just a taste ; sukuita

just a taste.

side fushita because yuuji deserves a harem.

"Again?!" Sukuna groans, just about ready to tear his eyeballs out. "You do anything but this?"

Sharing a body has proven difficult. As painful as having to be lugged around like unwanted baggage is, it doesn't hold a candle to what he's being forced to witness.

"Nah." The brat shrugs, stretching his fingers out before wrapping them around his cock and resuming the swift up and down movement.

It's the third one of the day. Usually-and Sukuna cannot believe he knows this, it has come to this-he averages two.

One in the morning when he wakes up with his pants wet and moans of the other brat's name still fresh in his lips, and one in the afternoon when he has been around the object of his affections for a few hours already and can't help but sneak off to some semi-private location to masturbate to him, teeth biting on his shirt to shut himself up.

He did that already, successfully, and still, he's here in the middle of the night, squirming around face down on the bed with his hand down his pajama pants... unprompted... simply because Fushiguro is right next door and every time the poor idiot thinks that, he gets hard.

To avenge this psychological torture, Sukuna will kill fifteen year olds first when he gets the hell out of this horny flesh prison.

"Hey Sukuna," the brat drags him out of his thoughts, whispering out loud. "Are you there?"

He can't seem to understand that he can think the words and Sukuna will hear them the way he hears Itadori repeat: Fushiguro, notice me, Fushiguro, notice me, for the better part of every day. This is the soundtrack of Sukuna's life now.

"Sukuna." He's in a chatty mood. Not normally this insistent unless something big happens and he has no one else to share it with. (Big in brat terms is Fushiguro noticing him, or Fushiguro looking in his direction, or Fushiguro suggesting they train together, which 'might as well be a date.') "Hey, Sukuna, are y-"

"Where the fuck else would I be?" Sukuna snaps.

The kid laughs-and because he's open with his emotions like a book with its pages torn out and all out of order, Sukuna can sense he's relieved to hear him. Gone is the fear and restlessness. "Sometimes you go away."

Sukuna would rather not share that he never does-never can-he ignores him, pretends he's not there, because if he didn't Itadori would talk his brains out every second of every fucking day so "leaving" is necessary. Pacing his domain, kicking around skulls, lying face up (or down) in the pool of blood, moping, listening to the library of fake laughs Itadori has constructed to hide the fact that he giggles like a little girl, moping harder. Why'd he have to get stuck inside a virgin ass loser? An insult to his being.

"Sukuna."

"What?"

"Do you get horny?"

Sukuna is exactly one thousand years too old for this shit.

"Suk-"

"Stop whining my name and get it over with."

"Oh," the brat continues, undeterred. His fingers skim up and down his length without stopping despite him clearly wanting to have this conversation now. He rubs his cock, as he talks, "So? Do you get horny? Inside my head? Do you get horny if I'm horny? Are you horny right now?"

"No," Sukuna grunts. "There is nothing more revolting than seeing you hump your bed like a bitch in heat."

"Oh," Itadori puffs his breath.