CorsaCorpse〜manjuice era

CorsaCorpse〜manjuice era



#miyacestober2022 day 9 technology // Miyacest + SunaAtsu nsfw group + mobs. Osamu felt sick to his stomach and the world around him seemed to melt, his vision twisting as a hot wave swept over him. He has to sit down. Unsteady feet carry him one, two steps before he slumps +

Against the wall of his kitchenette and slides down to the cold tile floor. The phone in his hand shakes with the tremble of his hand. He mops the sweat off his brow with the back of his arm and tries to focus; to rearrange his thoughts. The video plays on the small screen in +

His hand. Silently, the images moves, a blur of colour and lights. Osamu doesn't dare unmute it. It wasn't the first time Suna had sent him this kind of thing, apparently seeking out and sending p0rn was a hobby of his, most definitely the guy enjoyed the reaction. But this +

Was something else. This was Atsumu. The video was blurry, recorded on a phone in a dimly lit hotel room and the star of the show wore a mask– but Osamu knew. He knew by the light blond waves and how they stuck across his forehead with sweat, by the cocksure grin, the way his +

tongue lolled from between his lips. He knew from the the birthmark the size of a 100¥ coin in the curve of his ribs below his left armpit. Atsumu lay on a bed, encircled by bodies, his hands reaching out, grabbing for the nearest c0ck; one already slipping in and out of his +

loose hole. The cameraman hovers over shoulders, shakily honing in on whatever action he deems the most pertinent for the moment, before making his way onto the bed himself. He reaches out, slapping Atsumu lightly on the cheek before offering his lips his c0ck. Atsumu flashes +

The camera a grin, his eyes flickering up for a moment, before he swallows around the camera man's length. Osamu swipes away from the video and stifling the bile rising in the back of his throat he calls Suna. +

// implied alcohol drugs "The fxck is wrong with you?" Osamu spits the moment the phone picks up. He's met with snickering, then Suna responds. "What? You didn't like our video? You should check out the page, there's plenty more." "Why're ya doin' this? I thought ya were takin'+

Care of 'im?" "Ehh? What do you mean? I am, he's safe." "That's not what I mean," Osamu spits, seething anger over taking the disgust from before. "He looked out of his fxcking mind. Ya know he's got a problem an' yer letting him get fxcked up an' do this kinda sh!t?" +

Suna laughs again "That's just the face of a man getting what he needs. Atsumu knows what he's doing." "Yer sick an' so is he, yer s'posed ta be lookin' after 'im, not making him play yer fxcked up games, Suna." "I'm not making him do anything," Suna says, the playful tone +

In his voice gone, now replaced with something more threatening. "He's an adult. He knows what he wants and what he's doing. You can see for yourself, if you don't believe me." The call ends, then a message flashes onto the screen. It's from Suna and contains a time, date and +

An address. Osamu can feel that churning in his gut again. He doesn't recognise the exact location but he knows that district is nothing but trouble. +

He thinks it over. And over. The message sears itself into his mind along with every detail of that godforsaken video. He tells himself no, that whatever is going on, he doesn't want to know. Doesn't need to know. Like Suna said, Atsumu is an adult. But something in the back of +

His mind itches. He finds himself staring at that ominous message, the address adding itself to his browser history. 3 days out from the date, curiousity gets the better of him and he opens the video link again. He can't bare to watch it again; but he couldn't shake Suna's +

Taunt about /checking out their page/. He clicks through to the posting account, the name alone twisting his guts. /hyperslxt/. He can feel the colour drain from his face as he scrolls the videos. There's at least 30, of varying lengths and locations based on the thumbnails. +

Many seem to be hastily shot, more of the personal variety; Atsumu's obscured face or body, kneeling in a dark street, spread out on a wood floor, tiled floor, so on. He winces at these but it's the more recent videos that really turn his stomach. Hotels, strange men, more men, +

Sometimes it even seems the camera has been placed in a corner, perhaps hidden from the strangers who would would through the door. Osamu cradles his head in his hands, thumbs massaging his temples. He hates it. Every last image makes him want to puke his fxcking guts up +

But he knows, he knows that he can't go on knowing this much and not more. He needs... For whatever reason, to know that this is really the life his brother has chosen. That this really is as safe and consensual as Suna said. Maybe there was some ingrained prejudice inside him +

Or some other sick curiosity, but for now, he wraps himself in self assurance that this is purely of concern for his brother, and he decides to answer Suna's invitation. +

The day comes and he stands frozen at the door. It's a shoddy little apartment in a back alley. He debates leaving but can't seem to decide, his feet won't take him further and yet they won't turn away. He's chewing his lip and sweat when the door clicks open and Suna peers +

Out at him. He smirks and turns on heel, leaving the door open. An invitation Osamu can't refuse. He enters and stands in the genkan, the lights are off and he can hear the muttered voices of faceless men, punctuated with wanton moans +

And the slap of flesh meeting flesh. A mask is pushed into Osamu's hands, his fingers feel numb against the fabric. The same swirling and dizziness hits him as when he opened that damn link just over a week ago. He doesn't know if he wants to pass out or throw up. He slips the +

Mask over his face, takes one last deep breath and follows Suna into the darkness. TBC after lunch!

"oh my god," Osamu gasps, his hand flying to cover his mouth. The room is barely lit, a lamp stands in the far corner a camera on a tripod. The room is bare aside from this and the circle of naked bodies. In the middle in Atsumu, on all fours. Osamu watches stunned from between+

Shoulders as these men each take their turn with his brother; some times two or more at a time. He chokes around their c0cks and greedily begs for more as each finishes and the next moves in. They are rough with him, like he's nothing more than a hole. Osamu hates it. He hates +

Suna for bringing him here, he hates these men for the way they treat Atsumu. And he hates Atsumu for the way he /loves it/, the way he looks covered in sweat and come of these nameless men. He hates that he can feel their humidity clinging to his skin and the way the twisting, +

Churning in his stomach morphs into something more than disgust. He doesn't know how long it's been but the crowd of bodies things and Suna nudges Osamu, nodding towards atsumu, as if offering him up. Osamu blinks at him dumbly, eyebrows furrowing. He should leave, should have +

left long ago but he turns back to Atsumu, and goes to him, draw in as if he were possessed. +

Atsumu is on his back, dazed and exhausted but when Osamu approaches, his eyes refocus. He tips his head, the corver of his lips curling as he lifts his knees, offering his dripping hole. Like a bitch in heat and he begs, pleading to Osamu in a husky voice. "Please, 'Samu, +

Fxck me, I need more." Osamu becomes painfully aware of his hardness, his jeans strained. How long had he been throbbing, aching for this mess that is his brother. His mouth dries and his throat clicks when he swallows. He feels like he's dreaming, vision swimming, ears pounding+

With the best of his thundering heart. His hands move, almost automatically working open his pants and pulling his c0ck from free and asks "yeah? Ya want this, 'Tsumu?" His voice sound foreign to himself. Atsumu nods, "Yeah, yes, yes I want it" he rasps. +

Osamu drops to his knees and crawls close, pulling atsumu flush against him. He pushes up the mask and asks again, "ya want this Tsumu? Really?" Osamu isn't even sure he wants the answer, he feels insane, so close to the edge of reason that he might tumble over and never recover+

Atsumu's eyes are wide and swimming, Osamu doesn't know if he really is high or just high off sex, his chest heaving as he says "yes, Samu, I want this." +

He fxcks into Atsumu with little restraint, there's no need for that. He's open and slick and mind meltingly hot inside. Atsumu wraps his legs around his waist, pulling their bodies closer, forcing their hips together in a hot grind. He seems just as hungry for Osamu as he feels+

For him and Osamu wants more. He carves a path over Atsumu's chest with his tongue and teeth; sucking bruises and teasing his n!pples until they're pink and puffy. Atsumu reacts beautifully under his touch and when their lips meet it's pure electricity. Every inch of Atsumu is+

Perfection, perfectly made for giving and receiving pleasure. Osamu pushes deeper, each thrust drawing more and more broken cries from his brother, until he has him clawing at his back and arching away from the floor as an 0rgasm tips through his body. +

Osamu fxcks 3 more 0rgasms out of Atsumu before he's done, and when he finishes he unloads deep inside with his face buried in his brothers nape, muffling his own whimpers and moans of ecstasy. "Fxck that was hot." Suna's voice brings Osamu crashing back from the heavens and +

Onto the grimey floor. He lifts off of Atsumu, pulling his deflating c0ck out and tucking himself away hastily. Atsumu cackles as he raises onto his elbows. "Yeah? Didja get a good angle?" Osamu doesn't hear the response. His ears fill with buzzing as he straightens himself+

Out and leaves without another word. Both Suna and Atsumu try calling over the next few days, but eventually the calls stop coming and Osamu breathes a sigh of relief, hoping to pretend none of this ever happened. Until Suna sends him another link +

And a familiar itch niggles at the back of Osamu mind once again. // End!

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