Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/6481273.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      僕だけがいない街_|_ERASED
  Relationship:
      Fujinuma_Satoru/Yashiro_Gaku
  Character:
      Fujinuma_Satoru, Yashiro_Gaku
  Additional Tags:
      Death, Reincarnation, Sibling_Incest, Twincest, Choking, Autoerotic
      Asphyxiation, Murder-Suicide, Violent_Thoughts, Unhealthy_Relationships,
      Hand_Jobs, Blow_Jobs, my_hand_slipped, I'm_so_sorry
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-04-07 Words: 2974
****** la petite mort ******
by Skaii
Summary
     ...They said that star-crossed lovers who died together were
     reincarnated as twins. Yashiro and Satoru, fraternal twins, came into
     the world on the seventh of July. (If this was a second chance,
     Yashiro would take it.)
Yashiro and Satoru, fraternal twins, came into the world on the seventh of
July.
Yashiro, the older brother by four minutes, stayed eerily silent among the
white walls of the hospital, neither crying nor cooing. Satoru, on the other
hand... their mother liked to joke that he came out 'kicking and screaming'.
But then he was put next to his twin, and they leaned their heads together.
They were content within seconds.
✮
Yashiro knew there was something different about himself early on. Where other
children talked, he stayed quiet, except to spout out entire intelligent
sentences that baffled his mother. Where other children played, he was pleased
simply watching his brother. Where other children empathized, he found that he
didn't care for anyone but Satoru.
Their mother claimed that they were polar opposites. Satoru was passionate
where Yashiro was indifferent. Satoru was loud where Yashiro was quiet. Satoru
was social where Yashiro disliked others. Despite all this, they gravitated
around each other. Yashiro refused to be separated from Satoru, and Satoru
refused to be separated from Yashiro.
They were strange kids, but their mother loved them. (She was not Sachiko, but
Satoru loved her back. She was less stifling than Yashiro's last mother, so he
decided she was adequate.)
('Sachiko'... 'Last mother'... Yashiro held memories of a past that no one else
remembered. Memories of a hamster, a noose, spiders' threads, and blue, blue
eyes, the same shade as his twin brother's.)
✮
When they were six months old, Yashiro spoke his first word.
Spice.
✮
When they were ten months old, Satoru spoke his first word.
Sensei.
What confused their mother was that after that, as a toddler, Satoru often
called his twin brother 'sensei'. "Nii-chan," she would encourage, "Yashiro
nii-chan."
But Satoru would shake his head, point to Yashiro and insist, "Sensei."
Eventually she gave up. It was cute anyway, she decided, and Satoru would grow
out of it. (She just wondered where her son had even learned that word. Maybe
'spice' and 'sensei' were things the twins heard on television?)
✮
When they were six years old, Satoru woke up gasping for air in the bed he and
Yashiro shared.
"I couldn' breathe," He said, small, childish voice thick with tears.
It was then that Yashiro knew. He closed his eyes and thought of a building's
roof, of grabbing a hand and pulling backward, of the clattering of an object
hitting the ground far, far below. He thought of pushing a body down on the
rooftop, wrapping his fingers around a warm neck and squeezing. He thought of
watching the brightness drain from those blue, blue eyes. He thought of feeling
pleasure knowing that he was the one to end Satoru's life. He thought of taking
Satoru's body in his arms and plummeting to the ground. (He couldn't live
without Satoru. He couldn't live without him, so he didn't.)
Even as Yashiro thought all these things, he hugged his twin close and petted
his hair with a saccharine smile. If this was a second chance, then he would
take it. (This time, he would keep Satoru and never let him go.)
✮
When they were seven years old, Yashiro and Satoru's mother told them a story
about the festival their birthday was on. Tanabata.
"Did you know? A long time ago, there was a girl named Orihime. By the bank of
the Milky Way, she worked hard every day to weave lovely clothes. One day,
Orihime became sad. Because of my hard work, she thought, I will never have the
time to meet someone and fall in love. Her father, the emperor Tentei, allowed
her to meet Hikoboshi. Hikoboshi was a cow-herder who worked on the other side
of the Milky Way.
When they met, Orihime and Hikoboshi fell in love and married. However, after
their marriage the two became negligent to their duties. Orihime refused to
weave her cloth, and Hikoboshi refused to herd his cows. Tentei separated the
two. But Orihime weeped, and she asked her father if she could be with him
again. Tentei soon gave in. He told the two that they could meet once a year on
the seventh day of the seventh month. So on the seventh day of the seventh
month, they went to see each other, but could not cross the Milky Way. A flock
of crows came and made a bridge with their wings so that the lovers could
cross. Overjoyed, they continued to see each other every year on that day.
But one day, the crows didn't come. Distraught, Orihime and Hikoboshi flew over
to each other and stayed together for more than a day. When Tentei found out,
he was very angry, and he had them both executed. The lovers vowed never to be
apart, and were reincarnated over and over as twins."
Yashiro and Satoru's mother clapped her hands together. "And that's why we
celebrate the Tanabata festival!"
(That was how Yashiro discovered the myth that star-crossed lovers who died
together would be reincarnated as twins. Although Satoru was starting to drift
off by the end of the story... Yashiro was wide awake.)
✮
When they were eight years old, Yashiro was eating lunch when he watched a
spider crawl on the ground beside him. He pulled the toothpick from his
sandwich and speared the arachnid, watched it writhe as he toyed with it, took
its legs off one by one. The only thing he felt was fascination.
(Satoru cried when he saw the lifeless body of the spider. Yashiro relearned
that he had to hide what he killed.)
✮
When they were nine years old, their mother decided they were too old to share
a bed together anymore. Satoru frowned and argued, but she remained firm.
Yashiro sat on the couch with his nose in a book, ignoring the arguing pair
until Satoru shot him a pleading look
It amused Yashiro endlessly that Satoru was so attached to him, his murderer.
(Maybe Satoru remembered, maybe he didn't. Yashiro wouldn't ask yet.) But
Satoru filled the hole in his heart, so it worked out for the best if Yashiro
could do the same for Satoru.
Yashiro licked his finger and turned the page, murmuring simply as he read,
"You should listen to her, Satoru."
(Not that Yashiro had any intentions of doing so, but Satoru didn't know that.)
The boy frowned but shut his mouth.
He always listened to Yashiro, even when he wouldn't listen to anyone else.
✮
That night, after Yashiro watched the door close and heard their mother's
footsteps padding away, he asked into the dark room, "Are you awake?"
Yashiro watched the blanket-covered lump shaped like his brother shift, watched
Satoru's head lift from the pillow in acknowledgment.
"Come here," Yashiro said, opening his arms. The words were barely out of his
mouth before Satoru was crawling under the blankets and pressing closer. They
became a tangle of warm limbs, hair haloing together on the pillow.
Something in Yashiro felt complete. Satoru fit into his empty spaces like a
puzzle piece. Spice, he whispered. Satoru blinked at him, so Yashiro said it
again.
"That's not my name."
"I know." Yashiro toyed lazily with a strand of Satoru's hair, curling it and
uncurling it around his finger. It was fitting. They were wrapped around each
other's fingers, after all. "But you're very special to me, so I'm giving you a
very special name."
Satoru smiled, and it was all love, trust, softness. Yashiro was greedy for it.
✮
When they were eleven, Yashiro made a mistake.
They were in school, now, with Yashiro learning things that he already knew. He
was the smartest in his class and mostly well-liked for it, just like in
another life.
Mostly.
"Give me the answers," A boy demanded one day. Yashiro turned disinterested
eyes toward the source of meaningless noise. It was a classmate of his, one who
was loud, unruly and stupid. Yashiro saw no benefit in helping him.
"No," Yashiro said, and went back to the book he was reading.
What happened next was exactly what he expected: The boy became angry and
threatened him. Yashiro turned an ice-cold, too-sharp smile on him. The boy
turned and ran with his tail between his legs. (Yashiro had over forty years of
experience, juxtapose to his eleven year old body. He knew how to intimidate
someone.) The event was irrelevant and inconsequential, and Yashiro thought
nothing more of it.
Until he found out a piece of information a little too late.
Yashiro was in charge of cleaning up the classroom that day, and his partner
was chattering away, all flushed cheeks and doting eyes as she said, "-oh, and
are you walking home with Satoru-san today? I heard he's talking to someone
after school. Do you think... maybe we could-"
"Talking to who?" Yashiro interrupted, abruptly interested where he hadn't been
before.
She blinked and tilted her head, but pointed to a desk. "Just the boy who sits
there."
Yashiro cursed under his breath. He crafted a hasty excuse and left, ignoring
the girl's confused complaints. (She didn't notice when he pocketed a pair of
scissors from the teacher's desk.)
✮
Yashiro found Satoru with bruises on his arm and scrapes on his knees, and saw
red. The boy was there, laughing a note too high and wrapping an arm around
Satoru (revolting, revolting, revolting) in a mockery of friendliness. "W-we
were just playing a game, weren't we, Satoru?"
Yashiro took a step forward, then another. This time, he decided, he would do
it slowly and painfully.
But Satoru shrugged out from under their classmate's arm and ran to his twin,
wrapping arms around his waist. "Don't!"
"Satoru. He hurt you, didn't he?"
Peering over his shoulder, Yashiro watched Satoru nod his head.
"It's okay, it doesn't bother me. Yashiro, don't."
Desire and temptation warred in Yashiro's mind. In his pocket, he could feel
the shape of the scissors' handle imprinting on his palm. (He wondered if the
boy would squirm just like the spider he had played with.) It was Satoru's
soft, additional pleasethat made his fingers go lax.
The boy who hurt Satoru had been standing frozen in the snow, but he found his
legs again. He pointed a trembling finger at Yashiro, called him a monster, and
ran.
Satoru smiled and rubbed at his forehead. He breathed a sigh of relief,
muttered, "That was close..."
(Yashiro wondered if Satoru knew he would have murdered their classmate. He
wondered if Satoru remembered.)
Yashiro's fingers shook on the walk home, begging to curl around a knife and
kill. He tapped his fingers on the side of his leg until Satoru took his hand.
Satoru kept up a stream of chatter about superheroes, until Yashiro's thoughts
weren't stained with blood anymore. They held hands all the way home, and let
go on their doorstep like it was a secret.
(There was a stash of Halloween candy their mother kept in one of the cupboards
with locks on them. Although Satoru said it was wrong, Yashiro taught him to
pick the lock and steal from the bowl. That day, Satoru wordlessly withdrew a
red lollipop and slipped it into Yashiro's hand. "You looked like you needed
it.")
Every single one of their classmates knew that Yashiro and Satoru were a
package deal. They were always Yashiro and Satoru, Satoru and Yashiro,
YashiroandSatoru. But if after that incident Yashiro made sure every single one
of them knew not to lay a hand on Satoru, well, Satoru didn't need to worry
about that.
✮
When they were fourteen, Yashiro opened bleary eyes in their dark room,
wondering what woke him up. It didn't take long to get his answer; he could
feel soft, hot breaths against his neck and a body squirming against him.
A nightmare?
No, Yashiro realized, when Satoru rolled his hips against his thigh.
Interesting, Yashiro thought with a smirk. He was content with the relationship
they had, and he actually hadn't considered that. But he'd always taken care of
Satoru's needs and wants in this life, and he wasn't going to stop then.
So when Satoru woke up and squirmed backwards, flushed and murmuring apologies
upon apologies, Yashiro just pulled his twin close again and silenced him with
his mouth.
 It felt electric. (It felt like something Yashiro should have done twenty
years ago.)
Satoru was all soft breaths and stifled moans and stuttered words. We can't
turned into We shouldn'tturned into Yashiro, please.Yashiro just smiled and
smiled as Satoru clutched the front of his shirt for dear life. His hand worked
between his twin brother's thighs.
(Satoru's choked noises were almost as pleasing as listening to him choke for
air.)
"How does it feel?" Yashiro breathed, felt Satoru's stomach stutter under the
searching fingertips of his other hand. Satoru's eyes locked with his in the
dark.
"Like I'm drowning."
(Yashiro wondered if the icy river water had tasted like the Milky Way, that
night.)
Yashiro tipped Satoru's head up, pressed lips to the place where his neck and
shoulder met, bituntil he tasted iron. He wanted to drown in Satoru's veins. He
wanted to feel the warmth of his organs in his hands. He wanted to crawl inside
his bones and make a home. He wanted.
"Tell me you love me," Yashiro said, voice hoarse. His hand sped up on Satoru's
cock, slick and filthy with dripping precome. He watched Satoru struggle to
find coherent speech.
"I love you," Satoru said, almost a sob. Then he was shuddering, shaking, warm
slickness was dripping down Yashiro's hand.
(All of this was Yashiro's. This belonged to him, and him alone. Satoru
belonged to him.)
✮
...Satoru wouldn't look at Yashiro for weeks. It took time and coaxing and
sweet words before he gave in to Yashiro, all It's not wrong, I love you, and
You're the only one who can make me feel whole, and I want you, Satoru, don't
you want me?
Of course I do.
Then prove it.
After all, sinners would be damned to hell for a single transgression. Why go
down in sparks, when they could go down in raging flames?
(They struck together, two shooting stars burning up in a brilliant blast of
light and heat.)
✮
When they were sixteen, Yashiro opened one of Satoru's sketchbooks and peered
into it. Inside were sketches of a woman holding a baby, a child with blond
hair and eyes that were too intelligent, a girl with a smile that spoke
'trust'. A crimson necktie, a man with a kind smile in profile view, a hand
holding a lollipop, a man with tears on his cheeks.
That night, Satoru rummaged around their room and frowned. He turned to
Yashiro, who was idly flipping through a book. "Do you know where my sketchbook
is?"
Yashiro suggested that Satoru check their high school's lost and found.
In the bathroom trash can, hidden beneath old tissues and dull razors, was a
pile of ash. (Yashiro kept the drawings of himself.)
✮
When they were eighteen, Yashiro wrapped his hands around Satoru's throat out
of idle curiosity. He had no killing intent. Maybe Satoru knew that, or maybe
he just trusted his twin that much. Either way, he did nothing besides ask,
"What are you doing?"
"Do you remember?" Yashiro asked. He tightened his grip, pressed his thumbs in
until he felt as if they were burning an imprint into Satoru's skin.
Satoru stayed silent. Yashiro squeezed harder. He was so alive under his hands,
all warm skin and thrumming pulse and struggling for breath. Still he didn't
push Yashiro off. His eyes stayed striking his twin's, and the memory of
watching them dim prickled pleasantly under Yashiro's skin. Satoru's face was
going red, his eyes were dilating. Are you afraid? Yashiro thought.
Satoru's hands came up to Yashiro's wrists, not pushing or pulling them, just
gripping tightly.
Do you know why I chose to do it this way, Satoru? Yashiro felt his own breath
speeding up. He felt warm, full, fuzzy. This is the most intimate way to kill
someone.
Yashiro pushed harder, until he was cutting off all of Satoru's air supply.
Satoru's back arched, like he was trying to move into the pressure and away
from it at the same time, and he tipped his head back like he was giving
Yashiro more room. Satoru's eyebrows knitted together and his teeth dug into
his lower lip.
"How does it feel?" Yashiro leaned down to whisper, his breath warm in Satoru's
ear. He could feel Satoru's throat working under his hand, trying to speak and
only rasping.
it was the last thing Yashiro was expecting when Satoru rolled his hips up and
came.
Yashiro let go of Satoru's throat to slide his hand down his twin's pants,
confirming it when his hand met warm come. Satoru was coughing and panting, but
his breath hitched at the brush of fingers against his oversensitive skin.
"I... didn't know that would happen," Satoru said, when he had stopped gulping
mouthfuls of air. Soft, slow and cautious. Voice wrecked and dying to a whisper
in places.
"Do you know what they call it in French, Satoru?" Yashiro laughed, breathless
and giddy. "La petite mort.The little death."
(Yashiro was burning up, flames licking at his stomach, his chest, his
bloodstream. He slid his cock into Satoru's mouth, mercilessly abusing his
throat even more. He came while fingering the red marks on his twin's neck.)
✮
That night, with Yashiro curled around him from behind, Satoru confessed, "I've
always remembered."
Yashiro felt a thrill run through his veins. Satoru was, as always, an endless
well of surprises. (There was no blood on Yashiro's hands. Satoru had thwarted
his plans again, even in another life.)
✮
I know your future as well, Satoru. It's you beside me.
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