Work Text:
Amane doesn't remember how they ended up here.
Tsukasa’s fingers fumbling, sprinkling green between rolling paper, focus honed and tongue slipping out the side of his mouth. Shiny trail of saliva. He takes the newly formed, clumsily made joint between his lips…the flame coming alive and lighting up. He inhales for a second, probably just how his friends advised him (a pang of jealousy settles in Amane’s belly), before the smoke is expelled from his lips and he’s letting out a sparse cough.
Amane watches Tsukasa stare off into space for a few moments. Like it’s this revolutionary thing (it probably is), trying drugs, another taboo crossed off his seemingly never ending bucket list.
He always wants thing after thing. Always ends up roping Amane into it, arms hooked together and if not—harsh knuckles meeting flesh until there’s compliance.
Then—his brother is fast and nimble as a fox, eager to close the gap between them, nearly toppling over his crossed legs. Pressing the joint to his lips. That part so easily, so sweetly, without a spoken command or order.
Tsukasa has Amane trained well, doesn’t he?
“Okay, now inhale…”
The feeling of Tsukasa’s fingers grazing the delicate skin of Amane’s lips, set him up for failure. It causes the reality of what they were doing, what he was doing to hit much more harder when it comes. He doesn’t know what he was expecting. The smoke snaking its way to his lungs stung in a dull way, it was heavy—Amane knew that much, because Tsukasa and him had tried cigarettes before. But the taste was nowhere near that of tobacco.
“...just like that, Amane,” Tsukasa coos sweetly, patting his cheek.
Green and earthy, it dried out and sat upon his tongue like a tyrant. Claiming every one of Amane’s taste buds for itself…herbaceous, skunky, astringent. But those didn’t quite catch the essence of the taste, either; truthfully, he might have to accept that he won’t have the words for the taste.
It’s over with: “...and…exhale,”
Tsukasa takes the joint from his mouth. Amane exhales on his brother’s instruction, believing he could be safe from the cough, but he isn’t. His throat heaves and burns and Tsukasa watches him with a certain scrutinizing look. And—the aftermath of what had happened unfolds. Amane blinks and his head feels light, like it’s finally caught a break like a lion does a gazelle, claws outstretched, and his limbs feel like jelly, but not quite. And he can’t help but look at Tsukasa, is he feeling this too?
Did he know it would feel like this?
Did he know the taste never fully fades, either? It just lingers at the back of your throat.
Amane feels so much more aware of things—everything that is simply in the state of being, of existing. There, if he should decide to reach out his palm and touch it. He grazes fingertips over the skin of his cheek, and it’s so soft, softer than usual and his finger nails are cold and smooth. Was this how it felt to his brother?
Tsukasa’s already on his next turn, knees digging into Amane’s clothed thighs as smoke surrounds them. Like a veil, like a film, like a cloak. Reducing the world to only the both of them. Tsukasa brings the joint to Amane’s lips again, his gaze is firm and unwavering. Amane now knows what to do…knows that this is merely just another exchange of power between them.
Tsukasa never letting up on the reins of Amane’s heart and soul and body—and he feels himself dry up and revitalize at the same time, as he takes the smoke into his lungs again, dutiful bright eyes and hands. They rest at his brother’s waist, near the slope of his bony hips. The fabric of their school uniforms is so much more velvety, Amane can’t help but grope at the feeling under his hands and Tsukasa lets out a huff.
His body leans into Amane’s, rolling and rocking against each other like cerulean waves.
“Does it feel good? Do you like it, Ama-nii? I know I do, it’s really good—gentle and relaxing, I feel like I’m made of clouds! Do you think clouds would taste like cotton candy? Or would it just be gross like cottonballs..? Either way, they’re soft and pretty and I wanna sit on top of one.” Tsukasa rambles on, questions that can’t be answered as Amane coughs again. “Everything feels so different than usual…so nice and soft and warm—you’re so warm,”
Amane still nods through the wheezes, tears pricking the corner of his eyes.
Tsukasa giggles. He tips back and forth on the balls of his feet, while he takes a hit of the joint again. Amane wonders why he doesn’t seem to bother with how much ash is collecting at the end, greyscale but invigorating orange as Tsukasa breathes in. He really should take care of the ash before it falls to the carpet, or worse, their uniforms and they have the mark of delinquents on them forevermore.
Dirty, bad, careless—but they’re already all of those things, aren’t they? Why does it matter that the outside world, society sees them for who they truly are?
Amane releases a shallow breath.
His mind feels so messed up and fuzzy. He can’t stop thinking so deeply about things that are so insignificant…but nothing is really insignificant if you think about it. Everything is threaded together to contribute to something bigger than itself. Amane and Tsukasa are threaded together to contribute to something bigger than themselves, the Yugi family—their reverence for each other—continuing their bloodline. Tsukasa continues on with his nonsensical rant—the words strung together don’t reach Amane’s head, because he’s spilling out upon the floor.
Sprawling his body across the beige carpeting, Tsukasa almost falls off of Amane, but he finds his balance. Hand bunched in Amane’s button up, he goes silent. Amane looks up at him, hands reaching to pull him further down, entangle the warmth of their bodies.
It’s nice. When his brother doesn’t make a fuss about the rare want he expresses.
“Are you okay, ‘mane?”
Tsukasa hits the joint again, purposefully blowing the smoke in Amane’s face, catching his attention. Amane’s brows furrow as he shakes his head back and forth, snatching the damned thing out of Tsukasa’s hands for his turn. He inhales longer than usual, competition running his veins ragged.
His lungs too because suddenly his throat is itchy and tingly, too itchy and tingly to ignore that he’s dry heaving. Big swooping coughs and tears fully escape his eyes with the effort. Tsukasa nosedives in like a hawk, catching the droplets on his tongue, tickling Amane’s face and he lets out a strained laugh,
“Tsu-chan, stop! You-You’re tickling me!”
Tsukasa doesn’t halt, he lifts the salt from Amane’s skin one glistening stripe at a time. Amane’s laughs fade out, replaced by an increasing and uneven tempo of breathing as Tsukasa tongue inches closer to his ear. A shiver runs through his body, using the same path his blood follows.
He can’t believe his body is full of blood 24/7—can’t imagine how it’d feel to be without. Would he feel more hollow than he already does? Would he feel cold, sensitive to the slightest breeze?
Tsukasa nibbling on the lobe of his ear snaps Amane out of it, and the breath is taken out of his lungs. His brother’s teeth trail up and down, gentle for once, the flesh between his lips remaining unmarred. It feels good. But Amane jumps and pushes him off when he feels something wet along his scapha,
“That’s gross—it feels like you’re giving me a wet willy,”
Amane’s voice is quiet yet firm, and Tsukasa’s eyes take on this puppy-like quality and slumps against him.
“But I miss you! And you’re so warm and taste so good and you’re so perfect…Nii-chan,” Tsukasa whines, voice lingering on the honorific, stretching the vowels thin.
Amane’s cheeks are flushed, fingers clutching the joint that’s burning itself out of existence like a star. He puts it out on the floor, singing the carpeting and Tsukasa giggles, grasping him by the head. Hands cradling his face, skin meeting skin. He suppresses a chatter of his teeth because God, Tsukasa’s hands are cold and Amane’s hoping he’ll do something really bad right now. Take on the indecorous, small distance between their mouths, hot breath ghosting over peach fuzz yet to come.
Tsukasa looks so beautiful with the flaxen light of the room’s lamp falling over him like a mantle. It sets ablaze his amber eyes (same colour that Amane wields but it fits him so much better) and the pit of Amane’s belly. He knows it’s wrong to feel that. And to think your twin brother is the holiest, most ethereal being you’ve seen, painted in blue and gold and black and white. But he is—and he’s like a reflection of what you could’ve been.
How beautiful you could’ve been.
Tsukasa grows impatient, and initiates the kiss. His lips slow and reluctant, this version of him seemingly needing the reciprocation, approval of Amane to fling passion into this. Normally, Tsukasa doesn’t care if Amane’ll reciprocate or not. Just the act of smushing their mouths together is enough for him. But Amane’s stomach flutters by the act of desperation nonetheless.
Because Tsukasa isn’t desperate; not in that way. He’s never desperate in a vulnerable way, only embodying apathetic desperation—chasing meaning, finding some semblance of direction in Amane. They’re brothers, know each other inside-out, at their lowest and highest…know what they look like when they rise from their bed and when their head hits the pillow. But Amane barely knows Tsukasa’s vulnerabilities.
He’ll ponder more about it when this is over. And Tsukasa’s fingers aren’t carelessly hooking around the corners of his bottom lip, needing more, more, more. Because nothing is ever enough for him. Nothing from Amane is ever enough.
He prefers it this way, though, God forbid Tsukasa needs anything from anyone else.
Their tongues lazily rock along each other, just like that, for a while…only breaking apart the slightest millimeter to breathe into each other’s open mouths. Tsukasa’s smiling, forehead pressed against Amane’s and how does he still look so gorgeous? The crease by his eyes that Amane can’t help but peck at, disheveled bangs tinged with sweat, and the giggle that rings out, as he kisses pulls his brother back in.
People have had to wait their whole life for their true love.
Amane’s so lucky to have been paired up with him from the get go.