as it makes contact with the wooden floor. It’s worse than a bell because Akito’s eyes are immediately drawn to the source of the noise.
Ena is in the living room, dancing for the sake of maintaining her ‘perfect bod’, and he can hear her shoes from his bedroom. Mom is out doing socialite things, a side effect of marrying a famous artist, while Dad is off at his studio, creating another masterpiece to add to their already tremendous wealth.
Akito slides down the rail of the staircase to enter the living room.
“Can you stop?” Akito crosses his arms. “It’s annoying.”
“Stop what?” Ena says, still dancing in a baby pink camisole with matching short shorts. “I’m not bothering you.”
“Yes, you are. And cover up, I just saw your nipple and it’s ugly.”
Ena sticks out her tongue. “Then stop looking.”
Akito can’t bark back a rebuttal, so he focuses his gaze on the annoying claps of her flip flops. Ena’s nipples are pretty, pink, and soft, and if Akito were lyrically gifted, he would describe it akin to a flower bud.
Instead, Ena’s nipples are things Akito wants to pop in his mouth and suck even though Ena has absolutely no chest to speak of. Her moans would be gorgeous.
They are gorgeous, actually, because Ena is never quiet when she masturbates; Akito’s door is right next to hers. Before puberty had properly hit, he had thought she was in pain and would storm in with a first aid kit. But age tainted him, so now he presses his ear against the wall to hear every droplet of pleasure. He snakes his hand down his pants and bites his knuckles to stifle moans because while Ena is an oblivious exhibitionist, Akito is not.
He wrinkles his nose at Ena’s feet. She had picked the color herself, baby pink per usual, but it was Akito who applied the polish. He had gently held Ena’s foot and had rotated her ankle as needed, brows furrowed in concentration as he coated the nail without getting even the slightest bit on her skin. Otherwise, Ena would make fun of him.
“And cover your feet too, they’re ugly.”
“Then stop looking,” Ena sings songs. She lifts her arms and shakes her hips. It’s Zumba, or whatever girls Ena’s age are interested in. Her camisole rises, revealing her silky smooth abdomen and the precious v-line of her pelvis.
Unable to contain his fury, Akito grabs a pillow from the couch and smacks her with it. Ena shrieks, grabs a different pillow and strikes back. Akito comes out of the battle with a limp, while Ena prances back to her room with a devilish smile on her face.
Then he can’t stop staring. He can’t even bother to hide it because everything about Ena is beautiful — from the way she wrinkles her nose at carrots, to the talons of her hand whenever she claws at him, and to her 10 perfect little toes, nails shiny, colored with whatever had caught her fancy. Sometimes there are polka dots. Sometimes there are stars. No matter the request, Akito obeys.
It all comes to a standstill when he’s kneeling before Ena, massaging her legs with a salt scrub. Ticklish, she arches her back and releases feeble whines. She tenses the muscles of her calves, which is what Akito is so desperately trying to relax, and curls her toes.
Her smooth skin becomes smoother under his administration. Her panties are visible; he yearns to wipe his hands clean of salt so he can slide his hands up her perfect legs and finger that even more perfect cunt.
But instead, he’s giving Ena the proper pedicure experience because Ena asked him to.
Ena moans. “Akito, be gentle.”
“I’m being as gentle as I can!” Akito hisses. “Stop whining.”
Surprisingly, Ena falls silent.
Akito is able to focusing on rubbing out the tension in her calves when her foot, dripping with water, snakes up his thigh. The already developing heat in his lower abdomen reaches a peak as Ena strokes the newly formed tent of his crotch with the ball of her foot. Akito’s hips buck. He almost moans before he leaps to his feet.
You sneak, he thinks to snarl. You planned this all along –
Except Ena couldn’t have planned it because this is something that had laid dormant within him. Clips of his life flash before his eyes — from always begging to go out with Mom whenever she got a pedicure, from offering to take girls to the nurse’s office whenever they sprained an ankle in P.E., and finally, doing his big sister’s nails every weekend.
Akito opens his mouth. He closes it — tries to spit something vicious out but can’t because he’s not Ena.
Instead, he nabs Ena’s flip flops from the shoe rack, the pair she always wears at home, and squirrels it away in his room, fury blooming in his chest as Ena cackles like a witch. It’s a beautiful cackle and it only makes him harder.
Cheeks flushed, he unzips his pants, because while Ena had inherited their father’s prickly nature, Akito had inherited the venom that allowed him to make it big in the art industry.
Akito returns the sandals an hour later, striped with semen.
Ena howls. She lunges at him, but despite the bloody scratches across his cheeks, Akito considers it a victory.