Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/12398307.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      Multi, M/M
  Fandom:
      おそ松さん_|_Osomatsu-san_(Anime)
  Relationship:
      Matsuno_Choromatsu/Matsuno_Jyushimatsu/Matsuno_Karamatsu
  Character:
      Matsuno_Choromatsu, Matsuno_Jyushimatsu, Matsuno_Karamatsu, Yowai_Totoko
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe, Murder_Husbands, Murder, Age_Difference, Age
      Regression/De-Aging, Killing, Manipulation, Stalking, Psychopathology_&
      Sociopathy
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-10-18 Updated: 2018-02-10 Chapters: 5/? Words: 8544
****** THE MANIAC . ******
by masochismed
Summary
     I am the maniac, I am the ghoul ; I found a monster in me when I lost
     my cool.
Notes
     TW: rape
***** darkness . *****
Choromatsu loved pretty girls. He adored idols.
Pictures of young women decorated his walls. Big eyes looking up at him,
staring down at him. Mixed honey, dark as the cresent moon, blue as the ocean.
Skin as white as snow to as tanned as sand to as black as dark chocolate. Hair
in waves, hair straightened, hair cut so short you couldn't tell either way.
When hand found its way into tight jeans and he stroked himself, he pictured
all sorts of women. Thin lips, thick lips... Tight, loose... Loud, quiet.
Whimpering. Crying. Asking to stop. Begging for mercy.
All kinds of women littered his imagination!
But most of all, his idols. Young, pretty. Always pure. To defile them was a
sin in of itself. He never touched himself to the thought of them. His love for
them was something different, purer than that.
He'd spend all his money on merchandise; on CDs and bands to wear to the next
concert, the next time he can breathe the same air as them.
One of his favourites was named Totoko-chan. She hadn't broken out of her debut
stage, having little competition was good for him. She had this act of a nice
girl and he hated the rumours that she was truly a brat. Even so, he thinks,I'd
still adore her! If she was spoiled rotten or ripe from a tree, I love her no
matter what!
It's true, too. He loves her all the same. Even when she brattily stomps her
feet at live shows when her dress rides up just slightly. Even when she's lip-
syncing poorly one night and clicking her tongue behind the microphone. -- See,
it's things like this Choromatsu notices. That Choromatsu loves and thinks of
over and over again.
He imagines her so much... A neighbour looks like her to him.
Her hair is soft and brown -- or at least it looks soft. And in the sunlight,
it's mostly brown. It's darker than Totoko-chan's, admittedly. But her eyes
were the same soft hazel, honey-like in sunlight and chocolate in the night.
Her skin was tanner but she was still the palest girl he'd seen lately, the
summer sun still sticking to most girls.
She wore her hair in a single ponytail most days, but somedays she'd split it
into two and look even more like Totoko-chan.
He fell in love with her. He never spoke a word to her.
They barely exchanged looks. He was a nobody in an ocean of nobodies that all
looked alike, all had similar mannerisms and had the same bad people skills.
Even when he moved out, the visiting wouldn't stop. People would confuse
Osomatsu for him in an instant, not even noting the difference in the way they
spoke or walked or talked. He didn't care. It didn't bother him anymore. It was
better this way, he could get lost in the background noise.
Osomatsu was the only one who had once waved to her, passing by. It drove
Choromatsu mad with jealousy for days. He watched from the window as his
brother left, only to see him look over his red-clad shoulder and wave at his
girl next door.
He spent that night scratching at Osomatsu's pictures in frames he had about
his house. They now lay gathering dust on his messy desk, out of their
scratched frames and glossy in the light of the dining room.
His anger was a scary thing, he noted. Something that boiled up and died all at
once. It made his heart burn and stomach turn; nothing could cause it and yet
everything set it off.
Choromatsu is over it now, of course. He stopped inviting Osomatsu over so
often, just in case.
And anyway, he got closer to her than any of his brothers could.
 
===============================================================================
 
At night, in the shadows, he finds himself out in the street. On the pavement.
He quietly steps into her yard, past the flimsy fence separating their houses
from each other. A window stretches out on the wall -- it unfortunately only
allows him to see when she enters her living room.
She has this cute little habit of leaving her curtains drawn apart and she
doesn't check if her cat has moved the shades apart. He often does. Unless she
lets him out.
Choromatsu has taken that cat in and fed him, smelling his fur to imagine what
her house is like. Of course, he can never get a full image from that.
Luckily, from his bathroom window, he can see her bedroom window. He spends a
lot of time standing at the edge of the tub, watching her.
Tonight he's luckier than ever. Her cat moved the shades and left cracks into
her room.
She turns on her lamp, undoing her two ponytails. Lucky. Lucky. Up goes her
shirt. Choromatsu's breath hitches, leaning closer to the window. His palm
presses to the bulge in his pants, growing already. Embarrassing... she'd call
me embarrassing... His cheeks flush at the thought, sharp lips curving upward
in a triangular smile.
Her bra is white. Her panties match. Who does that anymore? She's so cute...
She's so cute... She's so cute... No one matches their underwear anymore..!
Silly girl! Adorable!
She bends to pet her cat.
He's already breathing heavy when his hand finds his cock, palming and stroking
loosely. He's heard her voice before, but when she speaks to her cat she does
this cute little face like she's looking at a baby and wants to impress it with
her cuteness.
Look at those hazels, almost black in the dim light of her room.
Wait.
Hazels? Why is she looking over here?
His quaking turns into a different kind, knees buckling at the thought. He dips
down from the window quickly, hands pressing to the wall now instead of his
pants.
Heart is in his throat, smile turned downward in worry. Oh my god. Oh my god.
She saw me. She saw me. Did she notice what I was doing? Did she notice?
Slowly, he moves to peek through the window again. She's no longer in her room.
Where is she? Where is she?! WHERE IS SHE?
Hands fumble to zip up his pants as legs move. He's quick, taking long strides
downstairs and out onto the pavement. He stares up at her house. Her lamp is
still on, but no shadowy figure stands in her room. Brunet man shakily walks to
her door -- contemplating. Contemplating. No, he won't.
Instead, he shimmies between the fence and her house, making his way to the
window that leads her to living room. Fingers part on the glass, narrow brown
eyes with hints of green squinting to make sense of the darkness in her living
room.
That's when he sees it.
The light of her phone shining on her terrified face. She's looking right at
him. No. No... He bangs at the window, calling out for her to let him in, to
let him explain.
"Darling!" He calls out, impulsively. "Don't call! I can explain! Don't touch
that phone!"
And now anger boils in him, heating up his chest and stomach, burning his
throat. His limbs feel numb -- hands shaking and sweaty. Droplets of the same
salty sweat pepper his temples, his knitted eyebrows and creased face.
She's shaking, too. Dialling. Dialling. No! No!
Choromatsu runs to the front door, trying the handle and using his foot to slam
against the door. It's too late to turn back. He can't just run and hide and
pretend nothing happened. She's a cute girl with no reason to lie. He's the
creep next door who might not get through to the cops.
Please, please, please, please, please...
He runs back to the window, picking up a rock on his way back to it. He
stumbles but presses the rock against the window, scratching with a bone-
chilling sound. Fist with rock between digits slams down on glass. Crack. Slam
again. Crack. Slam again. Smash. He continues until he can fit through
narrowly, only scratching and nicking at his jeans and knees as he does so.
She's no longer in the living room, she ran upstairs.
Foot crunches on something -- he looks down. It's her phone. She didn't get to
dial the police. He sighs through his nose.
But now anger remains in him. He feels betrayed. He feels hated. He feels
ashamed.
And someone has to pay for that.
He quietly moves up the steps, watching for her. Hands run along wallpaper. He
hates wallpaper. It gathers mold and smells and is ugly. He didn't see this far
into her house all the times he peeked through the windows.
Part of the wallpaper comes off under his nails.
"Sweetness," He begins, quietly. A false sense of security in his voice. "I
didn't mean for you to see that... I didn't mean..."
"Stay away from me! You disgusting asshole! I -- I called the police!"
Now she's lying to him. His steps stop at the top of the stairs, brow
twitching. "No you didn't."
"I did!" She sobs out. The more he steps onto the upper floor, the clearer he
sees her. Tears run down her face from those gorgeous hazel eyes, mucus
dripping from that beautiful button nose of hers. At her stomach, she's shakily
holding a knife. "I have a house phone... look!"
And oh, did she. It looked untouched. Stupid girl. Stupid girl.
Silence.
He lunges for her. She braces herself with the blade coming up to her face, but
he catches her thin wrist already. It was hardly a fight once the knife was on
the floor. She kneed his groin, only upsetting him further. It doesn't hurt
enough to have him release her wrist.
Nails dig into her pale skin as he fights her onto the floor, pinning her to
the ground. She cries out.
He debates. He debates. But no. She's too pure. Too pure for him to defile
further.
"You psycho! Get off me, I'll kill you!" She cries out, shaking as her legs
press together to keep him from his imagination.
Choromatsu's hands find her thin throat. It strains with her screams, but
pulses when she chokes on her words. Spittle comes at the corners of her lips,
painted for her busy day today.
She probably went to work like any other day. Spoke to other men... Flirted
with them to keep them friendly...
Anger. Anger. ANGER.
His weight is pushed onto her throat, thumbs pressing into the middle of her
neck. Die for me, my love. Her hands claw at his, attempting to unhook them
from her throat in a frenzy. He doesn't falter in the least.
Soon, she goes limp. Choromatsu sits up atop her, straddling her unmoving body.
He huffs and heaves, looking down at what he's done.
Ah.
Wait.
Her chest... it's still moving. For once, breasts don't automatically make all
blood rush to his groin. Instead, it rushes to his head -- blotching his face
with red and sweat.
He grabs the knife from above her head, raising it up and -- and -- AND -- AND
-- AND -- AND...!!!!!
He can't do it.
Knife drops, grazing her cheek. In a moment, the red line on her face bubbles
with crimson and one or two drip down into her ear.
Choromatsu's finger runs along the cut, gathering red on his fingertip and
bringing it up to his lip. He smears it upon bottom lip, then onto the tip of
his tongue he taps it. It tastes good. Like pennies he and his brothers would
shove into their mouths as kids. Stupid, silly kids.
She suddenly doesn't look like Totoko-chan anymore.
Suddenly, defiling her doesn't seem like that big of a sin anymore. It feels
like he has to, actually. To make her his.
She's laying helplessly under him, drool slipping down her chin as her
purpleish face is in blotches and discoloured patches. Her white bra is
pressing to her pale skin, chesting heaving hard as her body searches for air.
He counts how many times her stomach inflates and deflates, how many times he
can see her ribcage pressing against her flesh.
Cold hand touches her waist, squeezing to feel the bone underneath.
 
===============================================================================
 
Her eyes open. A haze fogging her eyes.
He's still here. It wasn't a realistic nightmare -- it wasn't a nightmare -- it
wasn't a nightmare! He's here, wiping his pants and looking around! With a
disgustingly bewildered face on, she hates. She hates him. And she can still
feel him inside her -- she knows. She knows.
She stirs, trying to find the knife. But of course, he notices her. And the
knife is gone.
He panics, mind racing. Strangle again? No, he doesn't know if he can keep
himself on top of her long enough. There would be enough finger prints on her
neck already, too. Not to mention his own nails digging into the sides and
middle of her neck. It was so obvious...
Choromatsu grabs the knife, presses it to her throat. She mumbles something -
- an insult enough to send his anger skyrocketing and the knife across her
throat.
"Fucking creep..."
He closes his eyes, the splurting blood coating his green shirt. He resists the
urge to gag, throw up right there on himself and sob uncontrollably. Well,
sobbing comes regardless. He loved her. As much as he could. In his own, little
way.
 
===============================================================================
 
Now it's the scene of the crime...
A robbery gone awry is what he settles on. He goes back home, sneakily in the
night. The neighbourhood is dead regardless. People vacationed and worked until
the late hours, Choromatsu knew this. Only wealthy, hard working people can
live up here. To work nine to five just won't cut it.
He enters his house. Grabs what he needs. He doesn't change yet. Not yet. He'll
toss this shirt into the fireplace.
Choromatsu knew the law and he knew the half-assed cops around here. They'll
see a broken window, a bloody towel, a raped woman and a few missing prized
possessions and he'll be home free.
The acting to be surprised and scared is what worries him. And his alibi. But
he has an idea. It's just eight p.m. He still had time to create an alibi. Just
don't be home.
He cuts the cord to the phone, pushing it off to pretend like the perp had
fought her there. More than they did.
He moves to her body, her throat cut perfectly. Blood coats her neck, where his
fingerprints wash away under the thick, drying gore. The brunet checks further,
grabbing her head and wiping the back of her neck. Rubber gloves creak with the
strains of effort he puts into moving her around. But he keeps her there,
perfect.
Now, he wipes the walls, scratching along the place where his fingernails made
their marks. The less wallpaper the better.
Then he moves on to rummage through her drawers, taking valuables. Things he'll
have to toss into the deepest depths of the ocean later. Or a lake.
 
===============================================================================
 
In his house, Choromatsu stands naked in front of the fire. He threw the bloody
shirt into the fire along with his pants. He had just freshly cut his nails
near the fire, too. Swept his entire house.
He keeps the rubber gloves for now, still holding her cracked phone.
He leaves the fire on, moving outside after dressing himself again. In a bag,
he keeps the valuables he took, ready to toss them where they'd never look.
Into the broken window the phone is tossed, ringing for the police department.
The body should still be warm. He's running out of time, though. Bodies go cold
after three or four hours. He already wasted one.
He takes off the gloves, making sure they're inside out and crumpled up and he
shoves them into the bag with the jewellery. To discard of them, too. Burning
rubber smells disgusting and obviously. The waters should wash away whatever is
on it, anyway.
Choromatsu drives away at about ten p.m., passing a nearby lake and taking the
items to a farther lake. He tosses the gloves in first, then the jewellery. He
watches the darkness of the water absorb the glittery items.
Out from his pocket he fishes out a phone, flipping it open.
"Jyushimatsu?" He quietly mumbles. "You're still awake, great. I'm going over."
Pause for a beat. "What do you mean? It's early."
***** sunshine boy . *****
Jyushimatsu was a bright youth. Promising. 
He sat in the couch they grew up on, his firm and strong legs pressed up
against his chest. In his big, yellow sweater and blue shorts -- in his
mismatched socks.
And he listens intently, every so often getting distracted by a fly or two.
"...So I've been here since six, okay? Do you get that?"
A salute. "Yessir! You came at six p.m. You're staying the night 'cause you
miss me and Totty!"
Perfect. He means -- "Yes. Good."
He had to argue a little; battle the question 'isn't it later than six?' -- but
it worked out. Jyushimatsu hardly questions Choromatsu. He's older, wiser, he
thinks. Jyushimatsu doesn't think. He just does!
And that's just perfect.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
It's midnight. Choromatsu can't sleep, not even on the floor with his two
brothers like the old days.
He shuffles, throwing an arm over Jyushimatsu. He turns, resting his head
against Totty's shoulder. He lays on his back, staring at the ceiling. He can't
sleep.
Up he gets, settling his glasses on his nose and making his way to the
bathroom. Without any pressing need, he attempts to use the toilet -- bladder
feeling unusually barren. He moves to the sink, washing his hands as he looks
up at his reflection.
It's just him. Alone.
Until she's behind him.
Choromatsu turns in an instant; eyes wide and creased with exhaustion. She's
gone -- the mangled figure of the girl he selfishly took. His chest aches...
And to the mirror he turns again.
Blood oozes from the faucet, coating his hands in red slick. It's thick, heavy,
smells bad. It smells bad! Bad! Bad! Decay sets in, black coming through the
running blood. He feels it fill the bottom of his cut nails, against the palm
and digits that run against each other.
He draws his hands back, blood splattering onto the floor in droplets and
streaks.
Shaky hands are examined, glistening with black and red gore. His parted lips
exhale heavy breaths, quivering and uncontrollable. His chest goes cold, throat
tightening and getting hot.
He backs into the door, banging it and causing him to jolt forward with anxiety
that someone was knocking. It was just me... It was just me... Fingers lift to
fix glasses, balancing them on his nose -- but also dirtying the glass with
blood.
"No..!" The glasses come off, drop to the floor. More blood leaves his hands to
colour the floor. Paint it red. "No... no.. no..."
Sweat piles at his temples, a few droplets slipping down thin face, down sharp
jawline.
He grabs a towel, starting to aggressively clean at the floor with clenched
fists. He attempts to clean his hands at the same time, rubbing them against
the white fabric.
"I'll just burn this, too... I'll just burn it... I'll just burn it... Burn
it..."
Burn it all! Every bit of evidence, he'll burn! It doesn't matter that it's
prestine and white and he knows it's her blood overflowing from the sink now.
He knows! He can see her bare feet as he wipes at the floor. He can sense her
looming over him, laying over on his back as he hunches over to clean.
Then suddenly it's all gone.
Water overflows from the sink, dripping onto the floor where Choromatsu is on
his knees. He straightens slightly, looking to the sink and then to his hands.
They're clean. The floor, it's wet but clean.
He's alone in this bathroom.
But he hears a giggle.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
Choromatsu leans into the couch for the morning. No sleep blessed him for the
night. No rest ironed out the wrinkles under his eyes, beneath the sparse
lashes that litter his waterlines. Reality departs him as he stares at his lap,
dozing off and on.
He can't get the image of her out of his head. And he can't find regret in his
heart. It's concerning, that much he's aware of.
Wasn't it regret that fuelled those hallucinations? -- No, that was fear of
getting caught.
A voice in his head tells him to decide to leave it. Another convinces him that
"it was regret." Another tells that voice to shut up, that he regretted
"nothing and never will." She deserved it -- all the things she said... What
did she expect? "Why couldn't she just" accept his love?
They argue. Scream in his ears. He has to silence his own mouth from blurting
out parts.
They argue and play back the crime.
Her ribcage against her skin, her parted lips covered in spittle; her bruised
neck, her pressed together legs. Her body was her own, until it wasn't.
His eyes flutter shut. The image of her there on the floor. From her holding up
the knife. To her dropping it, sleeping soundly like he had watched oh so many
times before. Just like he imagined. Soft breaths, heavy lashes and a slight
growl to her inhales. ( Of course that was because he pressed against her
jugular. )
Then the way her flesh split, red filling up and dressing him. The way the
bruising and redness upon her neck just faded under all the thick redness.
His hand slips into his pants, palming at himself. No one was awake, despite
the sun rising. No one would come downstairs quietly save for Totty, who
wouldn't dare disrupt his own beauty sleep. So when his cock is held and
stroked, he has no shame. No shame in the way his head falls back as he thinks
of her. Totoko-chan... Her lookalike... She was so sweet. He wonders who will
care for her cat. The one she bent over to pet... In her matching underwear...
Speed. Speed. Speed.
Climax as fast as possible.
He comes to the conclusion he enjoyed his crime. But his eyes are pricked by
needles. Tears well up and bubble and stream down his face in huge globs.
Oh, poor darling. She was so beautiful. But he still sees her. And he made her
his in the end. He thinks, it's how it should be.
Pennies. He tastes pennies. And salt.
Jyushimatsu rises and shines. Every white tooth shown, lips stretch out over
gums. "Good morning, Choromatsu-niisan!" He singsongs, making his way toward
the kitchen.
Heavy lidded eyes follow him, watch him as he takes out something to drink and
drinks straight from the container. Milk trails down the side of his lips, down
his chin it streams.
He's so messy... What a child...
Child. What a child. He didn't even notice the wetness of Choromatsu's eyes and
face. Or the runny nose he wiped at. Or the dying bulge between his legs. He
uncomfortably shifts in his stickiness.
It comes to Choromatsu later that day, though.
A child with a bat, is what Jyushimatsu is when he waves goodbye to Choromatsu
and leaves for his daily training. Every incisor clamping down on the row under
them, just before the door shuts, glistens. Beautiful. A beautiful child.
ENJOYMENT.
CHILD.
BAT.
ENJOYMENT.
CHILD.
BAT.
ENJOYMENT
CHILD
BAT.
ENJOYMENT CHILD BAT.
CHILD WITH A BAT FOR ENJOYMENT.
It hits him all at once.
 
===============================================================================
 
 
He comes home sweaty, grinning ear to ear. Heart-shaped tongue visible,
disappearing at the back of his throat. Jyushimatsu places his things on to the
floor, dropping them to make a beeline to the kitchen for a drink.
Choromatsu loved him. He really did. He cared for his well-being. But he also
cared for himself, naturally.
So when he came into the kitchen, leaned on the counter and watched as Jyushi
gulped down some water, it was all in his best intent. The best intent. As he
started a conversation, asking how his training went -- pretending to care
about what Jyushimatsu rambles on about.
It's with good intent that he grows closer to Jyushimatsu over the next weeks.
Calling daily, visiting ( or asking to ) daily.
One phone call is particularily interesting.
"Osomatsu-niisan's case is right next door to you!" Jyushimatsu exclaims into
the phone, keeping it on speaker as he roams about the house.
"Next door?"
"Yep yep! You should call him -- he said he won't call you 'cause you might be
sad or scared!" He laughs. "Is Choromatsu-niisan scared?" He's obviously
echoing Totty's off-speaker comment. Choromatsu ignores it.
"I'll call him."
And so the phone is hung up.
He wets his lips, dialling up his oldest brother. He didn't know he'd have...
her case. Just his luck, though. Corners of lips quirk upward; cupid's bow
sharply contrasting the movement and remaining low.
"Matsuno Osomatsu on."
"It's me."
"Oh!" He hears fumbling, then a creak of a seat. "Choromatsu. Good. I've
actually been kinda worried about you. You heard, huh?"
"Yeah..." He gulps, pretending his best to be nervous.
"I'm sorry, man. I would've told you sooner but every time we visited the scene
of the crime, you were at the folks' house with Jyushimatsu and Totty."
"It's fine. I heard it on the news over there and kind of braced myself for
staying over here again."
"Is that why you were staying there?"
Is this an interrogation?
"No, I hadn't spoken to Jyushimatsu and Totty for a while so... But then
everything with my neighbour... I guess it sort of became the reason, though."
"Yeah. Some manaic went around your neighbour hood --" An exhale. He must be
smoking. "-- and killed and sexually assaulted your neighbour. I'd stay with
the folks and boys, too."
Obviously an attempt to lighten the conversation. Choromatsu gives a weak
chuckle. All air and no throat. Then a silence falls upon them. Osomatsu
assumes he just didn't know the details like that and apologises. Choromatsu
knows better than to play too dumb.
The news covered it already. But evey day something happens, so it's gone for
now. But not in the eyes of investigators.
"Well... I'm gonna be staying home more often after tonight."
"Alright. Oi, I gotta get back to all this paperwork. I'll text you later."
And the call ends with an agreement of text messages later.
Choromatsu forgets his phone at home when he visits Jyushimatsu.
***** ain't fucked up yet . *****
Chapter Summary
     Baby, you can get what you want.
Chapter Notes
     TW: incest, age gap, manipulation
Diseased mind is riddled with plagues. He has a plan. To get his hands on a
weapon, a lure. Hook, line and sinker -- he thinks. It's in the form of
Jyushimatsu Matsuno.
He's on the floor, messing with the ants that trailed in from the door he left
open. Drawing small circles around them to keep them in confusion. They wriggle
and climb tanned fingers, making their way under his long sleeves. Pale yellow.
Marked with streaks of mud and dirt. So like him.
Choromatsu studies him. His mannerisms. His loose shoulders, tensed thighs to
hold himself up on his knees and toes. Dull fingernails that are black
underneath.
Such a child.
Such an innocent, easily manipulated child.
"Do you love me, Jyushimatsu?"
"I love Choromatsu-niisan!" Jyushi echoes, not taking cock-eyed hazels off
squirming ants.
"Come sit close to me."
Jyushimatsu does just so. Rising to his feel and pratically hopping over to the
couch. Choromatsu's legs are spread, so close isn't close enough.
Hands reach underneath the younger boy's arms, pulling him closer until his leg
is forced to slip between Choromatsu's and his backside rests upon his
brother's thigh. He doesn't adjust -- just like a doll.
"Can we do something?"
"What, what, what?" Jyushi brightens up, straightening up. An ant is on his
neck.
Choromatsu flicks it off as his hand rests on the other's jawline. "Remember
our game? Let's play it again."
Trained. Like a dog. He stirs on his lap with joy, wrapping his arms around
Choromatsu's neck.
===============================================================================
He has to make this quick. Not like the first time... He's not sneaking into
his room and slipping into his sheets. He's on the couch -- somewhere Todomatsu
could see any time he came downstairs. Of course, he's not home right now; but
who knew when Osomatsu would bring him back? Osomatsu had a habit of doing
whatever he felt like, if Todomatsu was too much of a nuisance, back home he
goes.
So their lips meet quickly, furiously. Jyushimatsu remembered this is how it
began. It was slower last time, more emotionally charged. Now it was just the
bulge that pressed against his knee.
"What do I get this time?" Jyushimatsu inquires, pulling away from the other's
lips. Choromatsu occupies himself with kisses to the corner of his mouth, down
his neck.
"An ant farm." He says, against his skin.
Jyushimatsu squeals happily, pressing a few kisses to his neatly parted hair.
Pale yellow scrunches up, bundles under his chin.
Easy. Easy. This is so easy.
Fingers run along toned stomach -- a contrast to the ripples of Choromatsu's
ribcage. A contrast to the soft skin he imagines, that of a woman. It's thick
and strong, sturdy. Nothing like the lithe, baby soft skin of a woman's.
Jyushimatsu is flipped onto his back, Choromatsu looming over him as his mouth
trails downward. His tongue flicks out, running along a bud of his nipple. Then
lips close around it, sucking to call for a small sound from Jyushimatsu.
His chest puffs out, begging for more. It's a beautiful sight that Choromatsu
takes in the best he can. Small frame, muscular. Tight. So tight. Choromatsu
wants to rip him apart.
They take some time, prepping Jyushimatsu's entrance. Licked digits slowly but
surely slip into him, pumping in and out. Lubrication is found, helping the
process move along.
It's hard to convince Jyushimatsu to take the bottoming role, he's a nerve.
He's wired and hard -- a bad combination for a teenager. He wants to stick his
cock into something warm and wet, something -- anything! But Choromatsu's mouth
suffices for now.
He doesn't spend much time there, albeit. Choromatsu's mouth wraps around the
boy's cock and his head bobs a few times, then he's already sitting up.
Jyushimatsu rests his face on a cushion -- cheek smashed against it and puffing
his lips out a little. Beautiful, boyish lips. They're chapped and stretch over
his canines, thin. Boyish. Not that of a woman's; full and plump, soft and
rounded out.
The only thing rounded about Jyushimatsu was his bottom, which resides in the
air now. Free from his baggy shorts and unfit boxers. Choromatsu notes the
rigid edges of his shoulders and hips -- not a curve to them.
It doesn't stop the elder from positioning the head of his dick to
Jyushimatsu's hole. And it sure enough doesn't stop him from pushing inside
him. He's warm, depsite all the prep he's still tight. Hands move to the
younger's cheeks, gripping them harshly to keep them apart as he thrusts into
him.
Flashes come to Choromatsu in a migraine.
A throbbing, red-visioned migraine.
"Chorom...atsu..." He cuts out the 'nii-san'. He fixates on his breaths and
moans.
He imagines her. The neighbour. Who bent over to pet her cat. He thinks of
those curves he saw then. He thinks of her lifeless body being the thing
bouncing against his hips.
He almost pukes.
===============================================================================
 
It's done. He's done. He finished a sticky, white finish inside his brother.
It had to be done. It had to be done.
This thickens their bond, makes it tougher and less likely to break. This way,
he keeps Jyushimatsu around his finger fully.
And it works perfectly.
Jyushimatsu turns, huffing and puffing. A long sleeve wraps around Choromatsu's
neck. He brings him down to a sloppy kiss.
"I love you! I love you!" The boy exclaims. "And I can't wait for my antfarm!"
Oh, right.
***** someone like her . *****
Jyushimatsu is on his stomach on the floor of Choromatsu's apartment's living
room. The light through the window dances on reddened nose, with the movement
of the trees the sunspots run along honeyed eyes. Those same eyes watch small
ants run along paved trails, running into one another and walking over their
ectoskeleton bodies. It entertains him, at least.
Choromatsu is reading a book, something idle. Something about a protagonist
losing his loved one; something about that loved one not loving him back. He
doesn't care for the details, it's simply something to keep him preoccupied for
the time being.
"Choromatsu-niisan!" Jyushimatsu singsongs, looking up from his ant farm.
"Hm?"
"Check the mail! Check the mail!"
"Ah.. right." They played their game again the other night. It became habitual.
He promised he had ordered him some magazines, or something of the like.
Choromatsu untwines his legs and nods, smoothing out his shirt and walking to
the front.
His focus is on the mail box, the handle upturned. It then shifts to the figure
in front of him, the house in front.
A pale woman, brown hair twined into two ponytails. From here, her eyes look
quite brown, with perhaps a hint of green in the sunlight. He can't tell. But
her legs are long, peeking out of her robe as she steps toward her own mailbox.
In one hand, she holds a fizzy drink he can see sizzling out of the can. The
other hand gathers up miscellaneous enevlopes from the box; she so rightly
pulls down the handle. Something so simple, most people forgot. It drives him
mad -- he doesn't understand why.
The drink is red. He can tell by her lips. They're stained circularly, only
notable after she takes a swig from her can. She avoids her sprinklers like a
pro -- keeping her barefeet on the trail of rocky pebbles melded together to
form a tile road to her door.
She turns. She spots him.
Fear rattles his empty heart. It rings in his ears. Which by now are searing
red in embarrassment.
But she simply waves and smiles; her cherry-stained lips quirking upward a
level before shutting her door.
She looked so much like his old neighbour. Like Totoko. His heart drops.
===============================================================================
The sun is setting, both brothers now on the couch.
Ant farm lay on the ground, the ants in a frenzy over the food given to them.
Jyushimatsu has taken to the couch, laying his head upon his older brother's
lap as he reads the freshly opened magazines. Well, he stares at each picture
for minutes at a time, then skims across the paragraphs and registers nothing.
Choromatsu has to focus on every word to silence his brain.
Red lips. Robe. Totoko.
He thinks of her every second. He knows nothing but the number of her house.
4021. 4021. Tongue drags across dry lips as he thinks.
Already, obsessive thoughts flood his mind.
Hand runs along brown locks of his brother's. His fist curls in his hair,
holding longer locks upwards. It almost seems like Totoko's... He feels himself
about to puke. He stands slowly, but rushes to the bathroom.
Choromatsu stands in front of the mirror, vocables hushed as some words slip
from his mind.
Was that wave an "invitation?" ...No, that's "creepy to think..."It couldn't
have been. It was a simple greeting. "But I feel she's calling to me..." Her
smile, it saturates in his mind. It replays over and over. The colours
brighten, the static goes over everything but her lips. SMILE SMILE SMILE! It's
a smile, her smile. Her skin is so white it's hurting his eyes. Her LiPs Lips
LIPS are so red, they're burning. Seering. Her lipsssssssssss. "Darling,
darling" my darling, you're mine, aren't you? That's what that meant. You want
me to "come" over and"See you", don't you? Baby! SWEETIE. Totoko! Who let the
dogs out? I can hear them.
Brown eyes snap to the window, and up he steps onto the bath tub. Quietly, the
window is slid open. Through the window screen he can see her, standing with
her small dog on a leash.
Nails scrape against the screen.
He wants to be next to her. He wants to be next to her. He wants to be next to
her.
===============================================================================
Exactly what his brain is screaming into his ears is what he does. He steps
outside.
She's already going into her house. She's leaving him. Beyond the walls he
cannot breach.
Steps taken towards her are rushed now, picking up gravel and dirt as he pushes
through the winds to get near her. Arm reaches out, hand feeling miles long as
it finally meets her shoulder. And she turns! She turns, interested in who he
might be!
Her face fades into fear.
Both hands grip her shoulders, shoving her into the house roughly. She mumbles
something, worried something must have happened outside. But she heard nothing.
Inquiries spill from her lips like prayers, hoping for them to get answered.
The answers never came. Simply the shove into her house, until she tripped over
her own two feet and stumbled into her writing desk.
"Please...!" She cries out, hands coming up to guard her face and throat. "What
are you doing?! Tell me someone's out there --"
"Darling, no," He begins, hands cupping her fearful face. "No one will hurt
you. It's just us."
He's blinded. Blinded by his obsessive love, by the passion that accompanies
it. He wants Totoko to be his -- his idol, his love. He imagines their life
together, him and this second-rate version of her. Now that he's closer, her
eyes have too much yellow. Her nose is downward instead of perkily upwards at
the tip.
Her imperfections are now clearing up the static.
This isn't Totoko.
But it's too late when he comes to that conclusion.
Something had slid into his trapezius, right between his neck and shoulder. As
he slowly looks to the source of the sharp tinge of pain, he sees her fist
curled around the handle of a letter opener. She uses her whole body to pull it
out again, blood squirting onto the papers and envelopes she had collected
earlier today.
His hands fall from her face, one now clasping over the gaping wound as he
backs away. "You..." He begins, but his voice falls flat. And unto deaf ears.
She grunts, rushing toward him and shoving him to the ground. The letter opener
slips into his flesh again and again. Tearing and stabbing away at his shoulder
and arms as he attempts to guard himself.
Suddenly, with the sound of something dull hitting something hard, she stops
and groans -- airily before coughing.
Eyes, coated in red droplets try to focus. Sharp pains come and ignite his
senses, he can't place what's going on above him. But her body slumps after
another dull sound.
Then another. This time, he hears a crack. Another. Another. Another. Crack.
Another, crack. Then it sounds less dull and more slimy. Something... gushes
onto him. His eyes go redder. Another slimy sound, another crack. More and more
and more.
It stops, finally. It stops.
She's slumped atop him, he can't see her head. But he can't feel her chest
heaving or mouth moving against his bleeding skin. He blinks away some of the
blood, everything still shaky from his quaking body. A hand touches her
shoulder, and her body moves easily.
Shifting, Choromatsu finally shoves her body off, her blood making it simple
for her body to slip and thud onto the floor.
He stares at the sight before him.
His eyes focus on different parts of her body. Her long legs, now intertwined
with each other and dotted with reds. Her arms, pale and red at the fingers, at
her head as if she attempted to guard it. Then, her beautiful brown hair. It
was everywhere.
Her head.
It was everywhere.
What was attached to her neck was a glob of brains and blood. A puddle of slimy
muscle and littered with chipped bones. It was hardly connected to her neck,
actually. It was beat to a pulp, beat into the ground, beat over his shirt and
pants.
"Niisan."
That's what snapped him out of his shock.
Jyushimatsu's voice, then his mismatched socks stepping over the grimy mess
that was made.
"Jyushimatsu?" The elder shakes out of himself, looking up.
"Niisan. She was hurting you... I didn't know what to..."
That's when the picture fit together perfectly.
Jyushimatsu was dripping red with the bat in his hands. The bat itself was
dripping, some parts lumping together and slipping off to plop onto the ground
with a disgustingingly wet sound. It all came together. A smile stayed
plastered on his face, but tears welled up in his big eyes.
Choromatsu had a moment or two to think.
"You did well!" He begins, crawling towards the other and wrapping his arms
around his tanned legs. "You did so good! You protected your elder brother!"
"What about..."
"Her?! She was hurting me! Look!" Ripped shirt is pulled on, revealing gaping
holes in between his neck and shoulder -- then sleeves are rolled up to show
the wide cuts scattered around his arm. "See? You did nothing wrong! Don't cry,
Jyushimatsu. You did so well!"
Choromatsu felt he had no choice. He had to convince his brother he did well.
And the only way he felt would suffice... their game.
"Hey, hey..." He starts, lowering the boy's shorts to bare him from the hips
down. Jyushimatsu didn't move, just quietly sniffled as he watched his brother
next to the red glob of someone who once was.
Slippery with blood, his hand strokes the younger's cock; colouring it red as
it grows in his palm. Jyushimatsu is still crying as he grows harder and
harder, finally at full length.
"You did wonderful, okay? Thank you. Thank you." He continues, wrapping his
lips around the head of Jyushi's dick. Muffled, he continues to thank the youth
as he takes his length in further and further.
He shows his gratitude in little tricks. A tongue to the underside of Jyushi's
cock, a twist of his head with mouth around the head of his dick.
Sooner or later he's jerking Jyushimatsu off right at the tip of his tongue,
mouth gaping wide and hungry for his cum. He was obviously hard himself, but he
ignored it for the meanwhile.
When Jyushi shoots into his throat, Choromatsu moans and swallows it whole.
Choromatsu stands, kissing Jyushimatsu's lips with the pearl-coloured cum
dripping off his lips. "You did good," He repeats, between kisses. "Come here."
Jyushimatsu is placed on his elbows on the writing desk. It's littered with
papers that are wet with blood. Mostly Choromatsu's. But that's right where
Choromatsu fucks him. Above all the reddened papers and over the dropped letter
opener. Right beside the mushy body of the woman he attempted to take.
Jyushimatsu isn't tight anymore. It still hurts him, going in dry. But it
doesn't concern either one of them.
Before finishing, Choromatsu tells him to close his eyes. Jyushimatsu listens
intently, dried tears leaving shiny streaks on his face.
Choromatsu pulls out of his brother and sinks to his knees on the floor.
The headless figure is pulled upwards to sit on his cock. He fucks the headless
woman madly, madder than he did his brother moments ago. The way the mess of
her brains and skull lulls with every thrust. The way blood clumps and hits the
floor heavily. It all drives him crazy.
He doesn't finish inside her, though. Instead, he goes back to his brother and
strokes his cock until he shoots inside him. Jyushimatsu singsongs as he feels
the warm cum fill him up.
Choromatsu grabs Jyushimatsu by the shoulders, turning him around. Now, his
face lay serious.
"We have to leave."
"Home! We're going home!"
"Shush! We're only going to pack. Okay? You hear me? We're only going to pack.
We have to leave this place."
He can't fathom cleaning all this blood without it looking meticulously
planned. He can't imagine what the cops would say about another murder in the
same neighbourhood around his house. Despite Osomatsu, perhaps, shifting the
blame from his brother, he can't risk it.
"But..."
"We'll take all your toys, okay? Don't worry. And we'll be back."
"No, but... I..."
Just then, the sound of a car door clicks outside.
"...Who is that?"
"I called Karamatsu to ask where you were before I found you here..."
Oh, god no.
***** no coming back . *****
Karamatsu's fist is ready to knock on the wooden door of Choromatsu's house,
just before he notices the fact that it's already open. It's awful and quiet,
even after he calls out for his brothers. Todomatsu doesn't come running down
to grab him at the waist, so he assumes he's with Ichimatsu or Osomatsu. That's
not what unsettles him, though. What unsettles him is the stillness of the
living room. The haphazard emptiness that fills the house with the sounds of
crickets outside.
The silence is broken upon Choromatsu and Jyushimatsu rushing into the house,
slamming the door behind them. The commotion fills Karamatsu's ears fully and
he turns. Thick, dark brows knit in confusion.
He can't register the looks on their faces before Choromatsu is cupping his
face.
"Karamatsu. Karamatsu. We have to go. We have to go." He rapidly cries out,
face looking something akin to apologetic and fearful.
"What's going on? What's happening?" Karamatsu's coarse hands find themselves
on a sticky sweater, something he only now understands. It's red and brown.
It's thick. It's blood. Mortified, he draws his hands back and wipes them on
his own pants -- not thinking of how that links him now. "Choromatsu, what --"
"I can't explain right now. Jyushimatsu, go upstairs and get your things. I
have a bag in my closet. Go. Go now!"
Jyushimatsu salutes, dropping his blood-stained bat onto the floor and rushing
upstairs.
Choromatsu goes to grab the bat, quickly running into the kitchen. Karamatsu
follows, bombarding with inquiries; bombarding with worries. Choromatsu doesn't
answer as he roughly handles the bat, trying to wash away the stickiness of
pulp and blood.
Karamatsu is finally fed up and grabs him by the narrow shoulders, turning him
to face his brother. The bat falls against the sink with a loud thud as
Karamatsu shouts his final question: "What the hell is going on?!"
The green-clad brother has to think of something to say. Something. Anything.
Not the truth. Anything but the truth.
"Jyushimatsu killed my neighbour." He blurts out, licking his lips as if the
venom of the lie hurt even him. "He killed both my neighbours... and... and he
thought they were hurting me... You can't tell him the truth. He blacks out,
you understand? He doesn't know what he's doing!"
Perfect. PErfffffffffffect. Peeeeeeeeeeeeeeeerfect lie. PERFECT LIE PERFECT LIE
PERFECT LIE.
Karamatsu is naturally taken aback. His dry hand covers his mouth, agape at the
thought of it all. His face loses its natural tan, going pale and saggy. He
almost pukes -- Choromatsu can hear it come up and him chug it down with his
pride.
But he loves Jyushimatsu. More than the rest, Choromatsu knows this; albeit
he'll never admit it. Even if he's disgusted with the acts, he must understand
he's sick. He's sick. He's sick.
Karamatsu turns to the sink, gripping the sides of the counter. He can't help
but stare at the blood-stained bat, the unwavering proof of Jyushimatsu's
crime...crimes. His throat burns with bile again, and he has to hold it down as
to not shame himself.
But he's sick, isn't he? He doesn't understand -- he can't. He's sick!
Heroism ran in only Karamatsu's blood. He will protect Jyushimatsu. And
Choromatsu knew it. And when he straightened up after a few moments, inhaled
deeply and turned -- Choromatsu knew he had got him.
"What are you planning?" He asks, stiffly.
"Running. Until Osomatsu nails another criminal for us."
"You spoke with him about this?"
"Of course not. I just know he will. There are plenty of criminals that may
take this chance to come out!"
"Why not just... get him help? I mean, if we explain... the blackouts, get him
to say why he hurt them at all -- he was defending you, in his mind! Won't they
understand? I'm sure his punishment would be minor compared to the help he'd
get."
"Karamatsu..." Choromatsu steps up, putting a hand on his fading cheek. "You
know what they do to people like him. Is it worth losing our brother? They'll
lock him away -- he's killed two people already. One more and he's a serial
killer. Serial killers are known to just be crazy, not helped. You know that.
We have to get out of here. We have to."
He stiffens again, chewing his lower lip. He doesn't know, he doesn't know. He
never expected to be in this situation, never in a million years.
But finally, finally, he nods.
"Okay... okay, you're right... They won't go easy on him just because I will."
"Exactly, exactly. We can't waste anymore time! Please."
"I'm going with you."
"What... why?" Oh no. The lies would intertwine, wouldn't they? He'd mention
Jyushimatsu's blackouts, to which the younger would deny. Oh no.
"Look at you. You're a mess. You think I trust you with Jyushimatsu alone? It's
just until Osomatsu finds another criminal. Right? I'll take care of you both."
"...I know you will, Karamatsu."
And with that, they both silently agree that Choromatsu will go help
Jyushimatsu pack. As Karamatsu helps pack what they need downstairs and fit it
into his car.
Before exiting, he hears muttering upstairs. He ignores it.
 
===============================================================================
 
Karamatsu just about has everything he can stuffed into his car. Daily
nessecities packed tight in the trunk. He debates taking small, important
statues and vases; those that reminded him of their childhood. But he refused.
Small feet patter quickly down the stairs and out the door; and Jyushimatsu's
legs wrap around Karamatsu's waists. Arms hidden in long sleeves fling around
the shoulders of the older brother, and his face is pushed forward into a
crushing kiss. Karamatsu had expected a kiss to the cheek or chin; not to the
lips.
Jyushimatsu's thin nose is pushed upwards as it crashes against Karamatsu's.
It's childish, immature and inexperienced. But it feels genuine.
Choromatsu watches from the doorway. His orders being carried out perfectly.
Now he lends his ears to what the younger Matsuno has to say.
"Karamatsu-niisan! You'll take care of me, won't you?"
Karamatsu looks sad about this, but smiles. "Of course."
"Do I make you scared?"
"Not at all, Jyushi."
"I love you, niisan!" And another kiss is pecked at the older's lips.
Choromatsu knows this is the final straw for Karamatsu. Having Jyushimatsu show
his love for him so GENUINELY -- FALSELY -- ACTED! Showing his love for him so
genuinely. It solidified the non-evil that Jyushimatsu was. Clad in yellow like
sunshine, beaming. He shone against their brother's sunglasses. Blindingly. And
it won over Karamatsu's mind. The mind that was still teetering on driving them
to the police station.
Now it was settled. And Choromatsu was behind it. It gave him such pleasure;
such joy. HE smiled at both Karamatsu and Jyushimatsu.
And soon they're on the road.
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