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It was all the other four’s fault. You know the ones, the other four brothers who sort of knew Ichimatsu and Karamatsu had a thing going on? But never really talked about it because Ichimatsu and Karamatsu themselves weren’t brave enough to act on it… yeah. That’s the route they were going with.
The four of them had gotten the other two drunk on some fruity, sweet drink Choromatsu liked, the name of which nobody could remember. But they seemed to take a liking to it, laughing loudly with each other as they sat in sleeping order at Chibita’s oden stand, Karamatsu’s arm wrapped heartily around Ichimatsu while he seemed to duck his head into his older brother’s inviting hug.
Over the course of the night, one or two of them would leave at a time but it didn’t seem to phase either of them, busy with gulping down every last drop of this new drink they were trying out and, obviously, each other’s company. They stayed behind like this for a few hours, not noticing the world around them growing darker and quieter until eventually Chibita sternly reminded them it was time to close shop and, sigh, not to worry about the payment, idiots, they could get it later.
Karamatsu started grumbling in protest but Ichimatsu stood silently and swept an arm beneath his brother’s, swinging it up over his own neck and giving Chibita that look—don’t worry, I’ll get him.
When they were a decent few feet away from the stand, Karamatsu spoke up. “Y’know… how you handle somethin’, right?” Karamatsu’s words rode the sweet alcoholic scent of his breath into Ichimatsu’s nose, and he’d never tell anyone how much he secretly enjoyed it. The whisper, the proximity, the tantalizingly naughty nature of it all. Ichimatsu merely listened, dipping his head in an inch closer. “Can you, footle something? If you handle something with yer hand, do you footle it… with your foot?” Karamatsu threw his head back in laughter and it was so endearing to Ichimatsu that he had to stop their painfully, uneventfully slow trek home to chuckle at his idiot brother, too.
Ichimatsu looked down at Karamatsu then, horrible drunk posture making him the shorter one for once as his knees bent below Ichimatsu, face pink with stupidity. Ichimatsu loved it. He used this excuse, the drunk buffoonery of it all, to engage in a private moment with Karamatsu that he’d never allow himself normally.
“Youuuu,” Ichimatsu drawled lowly, booping Karamatsu’s nose with his index finger. “Are drunk.” Hypocrite, not like he wasn’t either.
But they both laughed together, snickers and hearty chuckles filling the empty back alley of one of Akatsuka’s streets as they held each other, arms looped over one another. When the laughter died down and they opened their eyes again, there was a heated beat of silence between the two. Ichimatsu probably felt it more than Karamatsu did in that moment, and he couldn’t help himself—Ichimatsu’s smile melted from his face as he looked down into Karamatsu’s genuine one, lips still upturned contentedly. His eyes were almost closed, those perfectly sculpted eyebrows of his accentuating his happily drunk expression as he gazed at Ichimatsu.
So Ichimatsu kissed him, moving his face closer and not caring what the consequences would be. At least, he wouldn’t care in that moment.
And Karamatsu kissed back, letting the drunkenness shut his eyes completely as soft, warm lips caressed his own. A second passed and they pressed against each other more, slowly letting their knees collapse beneath them as they sank to the ground. Ichimatsu’s eyebrows furrowed as four hands snaked around two bodies, searching for heat and something to grab to pull each other impossibly close. The same hands snuck under clothes, fingertips grazing over ribs and shoulder blades as they tasted the alcohol on each other’s breaths, the sweet liquor between their tongues.
Karamatsu pulled back first. “Ichimatsu,” he whispered hoarsely, drunk, aroused. “I wanna do it with you,” he mumbled, cupping his little brother’s cheek.
Ichimatsu’s hands clutched harder at Karamatsu’s clothes, a sign Karamatsu mistook for consent. Karamatsu leaned forward again, lips pursed to find Ichimatsu’s once more, but he was met with air as Ichimatsu pulled back.
Confused, he looked up. Ichimatsu looked pained. “No,” he said, voice a quiet apology. “We can’t, I’m sorry…”
“Why not?” The demand for information was a whine from Karamatsu’s sweet, tempting lips. “I’m barely even drunk…”
“Because,” Ichimatsu returned. He was saying no, and yet, their arms never untangled from one another’s grasp, legs never pushed themselves back from the inviting embrace of the other’s touch. “It’s… it’s still not right, you won’t remember… I don’t, wanna take advantage of you.”
A breath hitched in Ichimatsu’s throat as he felt a sudden, wonderful pressure against his dick. He looked down and he could see the peach of Karamatsu’s hand between his legs, reaching for Ichimatsu’s center through his sweatpants.
“I don’t care.” Karamatsu’s smile was wiped from his face, mouth hanging open as his eyebrows knit in determination. Ichimatsu grabbed at Karamatsu’s wrist, not doing the best job at stopping him… it had been a while since he jacked off, been a while since he’d felt anything this good. The alcohol in his system combined with those feelings he knew to swallow down made it difficult to stop what was happening, and Karamatsu could see that. Ichimatsu didn’t push him away, so Karamatsu kept palming at him.
“But I want it so bad, Ichimatsu,” he whispered almost sadly, even if arousal was evident from his dripping mouth. “You don’t know how bad I have it.” He leaned closely, whisper a hot tickle against Ichimatsu’s ear. He was not gonna make this easy.
Through closed eyes and grit teeth, Ichimatsu gently rebutted him. “You’ve got it… wrong, hah… I know how it feels,” he huffed. Karamatsu’s hand made it hard to speak, distracting him. He forced himself to continue. “But it’s… wrong. We shouldn’t… we… should head h-home.” Well, as soon as his boner softened back up. Kinda hard to walk, when you’re hard as a rock.
The hand left him then and quiet sobs suddenly filled Ichimatsu’s ears, so he looked up worriedly. Ichimatsu watched as full tears plopped down Karamatsu’s cheeks, clinging to the sharp line of his jaw before heavily dropping to his chest. “Ichimatsu,” he cried, “Ichi… do you really hate me?” He sniffled pathetically, shoulders drooping as he cried to his little brother. He couldn’t even keep his eyes open, salty tears blinding him as he loosely held on with one hand. The other sat forlornly dangling against the concrete.
Ichimatsu’s heart was broken. His expression softened as he drew a finger across Karamatsu’s forehead, tenderly sweeping his bangs back into place. He leaned forward, his warm cheek meeting with Karamatsu’s wet and sticky one, and whispered, “No, Karamatsu. I never hated you.” He wrapped his arms around his brother, palms flat against shoulder blades even though Karamatsu was too sad to return it. “I… always… never, hated you.” He hoped it was good enough.
Karamatsu ugly sobbed back, vomiting out his feelings like his heart was something disgusting he’d eaten rather than sitting broken in his chest. But why? Why was he crying? Ichimatsu just said he hadn’t hated him! That he never hated him! That he…
His older brother wrapped his arms violently around Ichimatsu then, pulling him close and sobbing into the crook of his neck. “I always never hated you, too, Ichimatsu, so bad.” It was a drunk and idiotic mess, but he understood.
Ichimatsu sighed, looking up to the night sky as if stars could give him answers. When there was nothing there but the unending twinkling of stars who cared nothing for his pathetic problems, he spoke. “I know. I know, Karamatsu.” He rocked his big, weak brother gently on the concrete where they sat, petting his hair and rubbing his cheek against his head. “I know.”
Karamatsu slid his head down and sobbed into Ichimatsu’s hoodie, smearing snot and tears everywhere. Gross. But Ichimatsu deserved it—he and his stupid feelings started this whole mess, after all. One of Karamatsu’s hands shakily gripped at the fabric on Ichimatsu’s chest, then snaked around and clutched him tight. It took a moment for Ichimatsu to readjust to return the hug in this new awkward position, soft, black hair beneath Ichimatsu’s chin and Karamatsu’s back hunched pathetically, but Ichimatsu stroked his back anyways, shushing him softly.
“I’ll never hate you, Karamatsu. Even when I say I do.” His voice was a pleasant hum. “Never hate you.”
Karamatsu lifted his head, butting Ichimatsu’s chin before coming up to kiss him again. Sighing into it, Ichimatsu returned the gentle kiss, giving him this one last thing. He was sorry, so fucking sorry, but they couldn’t. They really couldn’t. And both of them knew it.
When Ichimatsu finally pulled away and Karamatsu’s wailing had simmered down to a quiet hiccuping, Ichimatsu stroked his arm. “We should go home.”
A single, pathetic sniff. And then, “Okay.”
But it took them both sitting on cold concrete with the quiet understanding that they would never be able to love each other the way they wanted to until sunrise, clutching at each other’s parkas with their eyes closed and Ichimatsu occasionally petting Karamatsu’s hair and humming the same lullabies Karamatsu had sung to him when they were little, before they even thought about moving.