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Tanjiro liked his teacher.

He liked the way his voice filled his whole chest when he spoke, and he liked the thick, wild texture of his hair. He liked his straight, broad-shouldered posture that made him look so much taller and wider than he really was, and he liked his distant gaze and bright smile that somehow made him look so much older and yet, almost as youthful as Tanjiro’s peers. He liked his broad, warm hands and their rough palms.

But most of all, he liked the sound of Mr. Rengoku’s breath catching in his throat, the sight of his fingers clenching around the arms of his desk chair, and the mind-numbing, intoxicating, addictive scent of his lower zone. His musk hit him in a wave that made his eyes water as Tanjiro pushed ever lower on his cock, swishing his tongue back and forth along the underside because he still wasn’t at all sure what else there was to do but wanted to make sure his teacher was enjoying this as much as he was.

And oh, was he enjoying it. Even on his knees, even propped up against Mr. Rengoku’s legs, he felt shaky like he could collapse at any minute. He was both grateful and infinitely frustrated that he was still fully clothed because his dick would surely have been leaking everywhere but oh, was he sore, even as he ground his palm against his groin. 

“Kamado,” Rengoku murmured, brushing the pad of his thumb over Tanjiro’s eyelid, smearing hot tears over his cheek. “Are you alright?”

His voice was darker and deeper than usual, surely out of concern that they’d be overheard outside his office. Tanjiro pulled off his dick and nuzzled in next to it, not minding his own saliva smearing over his cheek as he nodded. “I’m really happy,” he mumbled, inhaling, feeling dizzy as his teacher’s scent flooded his sinuses again. “I never thought you’d notice me, and getting to be with you like this…”

“It would be hard not to notice someone like you, Kamado!” Mr. Rengoku replied. There was a trace of his usual gusto in his voice, but he seemed to gain ahold of himself once again when Tanjiro glanced nervously toward the door. He beckoned to Tanjiro, a “come hither” gesture that had Tanjiro reluctant to part ways with the concentration of his scent down at his groin but unable to resist all the same.

He righted himself and climbed awkwardly into his teacher’s lap as he’d been bidden, immediately overwhelmed with the feeling of having him so close, in and around and all over him just the way he’d imagined so very often. He buried his nose in Mr. Rengoku’s neck, resisting the urge to sob at the new, equally addictive smell he found there.

“You are the most selfless -” Mr. Rengoku kissed him, just at the juncture of his jaw - “kind -” again, down his neck - “and stubborn student I’ve ever had,” he finished, holding Tanjiro close to him. “It’s a delight to know you, and an honor to have you close like this.”

Tanjiro hardly had the mental capacity to process the compliments by this point. He just held Mr. Rengoku’s shoulders and let him touch, let him move his hands down over his waist, toward his hips, and sighed blissfully. “I like you, Sensei,” he confessed, not for the first time.

A warm hum, a kiss to his cheek, and gentle pressure against his forehead as Mr. Rengoku straightened and rested his head against Tanjiro’s. “Why don’t I,” he muttered almost contemplatively, bringing that large hand that Tanjiro liked so much around to cup his package, “show you how it’s done, dear boy?”

Tanjiro couldn’t possibly say no to that. Not as Mr. Rengoku brought him up to rest on his desk, not as he kissed down Tanjiro’s neck and undid his pants, and not as he showed Tanjiro just how damn good a blowjob could be.

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Senjurou couldn’t sleep.

It felt too hot to sleep under his futon, but if he peeled back the covers he ended up shivering. His face felt much too warm, his hair was plastered to his neck, and however many meters away Inosuke was snoring like a beast.

Senjurou sighed and shifted around for what felt like the millionth time. His head felt like it was full of cotton, but he didn’t want to admit that something was wrong. He was probably just having trouble sleeping because it was his first time outside his house - but he needed to sleep, he couldn’t have the others doubting whether it was a good idea to bring him along yet again.

There came a sigh from the futon next to him, and Senjurou stiffened. “Senjurou?” came Tanjiro’s voice, and no, he’d woken him up, this was the worst possible outcome.

“Sorry,” he said, purely on reflex, watching the shadow of Tanjiro’s silhouette rise against the dark grey background of the rest of the room. “I’ll be quiet.”

“Are you feeling okay?” murmured Tanjiro’s voice, dark and grainy and intimate. Senjurou swallowed. “You smell different…”

His hands tightened in his covers. “I’m a little hot,” he admitted, sitting up as he heard the rustle of Tanjiro drawing nearer. “It’s really okay.”

He didn’t realize just how close Tanjiro had come until he felt skin against his forehead, breath gusting over his lips. “You feel a little feverish,” he observed, and Senjurou immediately crashed back against his pillow, feeling his skull jar from the impact.

“Oh, no, Senjurou!” Tanjiro panicked, bending over him, the whites of his eyes shining through the dark in his astonishment, “Was it my forehead?! I thought it’d be okay, I’m sorry!”

To put it bluntly, Senjurou thought to himself, blushing like a madman and pulling his covers up over his nose and cheeks, the problem was certainly not with Tanjiro’s forehead.

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Tanjiro’s breath was finally beginning to even out, his grip on Senjurou’s sides finally beginning to grow weaker. Senjurou drew his fingers back and over his head for what must have been the millionth time, his fingertips long since dulled to the sensation of Tanjiro’s smooth soft hair. It was still worth it, though, for the way Tanjiro still hummed every once in awhile and nuzzled closer to Senjurou’s chest.

Senjurou leaned down and brushed his lips over Tanjiro’s forehead, then let them rest there as he contemplated all that had been exchanged that evening. In a way, it was nice to know that there was someone else out there that missed his brother as much as he did; it helped him to know that Kyoujurou had been real, that the things he had accomplished in his all-too-short life meant something.

It hurt, though. Of course it hurt, knowing that he couldn’t measure up, even here.

As if he’d read Senjurou’s thoughts, Tanjiro at last peeled away, wiped miserably at his nose, and sat back on his heels. “I feel like,” he murmured, “I may have said something cruel.”

Senjurou blinked. “Maybe,” he admitted. “But - I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss him too… And it’s not fair. You’re right.”

Tanjiro tilted his head down, as if even after having poured his heart out, there was still an older-brother instinct telling him not to let Senjurou see him cry. Senjurou’s heart broke wide open, watching his fingers clench in the fabric over his knees, hearing his boyfriend sob.

Maybe he couldn’t measure up, but dammit, Tanjiro put in too much effort for him to just leave it here.

Before he could second-guess himself, he reached forward and laid his hand over the back of one of Tanjiro’s fists. He pushed off of his heels and approached on all fours, pressing on Tanjiro’s resisting shoulder with his available hand.

He kissed Tanjiro’s cheek. “Let me,” he begged, tasting the salt of Tanjiro’s tear on his lip, “Just this once.”

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As a general rule, the nine of them didn’t exactly make it a point to all cluster together when they had gatherings such as this. It was too unwieldy, too easy for someone to get distracted or excluded. No, in general they preferred to let things develop a little more naturally than that.

Of course, some among them were more patient than others, and even with the reminder that it was Tokito’s first time and it would, perhaps, be fitting to give him special treatment, neither Kanroji nor Shinazugawa were the patient type. Kyoujurou eyeballed Tokito for a moment, feeling briefly as if he detected a flicker of uncertainty behind his usual blank expression. He was propped up on the edge of the spring, his legs trailing into the water as Shinazugawa and Kanroji both eagerly lapped alternately at his cock and into each other’s mouths.

Those thoughts were quickly displaced by his own gaze trailing down, following the curve of Kanroji’s pert rear, then contrasting the soft lines of her face against the much, much sharper ones of Shinazugawa’s as their jaws worked together. Warmth was building in Kyoujurou’s core, contentedly complementing the heat of the water and the subtle shifts of bodies on either side of him.

The concerns he’d had before dissolved entirely as Himejima stood from his position next to him and strode across the water; Tokito was in good hands as long as he was in his corner. It left Kyoujurou to purr in delight as Uzui filled the space Himejima had vacated next to him and slotted his lips against his neck. 

“And to what do I owe this honor?” he hummed, stroking the smooth line of Uzui’s jaw, fingers stuttering over the long, wet strands of hair formed to his face.

“Well,” Uzui replied smoothly, kissing up the side of Kyoujurou’s face and boldly groping at one of his thighs, “in all this time, I still haven’t gotten a go at this hot ass of yours. I think it’s a real pity, with how flamboyantly you show it off.”

“Really, now? I would think you’d gotten quite enough of being on top, with three wives. I’d be happy to give you a taste of the other side of things.”

“One doesn’t just turn down a dick appointment with a god, Rengoku.”

On Kyoujurou’s other side, Kochou groaned. “Alright, I get it, neither of you are good at dirty talk. Just decide what you’re gonna do before I shut both of your mouths by force.”

“Is that a threat or a promise?” Uzui asked, and the two held each other’s gazes - Kochou’s irritated, Uzui’s salacious - for a long moment.

“Get on your back, Rengoku,” Kochou decided, and Kyoujurou huffed out a laugh before obeying. Kochou wasted little time before slinging a leg over his head and grinding her cunt down on his mouth.

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By the time Kyoujurou returned to them, Senjurou already had Tanjiro’s uniform unbuttoned down to his stomach. He was laying soft, wet kisses on Tanjiro’s chest, ever faltering, ever shy; Tanjiro lovingly cradled his head as Senjurou pulled his shirt back, lapping steadily closer to Tanjiro’s nipple as Kyoujurou stepped across the room to Tanjiro’s side.

“Well then, Senjurou! Have you decided what you’d like to do?” Kyoujurou prompted. He knelt next to Tanjiro and cocked his head at his brother.

“He has! Do you wanna tell him, or should I?” Tanjiro replied, stroking Senjurou’s coarse blond hair. He recalled Senjurou’s request and tacked on, “Baby?”

Senjurou’s eyelids flickered for a moment, pretty golden irises uncertainly meeting with Tanjiro’s. Tanjiro understood how he felt - it could be somewhat more difficult taking risks with Kyoujurou than with each other. It was no fault of his own; his honest nature just made it immediately clear whether he liked an idea or not, and there was really no room for letting someone down gently with the confident answers he gave.

But Senjurou straightened without further prompting, still not quite meeting Kyoujurou’s eyes, and mumbled, “I wanted… to call Tanjiro ‘Mommy’. And see where it goes from there…”

“He wants to be called ‘Baby’, too,” Tanjiro added, dipping forward for a moment to press a kiss to Senjurou’s cheek. “What do you think?” Senjurou embraced him and Tanjiro rested his head on top of Senjurou’s, turning at the neck to see Kyoujurou’s expression. He raised his eyebrows when he saw his wide eyes, the redness riding high on his cheeks. “Oh, so you like it,” Tanjiro murmured, and Kyoujurou quickly looked away. “You’re easy to read, Rengoku-san.”

Kyoujurou closed his eyes for a moment, then straightened. “Hm. Yes! I like it.”

“You do?” Senjurou asked, sounding faintly surprised. Kyoujurou’s expression softened, and he nodded.

“So would you do it?” Tanjiro said. “Call me Mommy, I mean?” 

Kyoujurou didn’t answer right away. He was still flushed, but he began moving, positioned himself behind Tanjiro and nuzzled into the back of his neck. Tanjiro blinked, perplexed at this behavior, and shared a confused look with Senjurou before he felt lips move against his skin.

“Mm -” Kyoujurou murmured, placing his hands on Tanjiro’s waist. They slid forward, moving to encircle him. “M-mom. Mommy.”

It may not even have been his idea, but Tanjiro couldn’t help the warmth that spread through him at the sound of Kyoujurou’s sweet uncertainty. He covered his mouth, shared another look with Senjurou, and suggested, “If it’s too hard, you can just tell me what to call you until you’re ready.” Another moment, then he continued, “Honey? Sweetheart?”

It felt strange. Tanjiro had never seen Kyoujurou act so vulnerable, so quiet. Even Senjurou seemed at a loss for words when he propped his hands on Tanjiro’s knees and craned his head to look at his brother over Tanjiro’s shoulder. Kyoujurou’s broad, warm hand slipped in through the gap in Tanjiro’s buttons and rested on his stomach with an odd, comforting weight.

At long last, Kyoujurou pressed a kiss to the back of Tanjiro’s neck and answered, “Daddy.”

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Sanemi didn’t like looking at his brother’s chest, but he did it anyway. He didn’t like tracing the hard lines of his muscles, either, and he didn’t like how unnaturally smooth his skin was, contrasting sharply with the bumpy, hard-and-soft texture of his own scarred-up flesh. Genya’s scars were more solid than his, evidence that they’d long since healed, and it only irritated Sanemi all the more to know that that was not the good sign that one may have hoped it was.

“Idiot,” he grated out, firmly cupping one of Genya’s pecs as his little brother rocked into him pathetically, tragically slow. Sanemi rested his forehead on Genya’s shoulder and peered down between their bodies, then he squeezed his thighs around Genya’s waist, silent incentive to go harder, faster - incentive that Genya would inevitably ignore.

“Huh?” Genya asked, stopping only long enough for Sanemi to growl ferally into his ear. He huffed and started fucking again, mumbling between thrusts, “What’s your problem now, Nii-chan?”

“This!” Sanemi grunted, squeezing Genya’s pec again before throwing his arm around his neck and letting his head fall back on the pillow. “You should be fucking soft from some dumb domestic bullshit life, not full of muscle that you don’t even freakin’ use!”

Genya stopped again, and this time the snarl Sanemi responded with didn’t work. He gave Sanemi a flat, confused look and said, “Is this really the time for that?”

Sanemi frowned up at him. “I’m just sayin’, if you’re gonna be a demon hunter, you should at least fuck like a real man.”

Genya gave a long-suffering sigh and picked up the pace. Sanemi dug his fingers into Genya’s all-too-smooth back, knowing that, at least for now, his secret was safe.

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“Remember to breathe, Takeo.”

Tanjiro’s voice was as gentle as Takeo had ever heard him, but he may well have been screaming for the effect it had on him. It was humiliating and addictive, hearing his voice right there in his ear, surrounded by his warm, firm arms; Takeo couldn’t have disobeyed if he tried.

He gulped air and released it in a pathetic whine that had his brother chuckling warmly and nuzzling into his neck, just under his ear. “Try and relax a little, Takeo,” Tanjiro prompted him, using his free hand to massage his thigh. The syllables of his name felt crisper than usual in that quiet, heady tone, like it was his first time hearing it. He choked on a sob as Tanjiro continued, “You could picture someone you like. Do you have anyone like that, Takeo?”

You. It’s you, Nii-chan, it’s always been you, Takeo wanted to say. But he couldn’t - not with Tanjiro’s hand gently tugging on his dick, not while he was sitting in his lap for what must’ve been the first time in years, not with him murmuring in his ear. 

“N-no,” Takeo wheezed.

“Really?” Tanjiro asked, sounding surprised. “You weren’t thinking of anyone when you got hard?”

Nobody but him, his big brother. Nothing but his sounds of delight when he ate their mother’s cooking, nothing but the low tones he spoke in when he was trying not to wake their siblings. That was why, on the occasion of his first erection ever, he’d gone straight to the source.

“I’m,” he sobbed, “Nii-chan, I’m gonna pee…!”

“No, Takeo,” Tanjiro whispered, tracing his nose upward, pressing a kiss to his beauty mark, “You’re gonna cum.”

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Mitsuri had company for today’s teatime and she couldn’t be more pleased. It was always a delight hanging out with the Kamado siblings, but she was especially excited to introduce them to her favorite parts of Western cuisine; Tanjiro had already marvelled aloud at her collection of English teas, but she had a hunch that pancakes would blow his previous revelation out of the water. In the time it took to heat up her griddle and mix her batter, she pondered what other things she could treat the pair to on their next visit.

Before she could linger on this thought for too long, though, she sensed a presence at her side. Her hand flew to her hip where her sword would normally be, but -

Ah, it was just Nezuko. She’d shrunk down as usual and was peering curiously down at Mitsuri’s ceramic griddle. Mitsuri put a hand to her mouth - she’d already cooed at Nezuko so much that day, but she was just so cute - and cautioned, “It’s hot, Nezuko-chan! Watch your fingers.”

Nezuko blinked by way of response. Mitsuri turned back to her work, but it wasn’t long before she felt a tug on her sleeve. She knew she should probably keep both hands available in case of emergency, but Nezuko was already tucking herself under her arm and nuzzling into her side and… well, she could hardly say no.

Bubbles were forming on the surface of her pancakes by the time a thought occurred to her. “Nezuko-chan,” she asked, turning to look at her, “can you even eat pancakes?”

Nezuko appeared to take a moment to understand the question, but then she shook her head. Mitsuri put a hand to her heart.

“No! I’m so sorry, that’s terrible!” she cried. “I - when we cure you, I’m gonna make you so many! Mark my words.”

“Mm-mm!” Nezuko mumbled, pointing urgently at the griddle. An acrid smell hit Mitsuri’s nostrils and her face burned with shame - she’d gone and burned the pancakes.

A flurry of apologies, a new batch of batter, and a seat taken next to Tanjiro later, Nezuko gently grasped Mitsuri’s hand and grunted a few times before she had the opportunity to cut into her stack. Mitsuri nodded along, then shared a bewildered look with Tanjiro.

He tapped his chin and hummed. “I think,” he posited, “Nezuko would like you to know that she doesn’t care about the pancakes. I think she just likes spending time with you.”

Nezuko confirmed this with a nod and a series of merry grunts. Mitsuri’s heart sang and she threw her arms around her, pulling her tiny body into her lap.

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Nezuko was just so cute in her smaller form.

Every last part of her, too. Her ankles were probably as thick around as Mitsuri’s wrist, her thighs slender and soft without the muscle of her larger form, and her tiny, tiny fangs peeking out from her parted pink lips. Mitsuri had to fight down the urge to kick her legs and squeal every time she made a sound, every time her head tilted back or her pretty pink eyes met hers.

“Does it feel good, Nezuko-chan?” she pressed, feeling the ache of her ear-to-ear grin and Nezuko’s pulsing, red-hot insides clenching around her fingers. There were just two of them, not even buried all the way in - Nezuko was too small for that right now. Mitsuri wondered fleetingly if that was why she’d wanted to do it like this tonight.

“Mm,” Nezuko confirmed, closing her mouth. Her slit pupils were blown wide like a hungry cat’s.

“Can I hear it? Can you tell me how it feels?” Mitsuri requested, tracing her thumb down and around her outer labia and tugging teasingly at her insides. Her pussy was so soft and smooth without hair. “Please, Nezuko-chan?”

“Mmmm,” Nezuko replied. She frowned in concentration and mumbled, in the exact inflection Mitsuri had used mere minutes earlier, “Don’t stop…”

Her voice was so sweet, so soft, so cute - Mitsuri couldn’t have denied her request if she tried.

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Tanjiro felt a little dirty for even suggesting it, but really, who could blame him? Of course he wanted his family to get along with his boyfriend’s; when Kyoujurou mentioned that he had a brother about Takeo’s age, the first thing on Tanjiro’s mind was introducing the pair. He was more than pleased to discover them hitting it off.

That was why he found himself whispering in conspiratorial tones with Kyoujurou when the Rengokus dropped by for dinner; there was quite a bit of time before everything was ready, so the pair had gone up to Takeo’s room and he couldn’t help but wonder.

“It’d be so cute if they ended up dating…”

“Are they old enough for that?” Kyoujurou replied, rubbing Tanjiro’s shoulder. Hanako and the others were all helping their mother in the kitchen, but she’d insisted that the happy couple have some time together and ushered them into the living room, where they presently sat.

“I had my first kiss in my first year of middle school!”

Kyoujurou gasped playfully. “Without me?”

“Is it better or worse if I tell you it was with Zenitsu?”

Kyoujurou may not have been allowed to verbally show favorites, but his face told Tanjiro all he needed. He kissed his boyfriend on the corner of his mouth as his mother called from the kitchen, “Tanjiro, can you get Takeo? We’re just about ready.”

“This is our chance!”

“Dearest one, I’m sure they’re just playing like normal…”

Tanjiro hushed him as he lead the way to Takeo’s room. He paused outside the door just long enough to call, “Takeo, dinner’s ready!” and then opened it - and as much as he’d pretended, he could not possibly have prepared himself for the tableau inside. 

Takeo and Senjurou were sprawled on their sides, each of them with their hands in each other’s shorts and Senjurou with his shirt hiked up over his nipples. Takeo’s hair was falling forward over his flushed face and Senjurou’s ponytail was noticeably messier than when he’d arrived. Their faces were close together and red as anything, with plump, glistening wet lips.

They stared, both of them, at their elder brothers for what felt like an eternity. Then -

“GET OUT!” Takeo screeched, hurling his pillow at them. Tanjiro obeyed, exchanging a wide-eyed look with his boyfriend.

Well, he supposed, no need to worry about whether their families would get along after all.

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Giyuu wasn’t the most expressive person. Tanjiro could attest that he’d had a hard time reading his expressions from the outset - but the way Tanjiro saw it, that made it all the more rewarding to look at him and realize that now, yes, he understood.

That was why he reached forward and stroked Giyuu’s jaw, quietly compelling him to look up, to meet his eyes. “Giyuu,” he murmured, “I wanna see you.”

There came a gap between Giyuu’s heated, humid breaths, dampening Tanjiro’s chest, a thick swallow before “Hah, uh,” and Giyuu finally tilting his head upward. His deep, pensive blue eyes flickered under heavy lids and dark eyelashes, contrasting beautifully with the bright pink of the rest of his face. He swallowed again, whined again, and shifted on his haunches, driving himself back against Kyoujurou’s slow, purposeful thrusts.

“You like it, huh,” Tanjiro chuckled. Giyuu’s answer was lost to the sound of Kyoujurou’s deeper, louder groans, but Tanjiro knew well enough. He carded his fingers through Giyuu’s hair, brushing his bangs out of his face. “You’re really cute.”

That comment seemed to embarrass him, because in the next moment Giyuu was hiding his face in Tanjiro’s chest again, kneading with tightly balled hands like a kitten. Tanjiro huffed and briefly locked eyes with Kyoujurou, who paused, leaned forward, and whispered into Giyuu’s ear, quiet enough that Tanjiro couldn’t make out much more than quiet susurrations and the click of Kyoujurou laying a kiss on Giyuu’s neck.

Then Kyoujurou sat back on his haunches, bringing Giyuu up with him and squeezing either of his pecs with broad, firm hands. Giyuu naturally tried to hide again, in his shoulder or his arms or his palms, but Tanjiro didn’t miss the flash of teeth as he inhaled or the conspiratorial wink Kyoujurou dropped him as he picked up the pace once more.

Tanjiro cupped his groin in one hand and pressed the other to his mouth, fighting a smile all the way, and enjoyed the show.

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Giyuu had held out perhaps half a day longer than Tanjiro this time around, but at long last the last strains of his heat were wearing out. Whatever pleasure he got from fingering himself had long since turned into this odd, raw, off-kilter ache and his pussy was hardly even lubricating itself anymore. With a groan and a sigh, Giyuu withdrew his fingers and rolled onto his back; his heat was over, and he felt exhaustion bleeding into every limb.

It was probably time to nap his weariness away if he wanted a chance at getting back to work - he checked the clock - ugh, no, he was not going to be ready in just a couple hours. No, that’d have to wait until the next day. He felt the same fidgetiness he always did after a heat, not at all helped by the knowledge that he should be resting and recovering but just - couldn’t.

He turned his head to look at his sleeping partners, wrinkling his nose at the feeling of his long, sweaty hair sticking to his neck. Once he got feeling back in his arms, he’d have to tie that back.

But for now, he watched Tanjiro’s eyelids flickering, watched his hair rustle from the gentle force of Kyoujurou’s breaths. Tanjiro was the poster child for the textbook omegan heat; when it was all over, he’d get clingy instead of touch-averse, he’d get sleepy instead of fidgety, and most of all, he’d be sweet and lovey and grateful to both his partners. Giyuu had been told time and again not to make comparisons, but it was hard when Tanjiro embodied the ideal omega so well.

He didn’t have long to linger on those thoughts, however, because in the next moment Tanjiro was humming, grunting, wiggling out and away from Kyoujurou’s embrace. His eyelids cracked open, teasing Giyuu with just the barest hint of the eye-catching color of his irises, before they closed again and he pressed his face forward, resting just the curve of his forehead against Giyuu’s shoulder.

“Giii-yuuu,” Tanjiro sang in a whisper.

Despite himself, Giyuu felt a smile tug at the corner of his lips. “Hm?”

“Are you -” Tanjiro interrupted himself with a yawn - “Are you done?”

“I am.”

Tanjiro reached for Giyuu’s hand, but hesitated. “Can I?”

Giyuu swallowed. “Just for a minute,” he conceded, and Tanjiro edged closer, barely lifting his leaden limbs before collapsing on top of him. Giyuu’s omega flinched with anxiety and aggression, but Giyuu ignored it, raised a hand and stroked Tanjiro’s hair.

“I love you,” he said, and was drowned out by a loud snort from their sleeping alpha. Both of them jerked, eyed him, and slowly relaxed when he rolled over with his mouth wide open and his snores echoing through the room.

“He really held it together this time, huh?” Tanjiro chuckled, reaching over to pat Kyoujurou’s bedhead. “Always surprises me how well he can keep up with two of us and only one of him.”

Giyuu blinked, mumbled, “Hm. I want…” and inched over a little before Tanjiro got the hint and lifted himself off of him. Giyuu rolled closer to Kyoujurou, nudged his hair aside with his nose and pressed into his neck.

The relief worked like a tranquilizer through his system, making his eyelids heavy and his omegan anxiety flow out through his fingertips. Scenting didn’t always have this effect on him, but finally he was relaxed enough to beckon Tanjiro closer.

“Oh, did that help?” Tanjiro observed, sinking willingly back into Giyuu’s arms. “I’m glad.”

“Mhm,” Giyuu replied, drawing the sounds out long and slow. He was starting to feel sleepy, in spite of how sweaty and sticky and gross he still felt. 

He heard Tanjiro chuckle, felt pressure on his lips, and heard “Sleep well, Giyuu,” before he drifted off to sleep.

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“You’re a fucking pervert, Sensei.”

“That’s not what good girls say,” said Mr. Uzui, snapping the elastic of Zenitsu’s sock against his thigh. “Try again.”

“You’re a sick fucking pervert, Sensei,” Zenitsu sniffed, and the view of ruffled fabric, of pretty white thigh-highs and his teacher’s large hands wrapped around his torso and resting on his legs blurred. He hated himself for crying about this.

“Hey, you wanted help studying, didn’t’cha?” Mr. Uzui prompted him, not seeming to mind his tears. One of his hands left Zenitsu’s leg and reached out to the table, where the History study guide had landed in all the kerfuffle. “In the Azuchi-Momoyama period -”

“How am I supposed to study like this?!” Zenitsu wailed, kicking his heels back against Mr. Uzui’s shins. All it succeeded in doing was getting Mr. Uzui to tighten his remaining arm around his middle so that he wouldn’t fall off of his lap. “I just wanna go home now!”

“I’m taking time out of my day for you, twerp! I ain’t doin’ it for free!”

“You’re a teacher! I should tell Ubuyashiki about this!”

“But you’re not gonna,” Mr. Uzui replied smugly, resting his chin on Zenitsu’s shoulder. Zenitsu turned his head away out of spite, but that wasn’t going to stop the feeling of warm breaths on his neck. “Are you?”

Zenitsu rubbed his thighs together spitefully, wishing against all reasonable expectations that he could reply in the negative, march right up to the headmaster’s office and demonstrate evidence of Mr. Uzui’s perversion there and then. He wanted to prove him wrong, to get rid of this obstinate weakness in his knees and this shortness of his breath.

Instead, he let his legs part for Mr. Uzui’s exploring hands, let his voice escape him when he cupped his straining erection in a broad, thick-skinned palm. “Relax,” Mr. Uzui whispered into his neck, “A big clit is nothing to be ashamed of, baby girl.”

“You’re so -” Zenitsu began, but his insult was finished off with a stuttering inhale.

That damn sweet talk was going to be the death of him.

Chapter Text

He wondered if Mr. Rengoku’s palm was sweating, too, or if it was just his own. Why would Mr. Rengoku’s palm be sweating? For all he knew, it was just a normal day. In fact, it was a normal day except for the fact that the last time Zenitsu had said something dumb in private, he’d wasted no time in making it public, too.

“Tanjiro.”

“Eh?!”

“You’re very quiet today,” Mr. Rengoku pointed out. There was a crease in his brow. “Is something the matter?”

Tanjiro swallowed. Zenitsu would absolutely ruin this if he let him - it was now or never. “Zenitsu asked…” He tripped over his words and squeezed his eyes closed in embarrassment.

“Would you prefer to whisper?” Mr. Rengoku bent forward for him and offered his ear. Tanjiro gratefully cupped his hands around it and spoke into them.

“H-he asked - if you’d popped my cherry.”

Mr. Rengoku immediately reeled back and dropped his coffee. Tanjiro had never seen him that red. “I - I mean, it’s not that I’m not interested, with you, I -” he burst out, looking anywhere but at Tanjiro. “I - we’re -”

Tanjiro had never felt more humiliated. “I mean, you’ve. Done it. Right?”

Mr. Rengoku paused. He cleared his throat. “I’ve never been... the pitcher.”

“The pitcher.”

“As opposed to the catcher?”

Tanjiro considered this for a second, then went wide-eyed. “Oh.”

A moment of silence passed and they continued on their way - except this time, Tanjiro was positive that both their hands were sweating.

Chapter Text

“You want us to…”

“You don’t have to! I mean, you really don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Tanjiro babbled, feeling a little hot just from the act of saying it out loud. “I - I know it would probably be weird, and you don’t necessarily like each other that way…”

Senjurou was quiet. He sat next to his brother and gazed up at him with a doubtful tilt to his brow; when Kyoujurou looked consideringly at him, he looked down at his hands. “What do you think, Senjurou?” Kyoujurou prompted him.

Senjurou wilted a bit under their stares. He had a very small, very odd smile on his face. “Um,” he mumbled, “I… wouldn’t be opposed.”

“Then I wouldn’t either!” Kyoujurou barked. Tanjiro could tell he was nervous by the firmness with which his arms were crossed and the volume of his voice. He wanted to tell them both once again that they didn’t have to do it, but Senjurou was already sidling closer to his brother and it left Tanjiro mute.

“How do you want to…?” Senjurou began, only for Kyoujurou to uncross his arms and pull him sideways into his lap. He leaned in without any more warning than that and Tanjiro could see what came next a mile away.

“No!” Senjurou squeaked, ducking his head. “Ani, your eyes!”

Kyoujurou blinked. “Pardon?”

When it seemed an explanation wouldn’t be coming from Senjurou, Tanjiro scratched his head. “Ah, most people close their eyes when they kiss, Aniki.”

Kyoujurou seemed perplexed by this. “Is it not romantic to want my field of vision to be filled with the one I adore?”

“Um,” Tanjiro stammered. “It’s sweet? But it’s…”

“It’s weird!” Senjurou groaned into Kyoujurou’s chest. “I can’t do it if you’re doing that.”

“Alright, then! I will close my eyes.” And he did. 

Senjurou watched him for a second, then gasped, “oh,” with a sidelong glance at Tanjiro. He straightened, hesitantly placed an arm around Kyoujurou’s neck, and glided upward, stuttering just a little at first contact. But he did it, he kissed Kyoujurou’s lips, every bit as sweet and shy and fumbling as he’d been when he first kissed Tanjiro until Kyoujurou let out a warm purr and began to reciprocate.

Tanjiro moved closer, breathing shallowly as this most questionable of fantasies played out before him. Kyoujurou let Senjurou set the pace, pressed into the gradually deepening kiss with a smothered smile and flickering eyelids as he combatted his natural urge to look. When Senjurou parted his lips, so did he; Tanjiro leaned into Kyoujurou’s shoulder when he saw the first little flashes of tongue and stayed right where he was when he felt the vibrations of Kyoujurou’s next moan.

Senjurou’s sounds were, as always, less smooth, more staccato, coming out in rushes of air as squeaky “ahh”s and half-aborted “mm”s. He embraced Kyoujurou’s neck more firmly now, scooted his butt further into his brother’s lap, and panted into their kiss. Tanjiro hooked his elbow through Kyoujurou’s and Kyoujurou absently grasped his hand, never pausing in his ravishing of Senjurou.

They parted eventually, gasping for air. Senjurou leaned his forehead against Kyoujurou’s as he caught his breath; he was red as a tomato. Kyoujurou smiled up at him, his expression much gentler than when they’d started.

“Well,” Kyoujurou murmured, pausing to kiss Senjurou’s cheek, “How did you like it?”

It took Tanjiro a moment to realize he was addressing him. He hid his smile in Kyoujurou’s shoulder.

“It was perfect.”