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A gust of wind blows. The flame next to Daiya’s picture wavers, but doesn’t fade.
Not a single day has passed in these three years that Mondo hasn’t lit up a candle in his name. That, or a stick of incense. Or the next best alternative. A match, a small fire, whatever: the point was to gaze into the flame and force himself to remember him.
He knows he shouldn’t ask for forgiveness. He knows better than anyone that Daiya wouldn’t blame him for what happened, and thinking otherwise would be an affront to his memory… But still. He can’t help but fall into those thoughts every time he looks at the open shrine. Or at anything for that matter. There’s been a complex sensation eating at his brain ever since that day at varying degrees of severity, and he can’t in his right mind do anything about it. That is something to ask for forgiveness for.
Mondo’s legs go numb as the whole weight of his body sits on top of them. He doesn’t change position. He isn’t done just yet.
The last time he touched Daiya’s living body… it was that same day. Right before passing the leadership of the gang onto him, as the others cheered for their new leader, Daiya hugged him stronger than he ever had in public. That was the closest the others ever got to truly understand how intense his brother’s warmth could be. That was a limit he only reached when they were alone, just the two of them. If he could go back in time, the second thing he’d do—only after saving Daiya—is to beat up the him from back then within an inch of his life, as retaliation for the times he ever rejected that warmth. He should’ve swallowed all that pride and envy and sucked it up.
He looks down. The lighter he used to ignite the candle lies forgotten on the floor. Without thinking twice he picks it up and flicks the ignition button, before drawing his free hand closer and closer to the flame. The heat is too weak to properly burn. Even so, if his fingers reach a certain range, a searing pain will start to radiate through his skin. It’s just matter of time until… there.
That’s it.
He lets out shaky breath. The back of his ring finger glows an intense red. It’s been so long since he last did this. The few hairs on his knuckles have regrown since then. He brings the flame closer to them and chars them to their roots, prolonging the exposure as much as he can bear this time.
This pain, the smell of scorched skin, the deep satisfaction that comes with them. They probably have to do with Daiya. It all circles back to him at some point.
When he comes back to his senses, the lighter lies forgotten on the floor again. The back of his hand feels like it’s on fire, its entire surface down to the wrist dyed with its fiery color. Mondo admires it while blinking back tears. It will eventually swell real ugly. There’s a first-aid kit under the bed for that purpose, but he’d rather leave the raw pain be for a little longer. He has all night after all.
A feverish sigh escapes him. A tension has built up in his crotch while he was out. Slowly, teasing his own libido, he traces the outline imprinted on his sweatpants with a thumb.
One thing Daiya loved to do that never failed to fluster him was to praise it. Its size, its smell, how quick it was to rise rock-hard when he as much as whispered in Mondo’s ear. He’d say stuff like “You growin’ nicely down there,” in hot days when Mondo did housework in only his underwear, or “you could knock a bitch out with that thing,” while brushing the erect glans with the tip of his fingers. Of course, it was all with the intent of working Mondo up. Daiya was even bigger and thicker than him, to the point of making Mondo feel small in comparison.
Just reminiscing about it evokes another twitch out of it. He finally sets his erection free. An earthly smell mingles with that of burnt flesh, and it riles him up even further. He brings the back of his injured hand to his mouth as he begins with slow, methodical strokes across the whole length.
Small gasps of air leak out. It tingles the charred wound just enough to not distract from the movements of his other hand.
It’s getting close; it’s getting infinitely close to the sensations in his memory, but there’s still a lump of frustration lodged in his throat. Masturbating faster won’t solve it. With a click of his tongue, he instead stops jerking off altogether and kicks his sweatpants away.
Of course, this is a ritual. He can’t half-ass it and expect it to turn out fine.
As soon as the prick of a million needles leaves his feet, he stands up and makes his way to the closet at the other end of the room. Greeting him when he slides the door open is a tattered white overcoat. A wave of nostalgia crashes into him. The sudden urge to bring his nose to the dirty fabric and take a deep whiff overcomes him. He helplessly gives in. It has been tainted with the smell of humidity and dust, but underneath it all the raw essence of Daiya’s sweat remains. But before he lets himself dissolve into it, he hastily gets it off the hanger and puts it on.
Daiya’s coat sits heavy on his shoulders. He likes to think most of that weight comes from his brother’s presence; it makes it feel like a tight embrace from beyond the human grave…
He wipes his eyes with a grunt of frustration. The ritual hasn’t even started yet. He next yanks open a cabinet to reveal a long realistic dildo.
First in order comes to block out all illumination other than the candlelight at the shrine; his attention must be focused on the picture frame and its surroundings. Second, he completely strips down and slings Daiya’s overcoat over his back. And lastly, he sets the dildo up before his brother’s picture, the suction cup at the bottom attached to the floor. With the room near pitch black, the cool evening air against his naked body, and the candle-lit sex toy, everything was ready for a proper tribute.
“Daiya…” A whisper escapes his lips like a cry for help.
His legs cave in over the weight of his heart, bringing him to his knees before the setup. Seeing through half-lidded eyes and panting lungfuls of air, he wraps one hand around the dildo before him and gently slides it down the shaft. It was Daiya’s last gift to him. It’s modeled after his brother’s own dick; same length, same powerful girth, the position of each ridge and vein matching one-to-one to the real thing. The only things it can’t simulate is its warmth, and the feeling of Daiya’s skin against his. That’s what the overcoat is for. To complete the illusion.
Much like his brother, Mondo isn’t one to care much about prep. Some spit and a little finger action tend to do the trick; otherwise, the searing pain is part of the experience. Tonight he chooses to brute force it and just lather the dildo in saliva before positioning himself.
With trembling legs he squats over it, slowly lowering his body until the cold tip brushes against his hole. His cock twitches on contact. Deep breath. Calm the fuck down, he tells himself without actually processing a word.
He lets himself sink. The dildo’s head breaks him in as easily as a needle piercing his skin. He grunts and bites his tongue. His eyes close shut in an instinct. In time with the heartbeat hammering his ears increasingly louder, his brother digs deeper and deeper into his ass.
He has always felt double as big inside Mondo. “It’s your fault for being this tight,” he’d say with a dirty laugh.
“…It’s my fault for being this tight,” Mondo repeats to himself. His lips curl into an awkward smile as he touches bottom.
It’s all in now. His insides are on fire.
His chest heaves and his less-than-lucid thoughts scramble. Here Daiya would taunt him. “Are you done?”
“Give me a fucking break,” he’d reply in-between lungfuls, and Daiya would get back at him with a guffaw. His intrusive hands would help themselves to Mondo’s body while he’s vulnerable; one hand teasing his erection, watching in amusement how much his little brother leaks just from sitting on his cock; the other hand, grabbing as much as possible from his plump ass.
All the while, though, Daiya’s hips stay perfectly still. Not the least bit of grinding or pumping. Mondo found that patience admirable; if it was anyone else, he’d be getting fucked into the air before he could even start to dilate. Unlike other forces in Mondo’s past, Daiya never tried to force himself into him. If he did it was because Mondo had asked him to… which happened surprisingly often. That said, once he got the cue to go all out…
It isn’t long until Mondo feels comfortable enough to start moving.
He lifts himself. The dildo partially slides out of his body—a weird feeling of emptiness flashing at him—before plunging it all the way back inside as he lets himself fall. He then lifts himself again, and lets himself fall again. Again. And again. Each cycle takes as long as Mondo deems necessary to fully respect Daiya’s cock. His voice breaking into obscene moans punctuates each step.
At some point he looks down at his delusion of Daiya, and finds him smiling back at him.
“Taking your time, huh?” he’d say, far more composed than Mondo but still dripping sweat.
“I’m going to enjoy each and every goddamn inch of you. Got a problem with that?” Mondo smiles back at him in defiance. Shifting a bit, he places his hands on Daiya’s rock-hard abdomen to support himself as he continues riding him. Daiya would wordlessly reply with a raised eyebrow and a shattered exhale.
There is another shift within the next few seconds. As Mondo slowly picks up a pace, Daiya would casually (intentionally) put both his hands behind his head, gifting him with a full view of his pair of bushy armpits.
Mondo stares without dropping from his high. Both brothers naturally grow a ton of body hair. While Mondo is adamant on shaving, Daiya liked the masculine, natural look and only barely trimmed himself once in a while. The allure of it was hard to explain, but it has always looked better on Daiya than on himself. Especially under his arms.
“You li’l freak.” Even though he hasn’t moved from his position, he’s whispering directly into Mondo’s ear. “You like my pits dontcha? Always staring at ‘em all shitfaced and shit.”
Mondo doesn’t look away for a second. In fact, the way his brother taunts him through ragged breath only makes the urge harder to resist. He plops down into Daiya’s dick one last time. Daiya gives him a inquisitive look. Then, without ceremony and like a puppet with cut strings, he falls forwards on top of his brother’s body.
It’s firm and drenched in sweat. Mondo wishes he could spend the rest of his life dissolving in it.
“Wha— hey.”
But that’s not the main purpose.
Without thinking twice, he dives headfirst into Daiya’s armpit and inhales a huge whiff. The scent of pure masculinity fills him up. Hairs damp with sweat stick to his face. He tentatively licks the sensitive skin, and Daiya’s whole body shudders.
“E—easy there…”
The hair muffles Mondo’s voice. “You asked for this,” he says as he gives it another lick. Daiya’s sweat tastes as strong as it smells. He can’t get enough of it. Every lick elicits a new reaction: one time it makes him moan in a specially humiliating way; another, his cock throbs inside of Mondo’s ass.
In time with his attentions to Daiya’s body, Mondo starts moving again. It better matches the speed of his heart rate now. Far more frenetic.
“F—Fuuuuck. You twat.” The tone in which he speaks would’ve made Mondo chuckle if he wasn’t so lost in the everything coursing through his body. So pissed off yet so endearing. As his voice morphs into a growl, Daiya sits up.
Mondo is almost catapulted backwards, but both of Daiya’s arms are tightly wrapped around him.
“You ain’t getting away with that, ya hear?.”
Now Mondo does laugh. “Try me.”
The growl deepens. At the same rate Mondo on bounces on his lap, he starts thrusting his hips up; the obscene noise of flesh against flesh fills the room and blends with their moans. Before neither of them noticed, Mondo’s arms are also wrapped around Daiya’s neck. Amongst the chaos, they lock eyes. Daiya always had the prettiest eyes. No picture has been able to replicate the way they used to shimmer when they looked at Mondo. He only breaks eye contact to lunge forward and kiss his brother’s lips. He reciprocates.
I’m sorry I took your warmth for granted. I’m sorry for being a reckless piece of shit. I’m sorry for killing you. I’ll continue to fulfill my punishment this year too, and the next one, and the year after that. Just, please, let me have this for tonight.
The climax approaches as their tongues entangle. The hands grasping on Mondo’s back feel like they might fade at any moment. He locks his whole focus on Daiya. On the man he’s kissing. The increasing moans and gasps melt in their saliva. Daiya pulls away without stopping his hips and looks at Mondo in the eye.
“—.,,…./——”
He talks without producing a sound and gives him a smile. The next second, he embraces Mondo as tightly as a ghost is capable of.
Mondo reaches orgasm soon after, a streak of white on the floor before him and a cold piece of plastic inside him. The dildo sliding out of him, he falls back, panting heavily. His room feels empty now. Despite everything occupying space around him, it feels empty.
He remembers the overcoat on his back. He turns his head and inhales through his nose. It still carries his smell. Something other than sweat threatens to stain his cheeks.
Suddenly, an absent voice repeats itself in his ear.
“I’m proud of you.”
Thank you. I’m sorry.