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senjuro rengoku never wanted to feel this way. it’s not his fault, he wants to think, but the nagging and gross feeling that steadily grows inside his chest simply won’t let him consider such an idea. he’s always been weak, scared. he’s always needed his brother, be it to provide him company or safety; or love, from the only place he ever receives it, the only place he’s ever known.
and somehow, he had gotten into his head that such love was only his, that it would always be. that it was special.
he started craving more of kyojuro’s company, his caring affections, his supportive words, his closeness… he doesn’t know when it is that he started to want more, to hope that maybe, just maybe, there was the chance that his older brother felt the same way towards him.
but he should’ve known, though, that he’s never been able to get what he wants.
it’s the boy named kamado tanjiro who finally shatters the weak illusion the younger rengoku held, that in which his brother’s love belonged to him only. because suddenly, kyojuro will just talk about the redhead. and senjuro hates to admit it, but he can see why. he can’t even hate tanjiro completely as he wants to, with his gentle eyes and inherent kindness. gods, even his father eventually seems to learn how to respect the young slayer.
and he. he starts to harbor resentment. resentment, jealousy… all awful feelings that he has no doubt that his brother must have noticed, no matter how much senjuro tries to hide it. to never let it show in front of him, at least, nor in front of the red headed boy that had stolen the love that, in his mind, belonged to him by right.
all alone, however, he allows himself to be honest.
ever since kyojuro and kamado tanjiro are together, after all, sometimes he can hear them, he can hear tanjiro’s hushed moans, and his pleas of please, please, rengoku-san; he can hear his own brother’s hoarse voice, his growls and pants. he listens to their bodies, to the repeated and passionate slam of their skins- and that affects him.
it shouldn’t, and he feels dirty from feeling the way he does. but all curled up in the furthest corner of his bedroom, pressing his legs together and even so, still being able to feel that still unknown and unpleasant warmth and tingling in his lower stomach, feeling his still small cock harden and throb where it’s pressed between his legs… he can’t help it.
sometimes- more often than he’d like to admit, he wishes it was him in tanjiro’s place. to be him the one trapped under his brother’s strong arms, to be him the one to take him inside, to be his. his, his. but most importantly… to have him all to himself.
his hands move almost on their own, undoing his hakama until he can finally start touching himself, and he has to hide his face on the sheets- has to bite onto the pillow, because it feels good, so good, like nothing he’s ever felt before, and a sharp, high-pitched cry leaves his pink, bitten lips.
he’s never done this before, and he can’t help but to feel ashamed, terribly so. but- it feels so good, so good…
his eyes fill with tears, humiliated even if it’s just him in the room, ashamed- and hurt, inevitably so. it's a pain that isn’t physical, but rather one caused because of his brother, because the only person he has had so easily thrown him away in favor of someone else, someone with whom he can share this. this- something, that he would never dare share with him.
his hushed moans soon start mixing with small sobs as he starts picturing the way in which his brother would touch him, how he probably was so careful with tanjiro, the first time- and how he’d be even more careful with him, because senjuro is his younger brother, his adoration… kyojuro would guide him softly, carefully, and his hand, so big, it would easily wrap around his small but hard cock. the very thought makes him gasp harder, almost gagging himself with the covers to keep from making any more noise than necessary, still curled up on himself.
and he tries, actually- he takes a shaky hand to his still virgin hole, and he can hear them, he knows exactly what kyojuro is doing, in which way he’s making his tsuguko his, and senjuro wants, like he’s never wanted anything else before.
he can’t muffle the sob that he lets out, then, as he pushes a first finger inside, because fuck- it hurts, it hurts in a way he’s never felt pain before. but he refuses to back out, still.
no, he wants to feel exactly what tanjiro is feeling, he wants to be able to hear the thrusts and the slamming on the other side of the wall and be able to sync those sounds with his own fingers inside of himself, he wants to steal his brothers sighs and moans, he wants to believe they are for him.
so, he tries again, this time wetting his fingers with his spit beforehand, something that just barely makes the pain a little more bearable. but it’s easier, this way. it’s better.
even so- it’s painful, it’s a punishment, but it’s somehow gratifying, too. to imagine that it’s not his fingers the ones that clumsily and desperately go in and out of his tight and reddened hole, but his brother’s big, hard cock instead. that the one fucking him is kyojuro, who would probably hoarsely whisper in his ear that it’s alright, senjuro, it’s alright, baby. the pain will go away.
and go away, the pain does. the physical one, at least.
and senjuro feels so extremely pathetic, with a hand furiously rubbing and pulling on his small, swollen little cock while the other keeps going in and out of his hole, and it feels good- it feels so good, so good… the tears at this point are flowing without him being able to do anything about it, and he’s crying because of pleasure, because of pain, of jealousy- of shame. of shame, especially when stuttered words start pouring out of his lips before he can help it.
brother, please- please, it feels so good, brother…
kyojuro . kyojuro, kyojuro, kyojuro…
it’s not exactly a pleasant sensation, not at all, once he finally reaches his orgasm at the same time as the sighs and moans from the next room seem to be telling the same.
not when he immediately feels… empty. alone, dirty, ashamed. humiliated because of his own actions and thoughts, as he stands up on shaky legs and tries to dry his tears, changing the dirty sheets and his tainted clothes, to be washed tomorrow.
the tears don't stop, though. not while he finishes cleaning himself as best he can, nor while he returns to lie down on clean sheets that do not match him at all, with how dirty he feels.
in the room next door, tanjiro is most likely curled up on kyojuro’s warm chest, getting his kisses and caresses, his soft and private words of love that senjuro can no longer hear, that he’ll probably never get to hear.
kamado tanjiro would not go to sleep tonight feeling dirty or ashamed, kamado tanjiro doesn’t has to hide his sick feelings.
but for one more night, senjuro does. cold, and all alone.
maybe it’s what he deserves, for being so selfish. so twisted, for wanting his brother all to himself in such a way.
and once next morning comes, he knows he will once again pretend that nothing is going on, that he doesn’t have this awful weight eating him from the inside out, rotting him alive. he will smile at the couple and offer them breakfast; he will look at his brother in the eye as he does so, like the hypocrite he is.