Big and Small Again (Tokyo Ghoul: Mutsurie)

Big and Small Again

(A/N: I've been gone for 6 years. I'm returning at the age of 20 to drop off some smutty fanfiction for the first time in my little miserable life. Does anyone even care about the Quinx arc of Tokyo Ghoul in 2022? I sure do. I hope whoever finds it enjoys).

The Chateau's lights twinkled brightly through the tall windows, sharing a glimpse of a much warmer, more forgiving world. Its lawn neatly trimmed, pavement carefully swept, the Chateau looked both inviting yet exclusive. Somewhere only certain people belonged, and those people weren't like him.
    Tooru Mutsuki sat across the street, parked against the curb of a less-lit and less-friendly home. The car was turned off so he could remain more elusive as he gazed across the manicured lawn to the warm entrance of the glass mansion he was once so familiar with. He couldn't imagine walking through that door, even though several months ago he called this place home. What once represented safety and stability, something Mutsuki was seriously lacking before his arrival, seemed like a place he couldn't be invited to.
    He felt like an alien.
    Like he was watching a ghost version of himself, living out his crushed dreams of family and belonging while he stayed at a distance, hair slightly lighter and mind much more broken. A young, naive Tooru who hadn't seen the things he's seen and didn't go through what he went through, padding quietly around the glass mansion with a book in hand, or eating among friends in the dining room. Mutsuki always felt like an alien, but for just one blissful moment, just before everything went so wrong, he felt he'd finally found home.
    Until you ruined it ruined it ruineditruineditruined -
    His mind was doing it again, screaming and whirling and spinning away, control far out of his grasp. Mutsuki clutched at his long glaucous bangs, tears burning his eyes as a pang surged through his chest. Why did he come here in the first place? He didn't know how he could have ever expected himself to march out of the car and right up to the Chateau the way he envisioned himself doing. He didn't know what he was hoping to get out of that. It seemed pointless, except...
    Except he needed help.
    Long, skinny, nail-bitten fingers pawed at the door handle subconsciously as Mutsuki stifled a sob. The door opened to a much cooler exterior; the night was frigid almost, piercing at Mutsuki's lungs as he heaved himself out of the car. Tears were still pouring down his face, which was swollen and puffy from hours of agonizing and weeping until he wondered if there was anything left in him to cry. He stumbled across the asphalt, tripping over nervous legs as he neared the entrance. It was just ten steps away or so, but it seemed like miles and miles and miles and miles and-
    Mutsuki froze. The large door to the Chateau swung open, catching him mid-step. His stomach dropped into the bottomless pit in his abdomen that had always been there, but in recent events had only grown larger and larger. A familiar frame came into view, tall and lean and muscular... Mutsuki stopped breathing for a moment.
"Hey, who the fuck are - wait, Tooru?" The voice, which started out harshly but ended in genuine surprise, sent shivers down Mutsuki's spine. It belonged to a dark-haired, dark-eyed man with fair skin and a cool gaze. Kuki Urie. "Tooru? Can you hear me?" His voice softened at this part as Mutsuki's balance wavered on the pavement, then finally collapsed onto his knees. He couldn't remember what happened after that.
***
He came to in a dark room, blackout curtains shielding his tired eyes from the rays outside. It took Mutsuki only a moment before he realized he was in Urie's bedroom, recognizable due to the plain darkness of everything, save for an easel and paints in one corner of the room. Even his art was clean and tucked away and orderly. Mutsuki rubbed his eyes, which stung in that way that eyes sting after a long night of crying. He didn't know how he got there, but he felt a wave of relief wash over his body when the door quietly opened.
    "So you're finally awake, then." Urie strode into the room, closing the door behind him and sitting down on his desk chair. He swiveled it so that he could face Mutsuki, who was still resting in his bed. Mutsuki suddenly felt very self-conscious, being wrapped up in Urie's bedding and fully coming to. "Good morning," he said weakly, pushing hair away from his face. Urie didn't say much, just handing him a plate with eggs and a slice of toast. Mutsuki's stomach hitched.
    "You need to eat," Urie said bluntly, as if reading Mutsuki's mind. He put the food in the emaciated boy's lap, standing above him with his arms crossed, intending to ensure that Mutsuki would actually eat. "Are you just gonna sit there all day? Eat."
    Mutsuki brought the eggs up to his mouth on the silver fork, hand shaking. The moment the food touched his lips he felt queasy, but he choked it down anyway. Urie seemed satisfied, sharp and cold gaze softening just for a moment. He sat back down in his desk chair, watching his comrade slowly eat his breakfast. It started out in reluctance, then quickly became frenzied as the breakfast was devoured in apparent hunger.
    "Thank you," Mutsuki said politely, setting the now-clean plate aside. Embarrassment settled itself in his stomach, curling up like a swollen python nestled in his insides. How pathetic must he look, stumbling into the Chateau with tears and snot not so befitting on him. You deserved to leave, he thought, you literally ruined everything while you were here. You belong nowhere. Icy chills went down his spine. He averted his glance away from Urie's steely gray eyes, and whispered, "I'm sorry."
    "Tooru," Urie started, but words often failed him, and he fell into a tense silence shortly after. He stood up from the desk chair, and moved over to sit on the bed beside the warm body curled up in his blankets. "Tooru," he started again, "Don't be stupid."
    "What?"
    "I said don't be stupid," Urie repeated. "I don't get what you're apologizing for. It's stupid to waste apologies for things you didn't do wrong, you know."
    Mutsuki's face broke out into a small smile. He felt grateful for Urie; his strong presence, his blunt words, his lack of filter. Everything about him. It was so refreshing to be reunited with this familiar awkwardness after months of living in some remote, rural area with people he wasn't even on a first name basis with. The isolation, he knew, was deserved. But that didn't stop his selfish self from yearning for familiarity. "Urie," he sighed, "you know as well as I do just how stained my hands really are."
    Urie pressed his lips together, let out a long breath, and sat in his own silence for a moment. That was his way of processing what to say next. Mutsuki knew the contemplative look, the pursing of lips, the narrowing of eyes on Urie to be his moment of internalization. It meant he was actively listening. When some people thought they were being ignored, Mutsuki understood he was being heard the most.
    "Stop crucifying yourself," Urie finally decided to say, breaking his silence. And then, "I'm glad you came back to visit." He said it softly, a small edge of tenderness betraying his cold facial expression. "Welcome home."
***
That morning was spent in mutual silence in Urie's bedroom, Mutsuki reading a novel on Urie's bed and Urie sketching out an idea for a painting. The silence wasn't unnatural or uncomfortable, nor was it accusatory. For a moment, Mutsuki felt safe enough to allow himself to get lost in the pages of his novel. He allowed the story to envelop him in a whole different reality that he could live out, forgetting just for a couple hours what atrocities he's committed. It was like the old days, where the two would spend many afternoons together just like this one. Urie sketching out his mind's desires and Mutsuki with his nose in a book, lounging on the plain white covers of the bed with sunlight filtering in through a half-parted curtain.
    "What are you painting?"
    "Something."
    "Can you give me a hint?"
    Urie's eyebrow twinged in annoyance, yet he sighed and relented. "I'm painting something... special. Just be patient for once and maybe you'll get to see it." He continued painting with a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. Mutsuki felt his heart seize, face turning red. He knew where this typically went. It would take someone truly dense to miss the connection the two shared; the soft spot Urie held in his heart for the green haired boy. The moment was brief; the moment was endless. Before he knew what he was doing, Mutsuki was standing up, walking over to Urie and his art.
"Hey, don't-" Urie began, glowering in annoyance and trying to cover his sketch with his arms. Mutsuki smirked, reaching under Urie's armpits and using his nimble fingers to tickle the taller man. Even stoic Urie was unable to keep his cool; his face turned pink and he dropped his sketch on the ground, squirming to get away. "What the fuck are you doing?" He was struggling to get his words out. Even someone as strong and serious as Urie had their weaknesses, and his happened to be tickles. Mutsuki was doing something he hadn't done in a very long time. Laughing.
    The laughter didn't last long, however. Urie grabbed Mutsuki's legs, causing the latter to topple on top of Urie, who was sprawled on the ground from the previous tickle attack. Their faces were close. Too close. The feeling that went through Mutsuki's chest was icy, electrifying, and comparable to true terror, yet it was pleasant as well. Urie's eyes were steely as he stared back quietly, waiting for Mutsuki's next move. It didn't take long for the two to be engulfed in a hungry kiss.
Urie ran his painter's hands through Mutsuki's brittle locks, whitened with the trauma and stress of breaking after carrying it all. He moved toward Mutsuki's face, thinned from the worrying, the crying, shaped by the travels and experiences Urie had been left behind for. Mutsuki sighed as Urie's kisses moved into the crook of his smooth neck, breath hot and whispering against skin. He was aware of the wetness beneath his boxers, causing the fabric to bunch uncomfortably. A heartbeat where he tried to feel nothing.
Urie sat Mutsuki up and joined him, looking into his face intently. There was a question there that didn't even require words. Mutsuki thought about it, suddenly aware of the guilt squeezing at his chest and closing his throat again. How could he disappear for months, then show up crying at the doorstep, and be taken care of, and not hated, and not turned away the moment eyes laid on him, and have the audacity to want something like this? I don't deserve it I don't deserve it I-
And he remembered the last time they had shared an intimate moment like this - or, he should say, almost. They've had relations before, much before that specific moment, when they were younger and life was different. This particular time before was the night Mutsuki got transferred to a separate branch for his job, and Urie had punched a hole in the wall, tears running down his face, and they argued and cried and they ended up where they always did.
But that time, as much as Mutsuki wanted Urie, craved him, Urie's familiar touch wasn't familiar. It was the sickening touch of another man, whose remains lay abandoned in a ghost field on an island of nightmares. Mutsuki had pulled away, screaming and crying. He had to be sedated - not for the first time since the incident with the actual man buried on the island - before his departure the next day.
"I..." Mutsuki tore his gaze away from Urie's, afraid to look back at him. "I want to..."
"Are you sure?"
Mutsuki thought for a moment, took a deep breath, and then finally nodded his head. Urie's mouth turned barely upwards at the corners in his version of a smile, and the two moved to Urie's bed, still rumpled from Mutsuki's sleep the night before. Mutsuki slowly took his shirt off, exposing his narrow frame, shoulders broadened and toned just slightly from excessive training. A black binder hugged tightly against his chest.
Urie moved in, brushing Mutsuki's hair from his face again and beginning to trail kisses starting  from the latter's jawline down his neck. Mutsuki shuddered, putting his own fingers through the other man's hair and feeling his soft, silky tresses slide between them. It felt so familiar. Urie's long fingers played with the waistband of Mutsuki's pants, tugging off his clothing until he lay in just his binder and boxers. He felt out of breath. The pressure in his ribs was suffocating.
"You probably shouldn't be wearing that," Urie pointed out. There were no notes of sexualization, expectation, or anything other than practicality in his voice. Mutsuki felt his heart swell in relief. Maybe he didn't feel relaxed entirely just yet, but he did feel comfortable.
"Do you want to take it off?" Mutsuki offered coyly. Urie had a magical way of making Mutsuki feel so wanted.
Urie carefully took the restrictive fabric by its bottom hem, pulling it upward and over Mutsuki's head and toned arms. Air instantly flooded Mutsuki's lungs, and he inhaled gratefully. He'd been wearing it far longer than what was medically reasonable or healthy. He stood in just his boxers, head held high, bronze skin shining with sweat and filtered sunlight. Urie took in his body with appreciative eyes, mentally sketching out a painting for later.
"Your turn?"
Wordlessly, Urie obliged. He unbuttoned his shirt, peeling it off of his pale torso. His pants followed and then he, too, was standing in just his boxer briefs. The two then made their way to the bed together, a mutual decision made without verbal cues, Urie making sure Mutsuki was settled comfortably among the pillows and blankets before settling between the latter's smooth legs. He played with the hem of Mutsuki's boxers, and asked one more time, just to be sure, "Are you still okay with this?"
Mutsuki nodded his head firmly, taking a moment to breathe without restrictions. He was more than okay with this. He just wasn't so okay with himself. But maybe, just maybe, Urie could take away that doubt just for a moment. The way he always did.
Urie carefully pulled down Mutsuki's boxers, exposing the delicate and prominent hip bones, the sensitive flesh between his smooth thighs. Though he loved Mutsuki's body, Urie knew that Mutsuki felt safer with the blanket covering the lower half of his body, so he did so, nestling beside him with his fingers sliding across his partner's already wet clit. Mutsuki shuddered at the touch. It'd been so long.
Urie used his long piano fingers to stroke Mutsuki, taking care to be gentle yet firm. The friction caused heat to rise in Mutsuki's lower abdomen, energy building up behind the sensitive bundle of nerves. Urie's body responded almost instantly, cock growing stiff between his legs. Normally a solo performer in everything he did, with Mutsuki, the two warm bodies acted as one moving force. Urie moved beneath the blanket, settling his head between Mutsuki's legs. He poked his head out to ask permission, Mutski nodding his head affirmingly before Urie even had to say anything. Urie placed his head between Mutsuki's legs, breathing in his warmth. When he placed his mouth on Mutsuki's pussy, working slowly with his tongue, the taste alone was sweet and familiar and hot.
Mutsuki arched his back, leaning more into Urie and making soft noises of pleasure. Urie alternated tongue movements, making sure he could take in every last drop of the moment. He kissed the insides of Mutsuki's thighs, sucking on the soft skin, leaving dark bite marks in his wake. Mutsuki melted into the touch, closing his eyes and breathing more intensely. The lower parts of his body thrummed with anticipation. The only people who existed in the world were Urie and himself; for this moment, he wasn't the things he did. He simply existed. Mutsuki's pelvis bloomed with electricity, pleasure so intense he couldn't help but cry out a little. His sclera blackened, iris turning red, a sign of uncontrolled excitement building in his body.
Urie's kakugan had activated as well, his in both eyes. His breathing quickened, all energy displacing itself from the core of his body to his stiff groin. Mutsuki was sopping at this point, Urie's face covered in the stuff. Mutsuki was gripping the sheets, arching his back and pressing his cunt into Urie's face. "Suck it," he said breathlessly, groaning blissfully when Urie obliged, sucking on his throbbing clit and alternating with the tip of his tongue strategically. It was more than Mutsuki could bear; within just about five minutes, he was cumming onto Urie's face, body spasming far outside of his control.
Mutsuki felt himself let go, heart slamming, eyes squeezed shut, groaning and huffing and sweating and living. The first time he'd felt like his existence was more than an empty shell, a zombie, a farce of who he used to be. Urie gripped onto Mutsuki's thin and quivering hips, using his tongue to continue to help Mutsuki along on this invigorating high. When the peak was over, Mutsuki was throbbing and soaked and euphoric. His chest and cheeks flourished with a beautiful sex flush, only adding to Urie's arousal. He liked the darkness of Mutsuki's skin, tinged with a deep pink. He liked seeing that he'd done Mutsuki well. He was sporting a massive erection, already well-endowed in the first place. Mutsuki wasn't going to let the job be unfinished.
"Do you want to sit at the edge of the bed?" Mutsuki asked, knowing Urie's favorite position to be in. Urie wordlessly got up, standing to his feet and feeling the blood rushing through his body at an alarming rate. Mutsuki followed, knees still weak, staggering to get his balance and kneeling before Urie. He slid off Urie's boxers and was met by the famously massive dick, erect and ready. Urie took his spot, spreading his muscular thighs and allowing room for Mutsuki's head between them. Mutsuki eagerly took Urie, possibly being the only person who could take Urie all the way. (That was a fact he still regarded with pride).
Mutsuki moved his head accordingly, responding to the quickening of Urie's breath. Urie ran his fingers through Mutsuki's hair, pulling it lightly the way he knew the other boy liked it. He lightly closed his thighs around Mutsuki's head and kept hold of him between them, not forcefully or harshly, and Mutsuki was happily obliging. The friction was becoming almost enough to send him over the edge, so he stopped Mutsuki for a brief moment. He rummaged through his bedside table, pulling out a condom. Mutsuki smirked, and helped him roll it on. It felt tight on his cock, which was engorged and swollen and more than ready for the events that were to follow.
Urie positioned himself so that he was laying on the bed, protected penis pointing toward the ceiling expectantly. Mutsuki straddled Urie, maneuvering so that he hovered above his considerable length, and slowly sat down. Luckily, he was already warmed up from the previous foreplay, so taking Urie inside of him was easy. He felt the emptiness fill up, sighing reflexively. Then, he began to ride Urie, assisted by Urie's thrusting hips. He sat atop a strong v-line and beneath a complete six pack, Mutsuki observed, starting to moisten at those visual masterpieces. The friction began to build up, heat and passion and anticipation snowballing into another intense moment where Urie had no choice but to grunt in effort between labored breaths. He watched Mutsuki close his eyes and open his mouth slightly in pleasure, enhancing his own sexual high.
"You're so amazing, Urie," Mutsuki breathed.
That alone was enough to shove Urie, who was always eager for praise,  over the edge. He released, letting out a low moan and squirming a bit, the intensity almost too much for him. Tears sprung into his eyes from the sheer power behind his pleasure. He felt like a piece that'd been missing was finally filled in his life. Mutsuki was the crown jewel of the puzzle. Panting and exhausted, he finished in contentment.
When the heat of the moment finally died down, Mutsuki got off of Urie and laid next to him, nuzzling his face into the crook of his neck, inhaling his clean, musky scent. The two entwined hands, which sat upon Urie's bare chest, cold and damp from the sweat of exertion. Urie rewarded Mutsuki with a small smile, closing his eyes, and the two men fell asleep laying naked in the filtered sunlight of Urie's secluded paradise.
***
Urie woke up before the sun even rose alone. He sighed, part of him expecting this. If there was one thing Mutsuki was excellent at doing, other than performing well in bed, it was running away whenever things were too good. Even though he was anticipating the solitude, denying that his heart ached a little in Mutsuki's absence would be a lie. He got up, brushing his black hair from his face and walking to the window, peering outside beyond the curtained windows. Sure enough, the car Mutsuki had arrived in was gone.
    Urie sighed, sitting down in front of his canvas and glancing at the painting he was working on. It was another one of Mutsuki – he wanted to capture his essence since he was only going to be gone most of the time. Anger bubbled beneath the surface. Another moment where Urie felt powerless to help the people he cared about. Another moment where he was too little, too late. He began stroking the canvas with a loaded paintbrush in the darkness of his room. He didn't need the light when he memorized every feature on Mutsuki's face.
    And even as he was a proponent for never getting his hopes up in difficult situations, Urie couldn't help but latch onto the idea that someday, maybe even soon, he'd see his muse again. Maybe he'd get to stay longer. Maybe, hopefully, in that beautiful imaginary instance, Kuki Urie alone would finally be enough to bring back the pieces of his family together.