Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Half a year since they started dating, three months since they started having sex, they’ve managed to whip up a sort of routine to it. They don’t bother hiding as much within Mankai anymore, to the good-natured cheer of some and the exasperation of others.

Of course, it never truly devolves into PDA, because besides Sakyo there are at least three others who would complain if they really went all out lovey-dovey in the shared space, but Banri doesn’t hold himself back from slinging an arm around Juza’s shoulders or sitting next to him on the couch. Things like that, which Juza clearly appreciates because he leans into those touches just as much as Banri gives them.

As for the sort of routine, it goes like this: cafe dates happen at least once a week, usually on Sundays, and usually more depending on the match-up of their schedules. They almost always sleep together in the same bed unless one’s staying up while the other’s already turning in, and they swap which bed to sleep in together every three days or so, to keep it fresh.

Sex also happens at least once a week, usually after aforementioned cafe dates, and usually just in their room because uni students can’t exactly afford to go to a love hotel every week. It suits them just fine anyway, since they have a box of fun stuff stashed behind the central loft pillar. They save the hotel stays as a month-end thing, when Banri wants to get the loudest possible noises out of Juza’s mouth.

Sometimes, when they’re not too tired after a day’s events, they even sneak a round or two in the middle of the week. There’s a gesture they came up with to signal the other that they’re down to fuck—tracing the back of a hand from middle knuckle to wrist—and rarely do said signals get refused.

Such as now, when Banri’s stretching his arms over his head, working out the cricks in his neck from chipping away at a report on his laptop for a good hour or so. He yawns, covering his mouth with one hand, and Juza takes the opportunity to grab the other one and drag his fingertips over the back.

Banri blinks at him, his lips curled in a smile that’s a little more tired than usual. “You’ll have to do most of it, though. I’m ‘bout ready to drop.”

“Sure, just lemme take care of ya.” Maybe Juza agrees a bit too easily and eagerly, but fuck it, he’s horny and also he wants to make his tired boyfriend feel good. A lightbulb flickers to life in a corner of his brain, some semblance of an idea taking shape. “I wanna try somethin’ new, if you’re amenable.”

“Oh? Whazzat?”

“A bit of roleplay.” Actually, he’s been bouncing the idea around in his head for a while, but never managed to bring it up until now. Partly because the sex they’ve been having is already pretty damn satisfying. “Nothing too complicated, jus’ our play characters.”

Banri laughs, leaning over to give him a quick peck on the lips. “Should’ve expected that, I guess. You and your theater brain.” He cards a hand through the top of Juza’s hair before rearing back. “So what’ll it be?”

Oh, shoot. He wasn’t expecting to be put on the spot like that. Juza’s eyes go wandering around a bit before they snap back to Banri’s face, upturned crescents matched by the lopsided smirk curling his lips. It’s an expression Banri recognizes, but has only ever seen on the stage until now.

“Boss put you through the wringer again, Luciano? Looks like you’re one step away from dropping dead.”

Quickly, Banri shuffles through his mental wardrobe of roles and slips into the outfit with surprising ease, his voice coming out in a lazy drawl when he speaks. “Only way I’m dying is your bullet through my skull, darling, just like we promised.” He lifts one of Juza’s hands to his lips and presses a kiss to each of his knuckles, topping it off with a wink. “Why, you’ve been waitin’ for me at home like a good little housewife, have you? How sweet.”

Juza snorts, shuffling away from the table on his knees and waiting for Banri to do the same before tossing a cushion at him.

“That’s right, and this good ‘lil housewife of yours wants to take care of ya, so c’mere.”

He meets Banri halfway, tilting his chin so he can slot their mouths together, running his tongue along Banri’s lip before giving it a nip. His hands squeeze Banri’s shoulders, massaging them, then trails towards the collar of his shirt. It’s a little hard to work the buttons when more than half his attention is focused on keeping the kiss going, but once he gets into the rhythm he doesn’t stop until all of them are undone and Banri’s chest is on display.

They break the kiss there, because Juza’s hands are on that exposed patch of skin like he can’t get enough of it. He lets them roam and map out the contours of Banri’s muscles, drinking in the sighs and other small noises he gets in response. God, he’s supposed to be pampering Banri, but he’s the one who feels drunk and stupid here, just from touching him.

“Y’kay there, Lansky?” Banri asks, his own concern bleeding through Luciano’s smirk. “Lookin’ a little lovesick, not that I’m complaining.”

“Uh-huh,” is all the reply he can muster up before he’s leaning forward to catch that mouth in a kiss again, though this time he drags his lips downward, trailing kisses over Banri’s jaw and mouthing at the soft part of his neck, right above his collarbone.

Banri tugs him off a little, just so he can peel himself out of his shirt, but even that momentary loss of contact drags a whine out of Juza’s throat. He barely waits for Banri to toss the shirt aside before diving back in, lapping at the divot of his clavicle and going lower, tracing circles around a nipple with his tongue while squeezing the other pec with his hand. A rumbling groan is what he gets for that and it makes his brain go even more brainless than it had been before.

“Wanna kiss every part of you,” he noses at Banri’s sternum, breathing in deep, “wanna love every part of you, god, Charles, I love you so much.”

Banri does a little squeak that he tries to cover up after by clearing his throat a few times. His voice still comes out a little pitched when he says, “Woah, hey, we bustin’ out the first names here, Meyer? Didja hit the wine rack a little too hard ‘fore I came back?”

“Shuddup, Charlie, and lemme fucking worship you in peace.”

They both go quiet after that, because on Banri’s part, holy fucking shit goddamn what the hell, and on Juza’s part, he’s definitely trying to make good on what he said.

He runs his fingers across each and every square inch of Banri’s skin, kissing just about everywhere he can reach. His thumbs dig into the jerking muscles of Banri’s belly, head dipping down to swirl his tongue in the dip of his navel and the light trail of hair leading down to his crotch which, unfortunately, is still blocked off by his pants.

Growling, Juza tugs the waistband down and basically yanks Banri’s pants off of him, made easier by the way Banri obligingly lifts his hips so he can get the pesky article of clothing off faster. Banri’s just kinda—letting Juza take the wheel here, because seeing his boyfriend so desperate has made his brain short-circuit and escape his skull entirely. No thoughts, head empty, dick hard.

His pantsless ass settles back on the rug—thank fuck they’re not doing this on the bare wood flooring, although he’d much prefer at least the comfort of the spare futon, they should really buy one for themselves instead of filching the dorm’s shared emergency futon for their nefarious purposes—and he lets out a needy little whine when Juza kisses around his dick and moves onto the base of his legs, grazing his teeth on the flesh there before swapping to the other one.

Banri lets his jaw stay hanging open, panting softly. He wants to moan a name but doesn’t know whether to stick with Meyer or go with Juza, so he doesn’t use either, instead opting to let out gibberish noises that he hopes will convey even a fraction of how he feels. Judging by the way Juza somehow works up even more enthusiasm into his ministrations, he hits the mark.

Juza’s down to his calves now, one hand around his ankle keeping his foot up in the air so he can suck and bite at the back of his leg. There’s a bit of a stretch in Banri’s joints from holding that position, but he gladly endures it to watch Juza enjoy himself like a starving man at a feast. Hot damn, Banri doesn’t know what’s gotten into him to get him acting this way, but it’s a hell of a turn on as well as making his heart feel full to bursting.

Then Juza gets to his feet and Banri nearly kicks him right in the jaw because the fucker isn’t just kissing, he’s got Banri’s toes in his mouth, wriggling his tongue between each digit. The seal of his lips even produces a wet pop when he finally pulls them out.

Banri’s mouth gapes open. He’s not sure what to say as Luciano to keep the scene going. Fuck, he’s not sure what to say as himself to react to what Juza’s doing to him.

Fortunately, Juza doesn’t mind his gobsmacked silence, grinning when he drops that leg and picks up the other. “Like I said, I love each and every bit of ya, sweetcheeks.” He punctuates every word with a kiss along the top of Banri’s foot in his hands, though this time he doesn’t linger too long on the toes in favour of nibbling at his heel instead, biting down on the tendon hard enough to make Banri yelp.

Seemingly satisfied, he sets down Banri’s foot and reaches for his left arm, which Banri gives to him, lifting it up so Juza can take his hand and lace their fingers together. He noses at the knuckles and bends down to kiss along Banri’s arm, licking at the crook of his elbow and getting a choked laugh out of Banri because he’s ticklish there, okay, sheesh.

Then he dips forward to kiss up to his shoulder and across his collarbone again, crossing over to the other shoulder where he repeats his journey in reverse, back down to Banri’s right hand.

When he kisses the knuckles, he lingers a little longer on Banri’s ring finger, eyes flicking up to complete the picture of a lovestruck fool, and it makes Banri’s breath stutter in his throat. He tugs his hand out of Juza’s grip and holds it to his chest like a blushing maiden, feeling the rapid thumping of his heart trying to escape his ribcage.

Desperately, he wrangles some semblance of thought together and tries to get his voice working again. “Good grief, Meyer, y’can’t just stop there. Ya haven’t gotten to the best part yet.”

Juza blinks at him, Lansky’s squinting eyes glittering with mischief. “I’m pretty full, actually. Thanks for the meal.”

“WHAT—”

“But there’s always room for dessert.”

The way he purrs goes straight to Banri’s dick, which is basically at near-full mast already even though it’s gone untouched the whole time. Swallowing his spit, Banri watches as Juza tugs down his underwear, mortified beyond all belief when his eager cock springs out and hits Juza right on the cheek, leaving a wet smear under his eye.

“Aw, poor thing.” Juza coos at it, gripping around the base with one hand while holding the tip with the other. He kisses the shaft at a bunch of angles, glancing up every so often to make sure Banri’s eyes stay on him while he plies his dick with adoring attention, licking up the underside and suckling the spot right under the glans.

Banri makes all sorts of unintelligible noises as Juza continues to worship his dick, lowering himself to the floor as much as he can so he can nuzzle at Banri’s sack, letting his cock flop against his face and paint his forehead with precum. He sucks Banri’s balls past his lips and Banri barely manages to shove his fist into his own mouth before he can let out a truly horrendous sound, his throat starting to hurt from how much he’s suppressing his moans.

Juza’s hands languidly stroke his pole while he keeps massaging Banri’s balls with his tongue, breaths coming out as harsh grunts. His eyelids are fluttering and Banri’s not even sure he’s trying to keep eye contact anymore. To put it bluntly, he looks like a bitch in heat, and a familiar sadistic thrill makes goosebumps race up and down Banri’s spine at the realization.

“Each and every bit of ya, my ass,” Banri barks out a laugh, reaching down to thread his hand through Juza’s hair and pull, drawing his eyes back to him, “it’s my cock you want the most, ain’t it? You just can’t get enough of it, hell, probably can’t live without it at this point.”

Juza gasps, releasing Banri’s balls from the wet heat of his mouth, which is a damn shame, but seeing him wracked with a full-body shudder makes up for it. Licking his lips, Banri tries to keep the dirty talk (which is just horny improv at this point, let’s be real here) going, abandoning all pretext of a thought-to-speech filter so his mouth can say all the words that his brain is coming up with on the fly.

“How ‘bout every time after we finish a job, I drag you back to my place and fuck you senseless. Best way to unwind after work, ‘specially if it’s one of those days where we go in guns blazin’. You’d look beautiful all splattered in blood, maybe I won’t even wait for you to clean up. Paint the bed all nice and red, hah! Saves me the hassle of buyin’ rose petals to scatter on the sheets.”

Juza’s mouth is on the head of his cock, suckling on it like it’s a damn popsicle or something, but even though his eyes are screwed shut the incredibly red blush on his cheeks and ears gives away the fact that he’s listening. Grinning, Banri increases the pressure of his hand on Juza’s head, watching his dick sink past those trembling lips—fuck, he’ll never ever get tired of that sight.

“Or maybe I’ll make you wait, make you beg for it. Dangle it like a prize in front of ya that you’d only get after a job well done. Wouldja like that, hm? Waiting for me to decide whether you did good enough to deserve getting bent over the dining table and railed until your brain’s melting out your ears?”

Juza can’t exactly nod or shake his head, but he bobs up and down on Banri’s dick a few times, humming in a way that sends vibrations shooting all the way up Banri’s spine. With a groan, Banri pushes his head down even further, slowly thrusting his hips up so he can grind into Juza’s mouth, that tight throat fluttering around his pole as Juza chokes on him.

“You’d kiss my cock good morning every day, even before I’ve got myself awake and brain running. Maybe I’ll let ya blow me a few times before we hit the shower, ‘n of course I’d fuck you there under the spray, leave ya boneless and bow-legged while I get myself dressed up and ready.”

Gently, at complete odds with the obscene things spilling from his mouth, he lifts Juza’s head up, slipping his hand down so he can lovingly stroke his cheek with his thumb. Juza looks absolutely wrecked, red-faced and hazy-eyed, strings of spit trailing from his parted lips.

Banri keeps his head there for a few more seconds, just so he can burn the sight into his mind, before Juza’s letting out a mewling whimper and pawing desperately at his thighs, his eyes having regained their focus and zeroed in on Banri’s cock so much so that he’s almost going cross-eyed.

“I’ll make ya useless without my cock inside you, reminding you just who ya belong to. You’d be whining like a well-trained harlot until I pacify you with my dick between your lips or in your ass. I’ll fuck every single thought outta that genius brain of yours, then you’ll have to shack up with me or else you’d lose your fucking mind.”

Banri releases his hold on him, moaning as Juza goes right back to taking his dick in his mouth. God, he’s so close, his belly straining with the effort of holding back from cresting the peak. But he needs to see it, needs to see Juza fuck his own face on Banri’s dick, desperate to get him off and suck him dry.

“How ‘bout it, Meyer? Wanna be my live-in whore?”

Even before the last words leave his lips, Banri winces. Okay, maybe that’s a little too degrading, shit, he’s gonna kill the mood—

Except, Juza’s letting out a noise that’s almost terrifying if not impressive from just how euphoric he sounds, and then he’s taking Banri down to the base, swallowing messily around his cock. The walls of his throat are practically milking Banri’s dick, urging him to cum and blow his load down Juza’s throat, but what really sets Banri off is seeing Juza frantically shove down his own pants and wrap a hand around his erection, and, yep, okay, that about does it.

He cums, explosively, both hands on either side of Juza’s head, holding him steady as Banri’s hips jerk and shudder, ejaculating in spurts and bursts as he reaches and tumbles over the peak. Juza takes it all, one hand dug possessively into the meat of Banri’s ass and the other stroking himself to completion as he swallows over and over, only sparing half a thought to the unpleasant taste because fuck it, he can go gargle and brush his teeth after if it really bothers him, which it doesn’t.

He drags himself off Banri’s dick almost unwillingly, wiping away the mess around his mouth with the back of his hand before hauling himself up into a sitting position. So maybe fooling around on the floor isn’t the best idea because oof, ow, ouch, his fucking bones, but really that’s a relatively small price to pay to see Banri flopped on the rug like a starfish, chest heaving like he’s just run a marathon.

Juza chuckles as Banri groans, leaning over to grab a wad of tissues from the box on the low table and cleaning off his spunk from the hand he used to jerk himself off as best as he can. Once that’s done with, he shuffles between Banri’s legs on his knees and hauls him up despite his protests, wrapping him in a hug. Banri all but melts into his embrace, humming his contentment.

“Hyodo, you’re the best boyfriend ever, y’know that.”

He can hear the but at the end of that sentence. Juza rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll help you wash up in the showers, don’t worry. Then you can pass out in bed and I’ll cuddle you to keep ya warm until dinner’s ready. Sound good?”

“Perfect.” Banri wiggles around in Juza’s grip, just to give himself enough room to plant a kiss on his cheek. “Love ya lots, Lansky.”

A little laugh rumbles out of Juza’s throat as he turns to give Banri a matching kiss. “Love you too, Luciano. Every single bit of ya.”

Chapter Text

Juza’s pissed.

He’s had a rough day, starting with snoozing through his one alarm—because he’s usually very good at waking up on time, okay, his body clock is nothing if not on point—and being late to his first class by a good half hour.

And of course it’s the class with the really mean professor, so even though he only has two lectures scheduled that day he ends up having to hang around on campus after the second one, to help the crotchety old coot make copies of the printouts for the next lesson.

Strike one.

The cafeteria didn’t have his favourite, which was fine, he had other options to fall back on, except his hand slipped when pressing the buttons on the food ticket vending machine and he hadn’t noticed until it was too late.

He ended up with curry udon. Which would’ve been fine if it wasn’t the director’s turn to cook dinner today, as it had been for the past three days—Omi and Tsuzuru being busy with other commitments—and like, bless her heart, she makes curry like a professional chef at an authentic Indian restaurant, but he’s just so fucking tired of eating variations of the same thing over and over again.

Strike two.

After he had his filling but not fulfilling lunch, he headed for his part-time job, a new one-day gig on the first floor of a shophouse, doubling as a production line for simple handmade wagashi. His job is mainly to check for defects before packing the sweets in little decorative boxes and then handing them off to the next worker in line, and he’s done that sort of work before, but his coworkers in this particular stint are so snippy and judgy that he can’t help but curl in on himself, which just makes them sneer at him even more.

So he’s a guy who likes sweets, so what. He thought he got over that particular complex after living in Mankai with all his friends who don’t make fun of him for that, but this—this is threatening to bring it all back.

He doesn’t even get to take any of the defective products to snack on, because they throw them all out in the trash! Company procedure, his fucking foot, he vows never to take a gig from that place ever again as his hellish shift finally ends and he gets what feels like not nearly enough pay to compensate for all that bullshit they put him through.

Strike three.

He’s pissed, frustrated, angry, and all these other synonyms he can’t be bothered to look up in his mental thesaurus at the moment when he trudges back to the dorm in the evening. Usually he makes sure to at least poke his face into the living room and greet anyone who’s there, but he can’t find it in himself to paste a smile on so after switching from his outside sandals to house slippers, he slinks past the hallway and beelines for his own room, throwing open the door.

“Wh—good fuckin’ god, Hyodo, would it kill ya to knock?!” Lazing around on his loft, Banri jumps and nearly hits his head on the ceiling at Juza’s entrance. “Yeah, yeah, I know, ‘it’s my damn room’ and all, but—”

“Settsu. Do me a favour and shut the fuck up.”

The snarl that tears out of Juza’s throat does, in fact, make Banri shut the fuck up, only so he can stare at Juza with eyes as wide as saucers, going wider still when Juza hurls his bag into a corner of his side of the room instead of carefully setting it down like he always does.

“Woah, hey, hope you don’t have your laptop in there, bud.”

Banri gets a noncommittal grunt in lieu of an answer and like, that’s good, he doesn’t want Juza to have to deal with property damage on top of the hissy fit he’s throwing. What’s less good is the fact that Juza’s throwing a hissy fit at all. He needs to test the waters, see if this is something he needs to leave Juza alone for or if he can help in any way, because while he does love riling his boyfriend up for stupid reasons, it’s less fun if he’s not the one stoking the flames.

Dangling his arms over the loft railing, Banri asks, “Didja have a bad day or somethin’? Your face looks more constipated than it usually does.”

“I said fuck off, Settsu.”

“Well, technically you said ‘shut the fuck up’, which does have at least one of those words in there, I’ll give you that.”

Nope, this doesn’t seem like something that can be joked around about or laughed off. Juza’s shoulders are hunched up almost all the way to his ears and his hands, balled into fists, are practically shaking. He turns around to shoot Banri a scathing glare and, underneath all that vitriol, Banri can see the abject misery shining in his overbright eyes.

Banri bites his lip. Okay, so Juza’s pissed: confirmed, and is it something that Banri can help with: probably not, because the way Juza looks is a good enough indicator that all the Bad Things had already happened and now he’s dealing with the emotional fallout. What to do, what to do…

He spins the Wheel of Options in his mind and lands on the horny wedge. Welp, sex is as good an activity as any to take the mind off something, he supposes.

Scrambling down his loft ladder, he approaches Juza and paces around him, working himself up into a familiar mindset. Juza regards his close presence with narrowed eyes, his mind whirling with too much frustration to figure out what Banri’s up to.

“John. You came back empty-handed again, I see.” Banri opens his mouth, and it’s Dom’s authoritative tone that comes out, clipped and sterile. Except, there’s something different about it. Something softer, sharp edges filed off.

Still, Juza’s back goes ramrod-straight as he snaps to attention, bowing his head in meek deference. “Apologies, Doctor. I promise I will not fail you next time.”

“Next time, next time, it’s always next time with you.”

The callousness stings. Juza grits his teeth—this isn’t exactly making him feel any better—

“Anyway, I told you before, haven’t I. You’re supposed to cleanse yourself before you set foot in my quarters, and here you are tracking desert dust into the room. The auxiliary lab isn’t so ruined that there’s no water to spare for a shower, right? Be good and wash yourself.”

Whipping his head up, Juza works his jaw, trying to figure out what to say next. Auxiliary lab? Is this, is this a post-play situation? Continuing on after the script’s conclusion? Or an alternate ending? He swallows the saliva beginning to pool on his tongue, trying to keep up with the scene that Banri’s setting.

“Y-You, you shouldn’t. Waste resources, on a lowly subordinate. Doctor.”

Banri tucks a finger under his chin, giving him no choice of turning away. “Only subordinate now, John. You’re the only one who chose to follow me, even after everything’s fallen apart, even after you don’t have any reason to serve me any longer. Don’t you remember? You dragged me out from the burning rubble yourself and brought us here.”

There’s a quiet intensity radiating off him that makes the rest of Juza’s screaming thoughts go silent.

“That death-defying loyalty of yours inspires awe in me, John. Let me at least try to reward it, though nothing can ever repay all the service you’ve done for me.”

Juza’s not sure if anything can make it past the sudden lump in his throat. He nods and his stomach does weird flips when Banri’s lips curl into a smile that’s small but soft and tender and… it’s Dom giving John that smile. Why would Dom ever give John that smile? Does the question even matter when he’s doing it, right here and now?

It’s Dom who’s smiling at him, who leans in to whisper against his ear, “Now go and get yourself all nice and cleaned up for me, hm? I’ll be waiting.”

Juza shivers, most of the frustration built up inside him spilling out like water through a sieve. He nods wordlessly again and almost trips over himself grabbing his towel and a change of clothes before rushing out of the room.

After the hastiest shower and preparation ever, he stumbles back into 104, clicking the lock shut behind him. The usual things are spread out on the floor in front of him. Futon included; how the hell did Banri get it so fast? Shaking the errant thoughts out of his head, Juza tosses his dirty clothes into the laundry hamper and then stands at attention, because Banri’s dragged his chair into the middle and is sitting on it, one leg crossed over the other, with that same faint smile on his lips like before.

Oh. He’s also got glasses on, though not the exact rimless one that’s part of Dom’s costume. (Where did he get those? Does he just—have glasses on hand? Are they for reading? Prescription?) Juza’s hand instinctively goes up to his face, covering his eyes. He feels naked without John’s visor to shield him, even if he’s wearing nothing else of John’s outfit.

“Come closer, John. Let me take a look at you.”

Jerkily, like a rusty mechanical doll, Juza approaches the futon and… after a beat of thinking, folds himself into seiza. There’s a snuffle of laughter from Banri before he also descends to his knees, shuffling closer to Juza until their knees are almost touching.

Juza doesn’t flinch when Banri lifts his hands to touch Juza’s cheeks, but it’s a close thing. He doesn’t know how to take it as John, how to handle Dom without the cold sadism or the raving lunacy. He closes his eyes but gets tutted at, so he blinks them open and struggles to keep them open.

Especially when Banri leans in and presses a soft kiss under his eye. Left, then right.

“You know, when I first picked you up on the side of the road,” Banri hums, Dom distantly recalls, “I almost couldn’t believe the colour of your eyes. It had to be some sort of mutation, I thought. They were so gold. And so bright and fierce too, even when the rest of your body was so terribly emaciated.”

Juza doesn’t blink. His breaths go a little funny in his throat.

“At the time I thought nothing of it, but,” rearing back, Banri looks at Juza, top to bottom, a pleased little coo leaving his lips, “well. You are quite handsome, you know that? In the stark whites of regulation uniform, but also now, in these civilian clothes you managed to scavenge for us.”

Civilian clothes. Scavenge. Juza hangs on to every word, colouring in the scene in his head with details big and small. There’s just the two of them now, isn’t there? His chest goes tight, possessiveness warring with guilt. “Doctor, the experiment.”

“The experiment.” Clicking his tongue, Banri parrots back. “The seedbed, the nursery. All gone. But… we can still start anew.” He looks at Juza again, uncertain. “Will you still follow me? Even knowing what I’ve done?”

Juza wraps his fingers around the hand cradling his face. He nuzzles into the touch, making another helpless noise when Banri’s other hand strokes his cheek with his thumb.

“I would follow you into hell, if that’s where you wish to go. No matter who I have to kidnap, or kill, or—“

He gets shushed by a finger to his lips.

“No. No more kidnapping, no more killing.” Something melancholic crosses Banri’s face, before he sets his jaw in a hard line. “Just one last request. Will you let me be your gardener, John?”

Juza falters, momentarily breaking out of John’s character. “I, whuh? My gardener? The fuck are you talkin’ about?”

“I’ll make you bloom into the loveliest flower,” continuing on without any hesitation, Banri croons, a spark of madness catching fire in his eyes, “and tend to you until you burst with life and grow and flourish, oh, John, can’t you imagine it? We can still succeed. Your body is sturdy; the seed will take. We can still save the world together!”

He’s louder now, not quite in volume but in conviction. He looks at Juza like he sees something precious and invaluable and—maybe it’s not John he’s seeing, but the potential. The greenery.

It should make John’s heart hurt. It should pain him to see that even now, all Dom cares about is bringing plantlife back to the world.

It doesn’t.

Juza’s head spins with the rush of John’s elation. What he adores most about Dom is the sheer dedication to his goals, common sense and ethics be damned, and now he, John gets to be a part of it. Not a subordinate or a tool or weapon or pet—the solution itself.

The emotion carries him forward as he surges into Banri’s hold, pressing their mouths together, hungry, desperate. Banri lets him take the lead for a while, content to loop his arms around Juza’s neck while he twists their tongues together and nibbles on Banri’s lip. It’s wet, it’s messy, it’s even a little suffocating, and when Banri finally pats Juza’s shoulder to get him to let up, his glasses are askew and his bangs in disarray, that insane grin shining silver with spit.

“Oh, you’re perfect. So good for me.”

Whether it’s Banri or Dom saying that, Juza can’t quite tell, but the praise makes it feel like his face is going to burst into flames. Whining, he tucks his head under Banri’s chin, taking a few deep breaths to steady himself. Banri lets him stay there for a few moments, stroking his head and his arm, before slowly pulling him away, holding him at arm’s length so they can see eye to eye.

“Let me have you? Before you give me all of you, I want to give you everything.”

Numbly, Juza nods. He almost feels overwhelmed by the weight of Dom’s affection. He doesn’t want, doesn’t need to think about anything else. Just this moment. Just Dom’s eyes on John, looking at him without truly seeing him.

Dom’s eyes which flicker, dropping the pretense for a moment and returning to Banri’s familiar lopsided smile. He leans in to rub their cheeks together, nosing at Juza’s ear. Close enough to whisper, a little devilishly.

“Just checkin’, can we try doing it raw? I won’t if you don’t wanna.”

Warmth blooms in Juza’s chest, just before it turns up into gooey heat. They’ve never done it without protection before, but considering that they’re each others’ firsts and there’s been no obvious adverse effects so far, it should be fine. He closes his eyes and tries to imagine it… and quickly turns the thought away. Why fantasize about it when Banri’s offering it right here and now.

Juza licks his lips and nods. Banri smiles at him, kisses a spot under his ear—then pushes him back, Dom’s slightly-crazed expression settled back on his face.

“Close your eyes, John.” He instructs, and Juza immediately complies. “Don’t think about anything else except what I’m doing to you.”

That one’s a bit more difficult, some dregs of the day’s frustration still lingering in his mind like embers stubbornly clinging to a dying flame, but it’s difficult to focus on that once he feels cool hands slipping under his shirt, stroking his skin and thumbing at his nipples. The roaming hands apply a bit of gentle pressure and Juza lets himself be eased down onto his back, his head landing softly on a pillow.

His shirt’s pushed up to his collarbone now, exposing his chest and belly to the air. A warm breath ghosts over his navel, making him shiver. He gets teased like that some more, the barest of touches brushing feather-light over his heated skin, interspersed with puffs of air and the occasional nibble or kiss.

It’s not enough; he wants more, wants, wants. Juza’s body strains with the effort of keeping still, and he almost sobs with relief when those hands skitter down to the waistband of his pants. He cants his hips up so Banri can pull them down and off completely, biting back a noise when Banri laughs at him for his eagerness.

There are no further touches for the next few minutes. A spike of anxiety drives into the space between his heart and his throat. He presses his thighs together, and his arms start shaking where they’re laid out on either side of him. His eyelids twitch.

“D-Doctor.” Juza gasps out, desperate. “Doctor, please, I need—“

Banri makes a shushing noise, one hand settling on his hip. Immediately, Juza’s trembling stops, comforted by the proof of Banri’s presence.

“I was just admiring the view, John. What did I tell you? Don’t think about anything else.”

Juza makes a noise in the back of his throat, somewhere between an argument and a plea. “Can you blame me? It felt like you left me alone for a moment there.” John shouldn’t be talking back to Dom like this, but in this intimate moment, he feels like it’s only fair. They only have each other, and John is afraid of being left behind. Fear becomes bravado. “If you want me to think about nothing else, then give me a reason to.”

Banri scoffs, or laughs, it’s hard to tell. A harsh bark of amusement. “Hah! You never fail to surprise me.”

There’s a few shuffling noises, the sound of a cap being popped, and a flush spreads across Juza’s skin. The sound of the lube bottle being opened is familiar to him by now, and so is the press of slicked fingers against his nether regions. He hisses when he feels a deft hand wrapping around his dick, giving it a few pumps to get him going.

“You’re a work of art, you know that? Like a marble statue. But this, oh, if I’d known how pretty you get when you’re emotional, I would’ve tried harder to get a rise out of you long before.”

Pretty. Dom called him pretty. Juza wants to laugh, but the John in him blushes harder, unused to such a word describing him. His hands curl into fists when Banri’s hands trail lower, pressing the side of his face into the pillow when he feels his balls being fondled. His eyes are still squeezed shut, grasping at obedience, but it’s getting harder and harder to keep them from fluttering open.

Then those fingers are pressing inside him, and Juza can’t help the keening noise that tears out of his throat. He writhes and squirms, settling down only slightly when Banri presses down on the juncture of his leg with his other hand. It’s almost torturously slow, the heal pooled in his gut brought to a low simmer. John breaks first, eyes flying open when Banri’s fingers press at that particular spot inside him and stay there, further stimulation brought about by the jerking of Juza’s hips.

Juza’s flitting eyes catch on Banri’s face, on Dom’s leer. He wants to close his eyes again but finds that he can’t. The inside of his head is going white.

Before he can tip over the edge, the fingers inside him retreat. Juza whines at the loss, going quiet when Banri lifts his hips so he can shuffle himself underneath, between his legs. Beads of sweat trail down the sides of Banri’s neck, glistening under the fluorescent ceiling light.

“Don’t think about anything else.” Banri reminds him, then pushes in.

To be fair, it’s hard to think about anything else besides that delicious stretch, the insistent press of Banri’s cock inside him. Juza shudders, taking conscious control of his breathing so he doesn’t breathe too fast or choke. The bite of Banri’s grip on his waist, picking up in strength, adds to the mix of sensations swirling inside of Juza. It feels good.

Banri brushes the hair away from where they’d fallen over his eyes. That is the only scrap of gentleness he affords Juza before he works up into a steady pace. Underneath him, Juza gasps and groans, losing himself to the feeling. His head is blissfully free of everything but the moment, Banri’s heat inside him and all around him, the heavy panting and the slap of skin on skin, the way Banri shivers when Juza reaches down to where he’s holding him and digs his nails into the skin.

John takes what Dom is giving to him, an empty vessel aching with loneliness filled to overflowing. He’s wanted, he’s needed, he’s important to Dom’s particular brand of insanity, and nothing else in the world matters.

Banri makes a noise that Juza recognizes as him rapidly approaching his climax, a pitch to his grunts that Juza can’t help but find adorable. He meets the rolls of Banri’s hips with his own, squeezing down to help send him over the edge, and a happy rumble vibrates out of his chest when he feels Banri’s movements stutter, going unsteady.

And, oh—he forgot. There’s a bit of lingering warmth even after Banri pulls out, and Juza’s rim twitches a few times as his cum drips out of him. That’s new. It’s a little strange, but not too unpleasant.

Then Banri’s fingers are at his hole again, pulling a yelp out of Juza as he pushes the sticky mess back in.

“Wh—what’re ya—!”

Dom’s smile is sticky-sweet on Banri’s face. He keeps thrusting his fingers in and out, and uses his other hand to stroke Juza’s dick, building the pleasure back up after that momentary dip. Confusion starts to seep into Juza’s thoughts before he forcefully ejects all of them, emptying his mind. His jaw is actually starting to ache from how much he’s panting.

“I was thinking,” Banri murmurs, licking his lips, “about how nice you’d look, belly all rounded out and swollen with seeds. Would you let me keep fucking you through it?”

Why is Dom even asking these questions? John belongs to him. John is his property. Dom can do whatever he wants to John and he’ll only be happy. Juza’s hips keep jerking up to fuck into Banri’s fist, then grinding back down onto Banri’s fingers, mindlessly accepting the pleasure he’s being given.

“You’re not even thinking anymore, are you? That’s okay. You won’t need any thoughts after this. You just need to be a pretty little seedbed and let the flowers germinate in you. My darling nursery. My precious garden. Mine, mine, mine.”

Juza thinks he might actually lose a few braincells. The orgasm that shudders through him is almost painful, crashing down on him like an ocean wave at high tide. His breath catches in his throat and he squeezes his eyes shut so hard it gives him a headache, and the ringing in his ears doesn’t stop for a long moment.

He curls up and tips onto his side, vaguely aware of Banri’s hand still on his dick, carefully working him through his climax. The fingers on his prostrate let up, now just a gentle touch on his rim, petting his ass. There’s a slight shift and then Juza can feel Banri’s hair on his face, ticklish strands brushing over his skin as Banri presses their lips together before drawing back.

“That…” Juza licks his lips. His mouth feels so dry after all that. “Was the shittiest, most hentai porno bullshit plot ever. I can’t believe you. You might as well throw in something about tentacles or whatever.”

Banri rolls his eyes, the sweet moment shattered and their usual glibness in place. “Fine, I’ll buy you a tentacle dildo for next time.”

“Please don’t tell me that’s part of your Dom interpretation.”

“There are three versions of DomJohn that live in my head. One’s canon compliant, one is an alternate universe where they’re childhood friends and it’s sweet and angsty and everything, and one is stupid.” Banri’s nose scrunches in a haughty sniff. “Obviously, I’m gonna put this in as a fork under the stupid branch.”

“Thank fuck, ‘cause when we ever do a rerun of Stranger again I do not want to think about all the shit you said. I won’t be able to keep a straight face.”

“You can’t keep a straight face either way, you’re gay.”

“Settsu. Do me a favour and shut the fuck up.”

They keep glaring at each other for all of seven seconds before breaking down into snickers and laughter. Juza sighs, then grimaces when another glob of cum drips out of his ass. Now that the heat of the moment has passed, it’s tipping over to the uncomfortable side of the scales rather than sexy. Banri catches his wince and smooths his palm over Juza’s forehead before standing up.

“Gonna get stuff to clean you up, want a steamed towel to put over your face?”

“Sounds good. Can ya also get me a candy bar or something? I haven’t had a snack yet today.”

Banri waves an affirmative at him before he’s out the door, lock clicking shut behind him. Left alone, Juza luxuriates in the afterglow, a pleasant tiredness running through his entire body. It’s hard to put his mind back together after that, but even when he does, all the day’s events feel like pointless specks of dust in the distance. So he had a bad day. Whatever. There’s always tomorrow, and in the span of time in between, he has a boyfriend who’s willing to spoil him and fuck his brains out as a distraction. And life goes on.

Hearing familiar footsteps just outside the door, Juza closes his eyes.

Chapter Text

“Can I tie ya up?”

Banri, thankfully, does not drop his phone on his face. “Can you what the huh?” He props himself up on his elbows to see over the railing of his loft, looking down at Juza who’s looking up at him. He arches an eyebrow. “For like, a sex thing, or…?” Because with Juza, he never knows.

True to form, Juza blinks at him a few times before a faint dusting of pink appears on his cheeks. “For a—no, I wasn’t,” he stumbles over his words, glancing away, before shyly peeking back up at Banri. “It… can be a sex thing? If you want?”

Banri hums, the familiar taste of a sarcastic barb on the tip of his tongue, but he can’t say he’s not intrigued. “If it’s not a sex thing, then what for?”

“Y’remember that time last month when we both went drinking at Guy-san’s bar? You held back and had to leave early ‘cause you had somethin’ to do the next day.”

Banri does in fact recall that time with clarity, along with the fondness and exasperation the memory provides. Juza had returned to the dorms late, later than Journey’s closing time, and he’d come back completely sloshed. And, as he always did when he got drunk, he’d bombarded Banri with all sorts of praise and compliments, along with the usual jibe slipped in here and there.

Banri remembers, very clearly, how handsy Juza had been, and how insistent he was on having sex. Not that he could pop a boner with the amount of alcohol running through his system at the time. And Banri, ever the gentleman, did not take advantage of his boyfriend in his inebriated state, despite admittedly getting turned on by Juza’s clumsy attempts at flirting. Instead he’d wrangled Juza into having a glass of water before putting him to sleep on a futon on the floor, flailing, uncoordinated limbs and all.

And despite Juza’s prior enthusiasm, he’d basically conked out the moment his head hit the pillow, leaving Banri to deal with his own arousal by himself.

So, yes, Banri does remember that night. “What about it?”

“After you left, I got into a conversation with Azuma-san, he brought up a friend of his, some photographer guy who got his works printed into a book recently. And I thought, y’know, that sounds like somethin’ Omi-san would be interested in, not me? Then he showed me some pics on his phone, and, uh.”

Oh boy. Banri prepares himself for whatever it is that Azuma’s put into Juza’s head. Something that’s apparently stuck with him for an entire month.

“It’s,” Juza wets his lip, not meeting Banri’s eyes. “Kinbaku.”

Kinbaku. “Azuma-san showed you… pics of, ahem, artistic rope bondage, so now you wanna try it on me?”

Juza fretfully wrings his hands. There’s a second part to his confession, apparently. “I, uh, may have already went to a couple of classes led by a kinbakushi?” What? “They’re a certified rope master, real professional type. No funny business. Azuma-san got me in touch with them after I expressed interest, and…” The rest of his words trail off into silence.

Banri slowly processes that and lets the implications of it sink into his head. A question still slips past his lips before he can stop it. “Didja tie anyone up?”

Juza winces. “I… had to, yeah? S’how the class works.” He clears his throat. “Nobody got naked or anything, us students just practiced on each other with clothes on.”

Okay. That’s… fine. Banri can’t say he’s not displeased, the idea of Juza getting his hands on other people—other people getting their hands on him, of course it makes a bolt of jealousy strike at the space between Banri’s heart and his throat. But he knows Juza is earnest and means well. And also, Banri won’t discourage him from learning things he’s interested in, he won’t limit Juza’s actions and choices, that’s not the type of partner he wants to be.

But still.

Instead of voicing any of that, he dangles one arm over the railing and rests his head on it, letting his mouth curl into a familiar smirk. “You got some ropes already?”

To his mild surprise, Juza shakes his head. “No, not yet. I can buy a set from the kinbakushi.” The look he gives Banri is a sceptical one. “You’d let me tie ya up? I know you can get kinda weird about being restrained and stuff.”

“I do not.”

“You nearly socked me in the jaw when I brought out the handcuffs last time.”

That. Yeah, okay, Banri will be the first to admit that he has a fight response to restraints, his instincts demanding that he react to any sort of attempt at vulnerability and weakness with violence. It might be the handcuffs too; he associates it with the time when they were both at each other’s throats, rather than the proper rivalry and partnership they have now.

It might’ve been a formative event that added up to who they currently are, but it sure wasn’t a pleasant one.

He likes to believe that he’s getting better at it. At this whole… relationship thing. And if that means letting Juza tie him up for Fun Times, it should be fine. Right?

All of that must’ve come out on his face, because Juza clears his throat. “It’s fine if you don’t wanna, I got ahead of myself. I won’t bring it up again.”

And now he’s got that sad look on his face. Ugh, good fucking job, Banri. Insecurities one, Banri zero. Sucking in a breath through his teeth, he lets out a sigh. “Okay, don’t go all mopey on me. I didn’t say jack shit yet. If we’re gonna do it, I need to get into the right mindset for it. That’ll probably take some of the edge off.”

“So… roleplay?” Juza nods, more to himself than anything. “I can think of somethin’. If I order the ropes today, we can get them by Saturday.”

“Cool, I’ll keep Sat evening free then.”

They’ve done Picaresque, they’ve done Stranger. Which pair of their playverse roles will suit this theme the most? Banri thinks on it and can’t help but get a little excited, which of course means that he has to spend a minute counting prime numbers so that his dick doesn’t get the wrong idea.

Well, right idea, but not yet. Wrong time.

Fuck, he can’t wait.

Ken’s fingers dance over his skin, leaving trails of static in their wake, and Mogi has to fight the urge to squirm and writhe under that attentive, focused touch. He holds his breath to the point of light-headedness and only lets it out when Ken brushes his thumb over Mogi’s lower lip, those golden eyes carrying both exasperation and adoration in their depths.

“Would ‘ppreciate it if you don’t suffocate yourself every time I tie a knot, Mogi.” Juza’s throat rumbles with the mirth of Ken’s laughter, and Banri as Mogi is so, so weak to it. He would lay himself bare on a plate for this man to eat, let himself be consumed down to the bones if that’s what Ken wants out of him.

Though this, too, is its own form of supplication. Letting himself be tied up in intricate knots and put on display for a one-man audience. Once more, Banri’s lungs constrict as Mogi fails to draw in a breath and once more, Juza presses his thumb to the corner of Banri’s mouth, applying pressure until his lips push apart and he can pull in air through gritted teeth.

“Ken-san,” Mogi chants, like a plea, like a prayer, “Ken-san, Ken-san…”

He shivers under Juza’s roaming gaze, bites back a mewl when the jute ropes loop into another diamond tie over the skin of his belly. He’s naked save for his underwear while Juza’s still fully dressed, button-up shirt and form-fitting slacks, and Banri doesn’t know how much longer he can take it, on his knees on the futon while Juza meticulously draws the rope around and behind him and back again, working his way from the top of Banri’s chest downwards.

It’s Ken’s single-minded focus on perfecting this hishi nawa pattern that has Mogi, pardon the pun, worked up in knots, heat coiling in his gut despite the fact that Juza has barely touched any part of him beyond his arms and his torso. Banri bears witness to Juza’s concentration and can’t help but fall in love with him as Mogi all over again; this man who carries the lives of the Tatsuda-gumi on his back, the weight of a dragon’s strength carved into the skin hidden under his shirt in lines of ink.

This man who spreads himself not thin but far and wide to ensure the livelihoods of the men who pledged their loyalty to him, and now Mogi has all that strength bearing down on him and him alone and even with all that power, Ken is so gentle with him—

“Mogi,” Ken murmurs, leaning in close so that their lips are almost touching but not quite, “breathe.”

Banri breathes, eyelids fluttering, and his nostrils flood with Juza’s scent as he reaches around to tie the final knot over the small of Banri’s back, right where his wrists overlap each other. When Ken draws back, sitting on his haunches, he gives Mogi a little nod to test out the restraints. Mogi squirms and writhes and fidgets about but the binding holds tight, snug against his skin and creating delicious friction.

Just to be sure, he cranes his head over his shoulder to peek at the tie and flexes his fingers to see if he can grab at the ends of the rope: nope, they’re tantalizingly just out of reach, even if he strains his wrists and bends them at a weird angle.

The Banri inside him is chomping at the bit to escape these restraints, but Juza easily shushes that violent urge by cupping Banri’s chin and pulling his face back in front to press gentle kisses to his cheeks, to his forehead, to the tip of his nose. Mogi easily melts under Ken’s caress, and Banri’s awareness of his own thoughts outside of the role he’s playing also melts away. He’s safe, here, in the space that Ken has created for just the two of them, trussed up in these ropes and leaving everything in the hands of the man he trusts with his life and more.

Ken’s happy smile at his submission makes his body go all the more pliant; it’s getting harder to keep himself sitting upright, his limbs going gooey and limp with affection. As if sensing that, Ken slowly tips him back until his head meets the pillow, guiding his legs up from under his thighs and wrapping them around Juza’s waist. Banri shudders when Juza starts stroking his body over the bindings, the contrast between the bite of the ropes and Juza’s cool palms over his heated skin making his nerves light aflame.

Juza’s eyes shine bright with Ken’s pure sincerity as he commands: “Eyes on me.”

And Banri’s eyes snap to his right as Juza presses down, arms on either side of Banri’s shoulders, caging him in. Juza nudges their lips together and darts his tongue into Banri’s open mouth, and Banri almost jerks up to give back before Mogi remembers his place and lets himself be pliant and docile. He lets Juza suck and nip at his tongue and his lips, swallows the saliva that pools at the back of his throat, and fights to keep his eyes open through it all.

Ken himself has his eyes closed as he kisses Mogi to the point of bruising, both hands pressed palms flat on Mogi’s chest and rolling the flat of his thumbs over his nipples, pulling out quiet, breathless noises from Mogi’s mouth. Mogi’s heart melts impossibly further, watching Ken devour him so hungrily, taking what he wants from Mogi so eagerly.

Juza hooks his fingers under the knot over Banri’s chest and Mogi’s heart leaps to his throat when Ken pulls him forward, the weight of his upper body kept suspended in mid-air from that one point of contact. Banri sees Juza’s arm shake and strain with the effort of holding him there but any words of worry die on his tongue when Juza drags his mouth downwards from Banri’s lips, nibbling at the line of his jaw and the tendons of his neck. He presses his teeth over Banri’s jugular and Mogi lets out a keening cry at that.

Then Juza lets go of him. Banri lets out a little yelp, head spinning from the sudden but mercifully short drop, his back thumping on the futon and the air rushing out of his lungs. He gulps in a few lungfuls of air to get his blood running again, frozen in his veins from the shock, and his entire body trembles from the sudden lack of warmth, leaving him feeling woozy.

Hovering over him, Ken undoes the top few buttons of his shirt, just enough for Mogi to get a peek at his chest, the sweat trailing over his collarbones. He shuffles to his knees and Banri gets to both see and feel Juza tug his slacks down, just enough to pool the fabric around his knees and reveal his underwear—and then not even that, as Juza impatiently pulls his boxers over and down, sighing in relief when his half-hard dick pops out from its constraints.

“You’re just so beautiful, y’know that?” Juza groans, and in his usual headspace Banri would have a retort to bite back with, but in the haze of Mogi’s thoughts, hearing Ken say that, it’s nothing but pure praise that goes straight to his gut. His own cock twitches, straining against his briefs. Juza sees this and huffs a quiet laugh. “You have no idea what you do to me, Mogi. You make me want to do things. Foolish things.”

Whatever response Banri has dies on his tongue when Juza starts rutting against his clothed dick. Suddenly he wants to be free of his restraints so badly; wants to wrap his hands around Juza’s erection and lavish it with the attention it deserves, such a splendid cock it is. Banri always loves getting his hands on Juza’s dick whenever they fuck, to feel it throb and leak precum whenever Banri takes him, proof that Juza’s getting just as much pleasure out of it as Banri is, but Mogi is head-over-heels for Ken and his spirit of service demands that he take care of Ken first and foremost, before even sparing a thought for himself. And yet he can’t do anything in this situation but give what Ken is taking from him.

His breaths go a little irregular as Ken continues to grind their dicks together, separated only by the flimsy barrier of Mogi’s briefs. The ropes chafe against his skin as he starts to squirm harder, more desperately, and the shame of his desperation only intensifies further when he sees the edges of Ken’s lips quirk up in a grin, just as fond as it is sardonic.

“Poor little puppy,” Ken teases, pulling himself away from Mogi and relishing in the whine he gets in return, “pulled out all your fangs to protect me from your base instincts, and for what?” He reaches over to the side to grab the lube bottle and barks out a laugh when he hears Mogi audibly gulp. “Now you’ve got this piece of meat dangled in front of you and you won’t even allow yourself a single bite.”

Juza’s slicked-up hand slips down past where Banri can track him with his eyes but from the gasp that falls out of his throat, Banri knows that he’s starting off already with two fingers inside of him; salivates at the thought and sight of it, of Juza’s hips jerking unsteadily back and forth.

Some part of him sneers with derision, knowing that Juza’s too clumsy to make himself feel good properly, not like the way Banri can pleasure him with pinpoint accuracy. The rest of his brain that’s in full-blown Mogi mode wants so badly to help Ken climb and reach that peak, nevermind his own relief. But all he can do is squirm helplessly in his restraints and watch Ken’s brows furrow in frustration.

“Mogi,” Ken pants, tongue peeking out between puffy pink lips, “Mogi, I can’t…”

Mogi whines, straining his neck so he can get just a little bit closer, if he really pushes himself he might be able to sit up but he doesn’t know if he’s allowed. “Ken-san, please, let me help.”

It’s the wrong choice of word, he knows it even before it leaves his mouth. Ken’s eyes go narrow and he presses his lips together into a thin, unamused line, before splaying his unoccupied palm on Mogi’s belly and forcing him down.

“Do I need your help?”

Yes, Banri hisses in his thoughts, at the same time Mogi shakes his head, frightened by his own slip-up more than Ken’s reprimand. He has worked so hard to mould himself into the perfect right-hand man for Ken and he must not, will not let any part of himself backslide into disobedience. Even the mere thought of it is almost too much to bear.

Ken does not accept his silence as an answer. “Use your words, Mogi.”

“I, I’m—” Mogi stammers, and then he scrunches his nose and it’s Banri who mutters, on the cusp between apologetic and annoyed, “fuck, Hyodo, I’m k-kinda blanking here. Sorry.”

Ken’s disapproving expression smooths out into something too soft and sweet for him, a face that only Juza can wear for only Banri. He eases up the pressure of his hand on Banri’s stomach and changes to a stroking motion instead, brushing his thumb in circles around the dip of Banri’s navel. “S’okay. Want me to untie you, or…?”

“N-Nah, keep going,” Banri forces out between shaky breaths, then amends, “maybe hurry up a ‘lil.”

Juza nods once, and then the fingers inside himself that have gone still from the interruption picks up the pace, going from two to three to four all at once. Ken makes a show of it, gasping and screwing his eyes shut as he fucks himself open on his own digits, hunching over so deeply that the tips of his hair tickles Mogi’s stomach. He manages to rear back and pull his eyes open just enough so he can grope for a condom packet off to the side, leaning down to press one corner of it to Mogi’s lips.

Mogi doesn’t hesitate to catch the foil between his teeth, and heat floods his cheeks when Ken just holds it there, smirking down at him, even with his face all sweaty and red. Mogi jerks his head to the side to tear the packet open, jolting when Ken presses the back of his hand to Mogi’s chin before drawing away, a cool touch to his burning skin.

When Ken yanks down Mogi’s underwear and gives a few pumps to his dick with his lube-coated hand, Mogi almost sobs. Another pathetic sound wrenches out of his throat when Ken rolls the condom over his dick and continues to stroke it, licking his lips as he watches Mogi unravel underneath him. Then there’s a bit of shuffling and repositioning and finally, finally, he sinks himself down on Mogi’s cock, both of them shuddering from the sensation.

Mogi bites his lip at the ease with which he bottoms out inside Ken. He doesn’t want to say it, shouldn’t say it, but his brain’s not working good and it slips off his tongue anyway, along with a wince: “Y-You stretched yourself out too much.”

“Yeah, I figured,” Ken laughs, breathless, and there’s a tiny hint of Juza’s embarrassment hidden in it. “Let me just,” he rocks himself back and forth and squeezes down on the dick inside him and fuck if that doesn’t feel amazing. The rest of his words go flying out of his head as he bounces himself on Banri’s lap, his spine arching as he throws his head back and moans. The exquisite drag of Banri’s dick along his inner walls, the way the head presses on his prostrate with every stroke; Banri might not be as big as Juza but his cock fills Juza up just right, hot and hard and so perfect for him.

With the way Juza’s ass flexes tight around him, there’s no way that Banri can last long enough, no matter how much he holds back. He cums with an incoherent apology that doesn’t make it past his lips, abs flexing as he curls up a little and keeps thrusting up into Juza through his orgasm. Juza grinds his hips down as hard as he can, his eyes crinkled from the smile that settles on the curve of his lips, so utterly warm and adoring.

Banri feels himself go soft and stills his movements, body aching from being ridden so hard… and Juza pulls a pitched yelp out of him when he moves, not to pull himself off, but to fuck himself on Banri’s cock again. And his traitorous cock quickly gets hard again despite the rest of his body complaining, but he’s already so sensitive from having reached his climax once already; shaking his head, Banri cries out.

“Shush, Mogi, I know you can do it,” Ken purrs, teasing, even though he looks halfway to wrecked himself, hair matted with sweat, forming droplets that fall down onto Mogi’s skin, “I know you can keep going.” He spreads a hand over his own belly, just above the base of his cock, drooling pre, and presses the tips of his fingers into the flesh, choking out a whimper. “You can do it.”

“I can’t, I can’t,” Mogi wheezes, delirious and on the verge of losing his mind. His brain feels like it’s leaking out of his ears, his head feels so hot and empty of everything but the desire to be good, to do good, but he can’t do anything with the way he’s all tied up. “Please! Let me—at least let me touch you—”

“No. Just like this.” Ken’s voice is deep and commanding. He dips down and cages Mogi between his elbows, his sharp gasps ghosting over Mogi’s skin. “Make me cum just from this,” and then his breath stutters when Mogi jerks his hips up, frantic, short thrusts that hammer him right in his sweet spot. He barely holds himself up from collapsing on top of Banri, mouth hanging open and a string of saliva spilling from his lips, he’s close, he’s so close.

He grinds down just as Banri rocks up into him, pressing himself all the way, as deep as he can go, and Juza’s vision whites out as his entire body convulses from the force of the orgasm thundering through him, toes curling in pleasure and fingernails digging into the flesh of Banri’s upper arms to the point that there’s a faint worry in the back of his head that he’s drawing blood. He feels Banri’s dick pulse inside of him, swelling the condom to overfull with his second load and leaking back down over the length to join the mess at his pubes.

Juza’s own cock bobs and flexes, almost touching his belly, but there’s only a weak trickle of seed dribbling out from the slit, dripping down over his throbbing shaft to land in a splatter across Banri’s stomach, pooling in a section of the bindings and the dips of his abs.

Juza groans, so thoroughly sated that he has trouble trying to fight off the tendrils of exhaustion threatening to pull him under into sleep. But a faint sniffle from Banri sends him tripping right back into high alert; he nearly falls over himself moving up and off of Banri, carefully stretching his legs out as he sits down and tugs Banri up to lean the man against him, letting his chin settle in the crook of his neck.

Banri chokes out a wet, snotty cough, rubbing his face into Juza’s shoulder. “Can’t… feel my. Fuckin’, arms.”

“Let’s get you outta those ropes,” Juza huffs a quiet laugh, carding his fingers through the strands of hair at the nape of Banri’s neck. He pauses, hesitant for just a split second, before pulling Banri back just so that he has enough room to press a gentle kiss to his cheek. “Was that… good?”

Squinting his eyes at Juza, Banri groans. “Lemme… out, first. And cuddle. Then maybe… I’ll have enough braincells to. Say, somethin’ about it.”

“Okay.”

Juza reaches around Banri’s back and tugs at the knot over his wrists, quickly undoing it to free Banri’s hands and massaging sensation back into them. He feels a little guilty at how cold Banri’s fingers are, pale from lack of blood circulation; he’d made sure that the ropes hadn’t been too tight, but maybe he shouldn’t have kept him tied up that long either. Then he yelps when Banri sinks his teeth into Juza’s shoulder before his thoughts can spiral too far into regret.

“I’m fff-ugh, fine,” Banri mouths against Juza’s skin, even managing to roll his eyes, “d-don’t, overthink it.” He wriggles his way out of the rest of the bindings when Juza loosens them enough, then presses his sweaty chest flush against Juza’s own, hooking his arms around Juza’s neck. His expression flits back into something coy as he nuzzles the tips of their noses together. “Did you like that, Ken-san? Seeing me all tied up for you. I wouldn’t mind doing it again, if you want.”

Juza runs his thumb over Banri’s back, tracing the bumps of his spine with an appreciative hum. “It was amazin’. Maybe next time I’ll figure out a fancier way to tie you up.” He gives a quick peck to the side of Banri’s head, smiling when that gets him a laugh. “But no matter what, you’re always so beautiful, Mogi.”

Banri laughs again, keeping himself as Mogi for a moment longer when he whispers, “You charmer, you.”

“Just for you,” Juza and Ken say as one, holding Banri close. “Only for you.”

Chapter Text

From the very moment he sits down on a cushion-seat at one of the tables in the cat cafe, Banri’s gotten… absolutely none of the cats to come and play with him. A whopping zero amount of feline friendship. The very few cats that had dared to approach his offered hand, giving it an investigative, wary sniff—they all ended up turning their noses and tails up at him before skittering away, as if offended by him even attempting to earn their approval.

In stark contrast, seated next to him, Misumi gets absolutely swamped with cats, the little critters climbing and perching all over him like overactive kids at a jungle gym. The two across the table aren’t that far off; Muku’s lap being occupied by at least three cats at all times and Juza…

One feline friend in particular has taken a liking to Juza, it seems; a kitten with cream-coloured fur, the same shade as milk tea, that loudly insists on being held and staying in his hands, purring up a storm as it nuzzles and butts its tiny little head against his palm. They make for a funny sight, the two of them—Juza trying his best to handle such a small, delicate creature, clearly unused to it, and the kitten who constantly demands his attention with its incessant meowing.

Except Banri is pretty damn sure the fuzzball is trying to steal his boyfriend from him!

Every time Banri tries to strike up a conversation with him, hell, every time Juza even turns his way, the tiny hellion squeaks and squeals, forcing Juza to pay attention to it some more. And normally Banri wouldn’t care that much, except none of the other cats do the same when he talks with Muku or Misumi. Just this one furry devil in angel’s clothing, monopolizing Banri’s lover with no remorse whatsover.

He tries not to let it get to him too much, though, since this is a group outing after all. And while he’d have less qualms about pitching a fit around Misumi, Banri does have a measure of restraint when it comes to being in Muku's presence. Sue him, he likes the kid—being Juza’s cousin aside, Muku is generally a nice person to hang out with, if a little dreamy sometimes.

And maybe Banri gets roped into doing a few reenactments here and there of Muku’s favourite shoujo manga scenes, but hey, those are fun. Embarrassing, sometimes, but fun.

(Especially fun if he can spot either Kumon or Juza hiding behind a corner and fuming at him like the overprotective idiots they are.)

So he keeps his mouth shut and his complaints to himself, drinking the coffee he ordered—which is pretty good, has a nice smooth taste and all, considering this is a gimmick cafe and the fare’s not really the selling point—while watching the other three play around with the cats.

Juza keeps shooting him looks every so often, but Banri can’t really decipher them with how quick they come and go. And if he has to look up and see Juza cooing at the kitten one more time he might explode and that would ruin everyone’s fun, so he tries to keep eye contact to a minimum for now.

When they finish the snacks that they've paid for beforehand—a parfait for Juza, a sandwich for Muku, and a slice of pie for Misumi—and their allotted time limit of one hour is up, a server comes to clean up their table, swapping out the dishes for four of a certain something that she hands out to them with a smile.

“Cat ear headbands…!” Muku beams, picking one up and putting it on. “They’re so cute!”

“And triangular!” Misumi cheers, poking at the fuzzy ears of the one given to him. He glances at Banri and Juza with a wry grin. “Not gonna wear yours~?”

The both of them make a face, inadvertently answering as one, “Uh, no thanks.” And then they glare at each other for daring to say the same thing at the same time. Ugh.

Shaking his head, Juza grabs his headband and holds it out to Muku as they all stand up and, barring Banri, start peeling off all the cats still attached to them. “Here. Give mine to Kumon. It fits the vibes of the Summer Troupe more than it fits me.”

“Aww, Ju-chan, don’t say that. I’m sure you’ll look cute wearing it too.”

Misumi giggles, taking the offered headband in Muku’s stead. “It’s okay, Muku. After all…” His catlike grin grows a little wider, a little more toothy. “Banri can share his with Juza, right?”

“The fff—” Before the expletive can leave his lips, Banri practically feels Juza’s icy gaze on him. He rolls his eyes and, since he doesn’t feel like putting up a fight, quickly switches on his mouth filter. “Frick no, I ain’t givin’ anything to him.”

For some reason, Muku levels a look of disapproval towards Juza instead of him. “Ju-chan,” he chides, hands on his hips even as they all finally walk out the front door of the cafe, “you can’t make Banri-san censor himself whenever I’m around.”

To Banri’s complete and utter shock, Juza hunches in on himself a little, properly chastised. “I jus’ don’t want you pickin’ up any profanity in your vocab…”

“Too late for that,” Misumi chirps, slinging an arm around a giggling Muku’s shoulder. “Yuki swears like a sailor when he’s stressed out. Good luck trying to get him to tone it down, ehehe.”

“Mhm! Even Kazu-san lets slip a few no-no words here and there when he’s working on something with a tight deadline. Sometimes he forgets to apologize, but then I just pretend I didn’t hear it.”

Seeing the opportunity to rib Juza a little, Banri smirks and knocks his elbow into Juza’s side. “See? It’s fine, Muku approves. I can say fuck.”

Juza lunges forward like he wants to strangle Banri and only manages to stop himself at the last second, twitchy hands curling into fists around thin air as he lets out a low growl, eyes narrowed to slits. “You—!” He jolts, glances over his shoulder at Muku and Misumi, before deflating with a drawn-out sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “You’re a piece of work, y’know that.”

“I do my best,” Banri snickers. Then he turns to the other two and dips his head in a nod. “Thanks for invitin’ us out. Got any other plans after this or wanna head back to the dorms together?”

Muku and Misumi share a series of looks and miniscule gestures, as if they’re telepaths capable of transmitting thoughts to each other from facial expressions alone.

“We’re gonna go look for cats to play with.” Muku curls his hands in paw-like fashion and holds them up by his head. Misumi does the same, and they both look absolutely adorable doing so. “You can go back without us. Thanks for coming along, Ju-chan, Banri-san.”

Juza huffs a laugh through his nose and reaches out to ruffle Muku’s hair, careful not to dislodge the cat ears sitting on his head. “Anytime.” And so the two groups of two part ways.

When they reach the dormitory, Banri makes a beeline for their room, leaving Juza to pop his head in the lounge and announce their return to whoever’s sitting in the common room at the moment; the six members of Spring playing a videogame together on the TV, plus the director on her laptop at the dining table. He gives a quick explanation of where he’s been and with who (and gets lightly teased by Chikage and Itaru for it) before politely excusing himself.

He’s got a certain someone’s bruised ego to soothe, after all.

When he makes his way to 104, he makes sure to knock on the door before entering, since he doesn’t know how what state Banri’s mood is currently in and he doesn’t want Banri to snap at him, more for Banri’s sake than his own. Juza knows Banri doesn’t really like it when his own bad temper and crankiness make him unreasonably lash out without purpose, always mopes and feels guilty about it afterwards.

Stepping into the room and locking the door shut behind him, Juza gives a cursory scan of his surroundings. As expected, Banri is seated at his desk, brows furrowed and mouth curled in a deep frown as he watches something on his phone. Or, not quite. His eyes are on the screen, sure, but it’s more like he’s staring at nothing, unfocused, than actually paying attention to it.

And tossed haphazardly onto the low table in the middle of the room is the cat ear headband. Juza picks it up and turns it around in his hands a few times. The colour of milk tea, like Banri’s hair. Like the kitten in the cat cafe.

Despite the stiff, joyless atmosphere pervading the room, Juza stifles a chuckle by pressing his knuckles to his lips. Of course his boyfriend would get worked up over something small like that; he’ll get worked up over anything at the drop of a hat. He makes his way over to Banri and, without a word—forces the cat ears onto Banri’s head, which gets him an undignified yelp as the phone slips out of Banri’s hand and clatters onto the table.

“Fuck off, the hell ya think you’re doin’!?” Banri snarls, fuming at Juza’s apparent amusement.

“I can’t believe you got jealous at a kitten over me.” Juza teases. Then he pitches his voice a little lower, a little softer, and says, “You don’t gotta worry, Settsu. You’re the only pretty little kitty for me.”

Banri growls, annoyed, but doesn’t actually move to take the headband off, only crossing his arms over his chest and jutting his lips into a pout. “I ain’t a damn cat.” He pauses, then sneers, “Not in this relationship, anyway.”

Juza pauses, rolls his eyes. If Banri’s being snippy about their preferred roles in bed, of all things, then surely he’s not as upset as he makes himself out to be. So Juza turns around and sits down cross-legged on the rug, leaning one arm on the low table and using the other to pat his thigh. He makes a few clicking and chittering noises with his mouth, like one would use to try and get a cat’s attention.

Banri raises an eyebrow. “And just what are ya tryin’ to accomplish here?”

“Tryin’ to play with my kitty-cat and make up for snubbin’ it earlier.” Juza blinks a few times before a coy smile spreads across his lips. “C’mon, Ivan. I know ya want it. Just let yourself be my pet for a while, will ya?”

Interesting. That’s technically two layers of roleplay that Juza’s offering to set up. Banri thinks on it for all of seven seconds before deciding, what the hell, why not. He slinks out of his chair and starts making his way towards Juza, except he freezes in his tracks when Juza sharply snaps his fingers at him.

“What kinda freak feline walks on two legs? Crawl.”

He says it in the harsh tone of a command, which would normally have Banri retaliating in an overly-violent manner. But Ivan’s a playful, easygoing sorta guy when he’s not on hunter duty, right? It’s downtime and he wants to indulge Doggy a little; been far too long since they shared a quiet moment together without the usual barrier of banter between them.

Banri drops to his knees and curls his hands up all paw-like before planting those on the floor, too. He arches his back inward a little, makes a show turning his nose up, being fickle and not listening to Doggy’s invitation. Lifts a paw up to lick at his knuckles and press it across his hair, since grooming himself is far more important than listening to what Doggy has to say.

A fond laugh rumbles out of Juza’s chest. “Cold one, ain’tcha?” He leans his chin on one hand, elbow on the table. Warmth and mirth swim in the depths of his golden eyes. “That’s okay, I know you’re pretty affectionate deep, deep down inside. I’ve seen it before. You’ve shown me before, how sweet you can be when you wanna be.”

Ivan scrunches his nose in distaste and hisses at him, then huffily turns away. But it’s not too long before the allure of Doggy’s lap breaks past his haughty facade. He knows just how comfy that spot can be, with how much warmer Juza’s body temperature tends to run compared to his own.

As Banri, it feels stupid to dip his upper body down, leaving his ass high up in the air, but seeing the look of delight on Juza’s face as he wiggles his butt and nonexistent tail more than makes up for it. Pouncing forward, he squishes his face into Doggy’s chest and rubs his cheeks all over, nosing his way up to Doggy’s throat before giving it a few licks, hard enough that he can pretend his tongue really is as sandpaper-rough as an actual cat’s.

Doggy laughs and wraps his arms loosely around Ivan, giving him enough space to shimmy out if he wants to; cats are known for sometimes having a hard limit to how much you can cuddle them before they get feisty, after all. He cards his fingers through Ivan’s hair and scratches gently at his scalp, careful not to touch the fake ears on his head. His other hand brushes up and down Ivan’s back, eventually settling on his hip.

“My pretty little kitty, all for me.”

Laughing again when Ivan nips him on the shell of his ear for that comment, Doggy slots their mouths together, licking at Ivan’s lips until he’s permitted entry, then kissing him until they’re both breathless and forced to part for air before eagerly diving back in for more. He runs the tip of his tongue over the points of Ivan’s canines and swipes it against the inside of his cheeks, the roof of his mouth. Then he retreats and lets Ivan return the favour, groaning when he tangles their tongues together before nibbling sweetly on it with his teeth.

Ivan presses in on him, using his weight to push Doggy down until Juza’s back lands on the floor with a muffled thump. He curls up on top of Doggy’s chest and tries to imitate a purr by humming deep in his throat. Even if it’s not quite physically possible, he likes to imagine that Doggy can feel the rumbles in his chest vibrating outwards. The hand on his back is heavy and warm, bouncing a few times as it pets him.

“What a sweet little kitty-cat.”

Kneading his paws against the squish of Doggy’s belly, Ivan noses at the dip of his navel before resting his head over Doggy's chest. The steady thump-thump-thump of Doggy’s heartbeat is almost like a soothing lullaby; despite his earlier friskiness, Ivan feels his eyelids start to droop. Maybe he’ll just take a nap instead of fooling around. Yeah, that sounds nice…

“But you never stick around long. I know you’ve got places to go, I don’t mind too much. As long as you come back to me in the end. As long as you come home.”

Doggy’s hand catches in the fabric of Banri’s shirt as he curls it into a fist. Ivan looks up, startled and confused by the sudden change in tone, and is alarmed to see the tinge of sadness in Juza’s eyes. Why is he sad? This isn’t the time for sad! Parting his lips, Ivan lets out a raspy meow, gently butting his head against Doggy’s chin and pressing his forehead to Doggy’s neck, feeling rather that hearing the weak chuckle that passes through his throat.

It’s true that Ivan tends to come and go as he pleases, much like the whims of a cat. But that’s only because he has to do his best to make sure everyone’s safe. That Doggy’s safe. He doesn’t want Doggy to worry about him, doesn’t need to be fretted over; cats have nine lives, after all. Hell will freeze over before Ivan will let the undead even come close to turning him into a part of the horde.

But now’s not the time nor place for such a gruesome, sad line of thinking. Doggy’s being stupid and sad and Ivan can’t have that! He knows exactly what to do to distract Doggy from those gloomy thoughts. Pulling back just enough so he can nuzzle their noses together, he rumbles deep in his chest again before sticking out his tongue and licking a wet stripe across Doggy’s cheek, from the corner of his lip to just under his eye.

“Augh! Gross, what…?”

Juza sputters, momentarily brought out of character from surprise at Banri’s actions. He manages to remember just in time to call out the right name in a questioning tone, “Ivan?” Then he gasps when Ivan shuffles downward, pawing at his shirt with a plaintive meow. Confused, but not opposed to the prospect of Sexy Funtimes at all, he sits up and pushes Banri away so that he can shuck off his clothes—or tries to, at least. It’s difficult when there’s a needy kitty-cat who keeps getting in the way by shoving his face into the valley of his pecs and planting kisses all over his chest.

“Silly kitty, what are you doing?” Juza’s chuckle trails off into a groan as Banri bites down, leaving a very obvious tooth mark alongside all the bruises blooming across the canvas of his skin.

Usually it’s Juza who likes using his mouth on Banri, but this time it seems like Ivan insists on being the one to lavish oral attention on Doggy, even if it’s because he’s partly in a feline headspace right now.

Finally managing to slip off his pants, Doggy reaches for the waistband of his underwear, only to be stopped by a hiss from Ivan and a scratch at his arm. Okay then. He props himself up on his elbows and watches as Ivan approaches the obvious tent in his briefs nose-first, sniffing at Juza’s arousal. It’s… more than a little embarrassing, but then his underwear gets tugged down and his erection is finally freed from its confines, throbbing at the sight alone; Ivan’s squinty eyes and the tiny hint of a mischievous smile sitting on the corners of his mouth, so close to the head of Juza's dick.

Gasping, Juza presses the heel of his palm against Banri’s forehead, keeping him at bay. “Wait. Fuck, wait, hold on a sec.”

Shit. Banri’s not gonna blow him or fuck him, right? Juza hasn’t, like, cleaned up or washed or anything. And while that might be hot to some people, it's not exactly appealing to him.

He doesn’t get to voice any of his concerns before Ivan huffs at him, pushing past Doggy’s weak grip and stretching his head beyond Doggy's cock, starting to lap at his stomach, at that stretch of skin between his belly button and his groin. It's not a particularly sensitive spot or anything, but Banri likes touching him there when they have doggy-style (ha!) sex; one hand gripping Juza's hip hard enough to bruise and the other pressed into that place, pulling him onto Banri's dick in a slow, almost lazy grind that has Juza whining for more, or with quick, rough thrusts that make him whimper and squeeze his eyes shut from the pleasure. Just recalling those snippets of memories forces a shudder through Doggy's entire body, almost throwing Ivan off of him from the force of it.

“Ah, a-ah, Ivan,” Doggy gasps, eyes drooping half-lidded as he loops his arms around Ivan’s shoulders, caressing the back of his head with one hand and scratching down his spine with the other.

There's a full-blown smirk on Ivan's lips now as he reaches one spit-slicked hand to wrap around Doggy's dick, giving it a few languid pumps. From how worked up Doggy already is, it doesn't take long at all for pre to start drooling from the tip of his dick, making the glide of Ivan’s touch smoother as he rubs his thumb over the glans and presses a fingertip to the slit.

Juza bites back a moan as Banri works up to a steady pace, mumbling out a breathless apology when his hips jerk upward and his lower abdomen smushes into Banri's face. Banri retaliates with a nip to his skin and a thorough licking of his navel, pleased with how Juza can’t seem to control himself, writhing from his ministrations.

Ivan lets out another raspy meow, lips pressed to the heated skin of Doggy's torso, and kisses his way up to a pert nipple, circling it with his tongue before closing his mouth around it. Doggy nearly bucks him off again, this time unable to stop the needy noises welling up in his throat, so Ivan shifts around a bit so that he's on his hands and knees, hovering slightly above Doggy's body instead of directly pressed into him. He immediately misses the touch of skin to skin, but it's easier this way to attack Doggy from multiple points: sucking and biting at the sensitive peaks of his chest, massaging that spot on his lower belly, and jerking off his engorged dick that looks as if it’s on the verge of exploding any moment now.

Pressing the side of his face into the rug beneath, Juza’s breath stutters, muscles tensing and jumping as he nears his release—

And then Banri backs off on all fronts, holding both hands up in a gesture of mock-surrender. The grin on his face is absolutely devilish.

“Ah―you stupid fucking cat," Doggy growls, or sobs, he can't quite tell, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes from frustration, “don't blue-ball me now―I'm so close…!”

He reaches a desperate hand down to finish himself off, but it stopped by the sight of Banri hunching over and pulling his own socks off—and then pressure is back on his dick, different but still so good, in the form of—

Banri’s bare feet.

It’s rougher, the soles more callused than the palms of his hands, and not quite as coordinated, but Ivan works him with possibly even more enthusiasm than before somehow, cradling the length of Doggy’s cock with the arch of his left foot while squeezing along the glans with the toes of his right, occasionally grinding his heel against Doggy’s balls and causing his breath to stutter in his throat.

Reduced to mindless gasping and slurring out Ivan’s name over and over again, like he can’t get his tongue working right, until the unintelligible syllables just melt into each other and become one long sustained moan, Doggy finally cants his hips up, legs trembling and jerking as Banri works him through his climax. He squeezes his eyes shut and grinds his teeth together, hard enough to make his ears ring and his head throb, as cum jets out of his cock. Some of it catches on Ivan’s feet, but the rest of it streaks across his abdomen and drips down his shaft, making a mess of his crotch.

Carefully pulling back a little, Ivan glances at his sticky feet and makes a split-second decision, stretching his legs out so he can wipe the cum off on Doggy’s chest, marking him even further with his own seed.

Doggy groans in mild discomfort but lets him do as he pleases, too tired to do anything but lay there and bask in the afterglow. He slowly blinks his eyes open, glancing over to Ivan and reaching out with a weak, shaky hand. But Ivan dips his head down so that it catches on his hair instead, becoming an involuntary headpat that turns into head scritches.

“You don’wanna… get off…?” Juza asks, between laboured breaths.

“Nah, I’m good. Seeing ya like that is enough.”

Banri smiles, all soft and adoring, and bends down to nose at his cheek, licking a stripe across his sweaty face before nudging his tongue between Juza’s lips for a kiss, and another, until Juza taps him on the shoulder, breathless again. Pulling back, Banri reaches for the tissue box on the low table and starts cleaning them both up before the cum gets too tacky and sticks to their skin, all while Juza’s hand stays on his head, carding his fingers through his hair. They’ll still have to shower to get rid of all the evidence, but for now, Banri deems them clean enough to cuddle.

He tugs Juza’s underwear back up before tipping him over to the side and slotting himself between Juza’s legs, getting Juza to lift his head up for a bit so he can slide an elbow underneath for Juza to lay on. After all that, he’s feeling more tender than usual—well, even more so than how affectionate he tends to get after any sex. To test it out, he presses himself against Juza’s chest and fits his head under Juza’s jaw, hum-purring again.

The fake cat ears tickle his throat, but Juza ignores it to pay attention to his happy-looking lover. “Still in cat mode?”

“…I kinda like it.” Banri admits, cheeks pinking. “My brain gets all fluffy and it feels nice. I guess I am your pretty little kitty, huh?”

“All for me,” Juza agrees, pressing a kiss to the top of Banri’s head, just in front of the headband.

Chapter Text

Generally, the residents of Mankai are civil when it comes to sharing things. Consumables stored in a common area, such as the kitchen pantry or the fridge, mostly operate on a first come first served basis, as long as you also add your own contributions to make up for what you take.

If you want to designate something as specifically yours, then the easiest way to go about it is to store the item in your personal space, or if that option isn’t feasible or available, to stake your claim on it via labelling it with your name, usually on a sticky note or other similar methods.

Generally, Juza doesn’t mind sharing his snacks with everyone else, though since he’s the biggest sweet tooth of them all, it’s more like everyone else shares their snacks with him. His additions to the communal snack pile are constant and consistent: cookies and candies and the occasional fancy confectionary or two that don’t need refrigeration to stay fresh, since fridge space is at a premium and he’d rather save it for the more important foodstuffs and cooking ingredients.

The snacks that he wants to keep for himself, though, he keeps in his own desk drawer, sorted out in neat little compartments so that he doesn’t need to rifle through his treasure trove of sweets to look for a specific chocolate bar or whatever. When he does require fridge storage for perishables that he intends to have for himself at some later point in time, he makes sure to write his name on it in permanent marker; either the full ‘Juza’ or just the single kanji jū if he’s in a hurry.

Usually, that’s all it takes to give the others a heads up. But sometimes… accidents happen, y’know? Sometimes people have a lapse in attention or judgement, such as when they’re stressed out and they take the first thing they see upon opening the fridge to snack on—Juza’s had those moments himself, only to feel bad about it once the post-snack clarity hits.

As long as they tell him about it, he doesn’t mind. If they end up buying a replacement or a substitute to make up for it, then he’ll even be grateful.

That is, if they own up to it.

And as Juza stares into the fridge, somewhere between exasperated and resigned, he has a strong feeling that the thief who pilfered his labelled dessert cup for the fourth time in a row doesn’t have any intention of telling him what they’ve done, or much remorse for the crime they’ve committed, if any at all.

It’s his current favourite snack, too. Strawberry mocha tiramisu. One of the harder-to-get ones that he has to scramble to buy before they get sold out within hours of stocking, because only a single patisserie in all of Veludo makes this specific iteration of the classic dessert and they make it fresh in extremely limited quantities, to be sold at a rather high premium.

Artificial scarcity, his brain unhelpfully provides, cynical in the wake of his stolen treat.

“Juza? You should close the fridge before Sakyo-san comes and lectures you about wasting electricity.” Omi peers at him from where he’s standing by the sink, washing the utensils he’s just finished using for dinner’s meal prep. His brows furrow with worry when Juza complies, but continues to stare blankly at the closed fridge in silence. “Is there… something wrong?”

“Someone took my tiramisu cup.”

There’s no mention of a name, but Omi already knows the likely culprit; he winces in sympathy, arm twitching with the intent to pat Juza’s shoulder before he remembers that his hands are wet with sink water and dish soap. Instead he goes for a smile that he hopes is consoling, even though Juza’s facing away from him and can’t see it.

“I can make tiramisu for you, if you’d like?” Omi offers, rinsing off the last of the cutting boards and sliding it onto the drying rack. “We… don’t quite have the ingredients on hand right now, I think, but that’s nothing a quick trip to the baking supplies store won’t fix.”

“Thank you, Omi-san. But I’ll be okay.”

Will he, though? What if this is something more than just ‘Banri taking something of Juza’s without permission’—but Omi doesn’t want to be too nosy and pry any further. Hopefully they’ll work out a peaceful solution, and if not, well. A little bit of brawling usually solves any hang-ups between them; it’s their main method of communication, after all.

“Just don’t punch him too hard, alright? If either of you show up to dinner with bruises, both Sakyo and Azami will blow a fuse.”

Juza finally turns to face Omi, and there’s the tiniest hint of a smile curling the edge of his lips, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll try.” He gives a little wave before stepping out of the kitchen area, leaving Omi to his cooking. Once he’s out of the lounge, he breathes in deep, trying to temper the brewing bad mood in his head. Maybe a nice, long soak in the bath will do him some good.

Knocking on the door to 104, a habit ingrained in him after his roommate incessantly nagged him about it, he waits for a moment before entering; if Banri’s inside and doesn’t want him to come in, then he would’ve yelled something. So Juza walks in and—stops dead, every single bit of attention zeroed in on the only other person in the room.

Banri, sitting down at the low table, scrolling his phone with one hand and bringing a spoonful of something red, white, and chocolate to his mouth.

For a moment, Juza sees red. And then… Banri’s eyes flick up to meet his, and he has the audacity to curl his lips into that bastard smirk of his, and Juza’s simmering anger flash-freezes over, the furious heat unfurling in his chest turned to ice with a snap.

“That’s mine,” is what he manages to grind out through the clench of his jaw.

Banri sneers, one eyebrow ticking up in mock skepticism. “Yeah? Coulda fooled me, this is way classier than the usual cheap crap you shove in your piehole.” He makes a show of clamping the spoon between his puckered lips, slowly dragging it out, and it would be such a huge turn-on if Juza wasn’t frigid with rage. Groaning with satisfaction, Banri drops the spoon back in the cup, only dregs of cream left at the bottom. “Hell, I liked it, and I don’t usually care for any of the shit you get. Congrats, you finally got better taste in fancy desserts. Took your sweet ass time getting there.”

Juza opens his mouth, closes it, huffs out a harsh exhale through his nose. He doesn’t know what words might come out of him, so better not to say anything at all. Striding past Banri, he grabs his towel and a change of clothes, intent on getting out of there as quickly as possible. Banri’s grin falls into a pout; he doesn’t like being ignored, especially after doing something for the express purpose of riling Juza up to get a reaction out of him.

“Hey,” he snaps, “got nothing to say? Too chicken to call me out?”

The look Juza gives him isn’t quite a glare—something neutral and forced and all wrong. Banri can’t help but wince, wondering if maybe he’s overstepped the mark a bit too far this time. Still, he keeps up his scowl, only for the sweetness still lingering at the back of his throat to curdle sour when it’s Juza who breaks off the staredown first, stomping out of the room and slamming the door shut behind him.

Banri lets go of the breath he was inadvertently holding.

Uh oh.

Juza doesn’t let Banri get a word in edgewise once he returns to their room after his bath, simply tossing his dirty clothes in the laundry hamper and hanging up his towel to dry while Banri tries to wheedle and coax him back into being on at least speaking terms again, to no avail. They spend a few minutes like that in one-sided conversation, Juza’s brick wall of silence tuning out everything Banri throws at him; jokes, jeers, almost-but-not-quite-apologies, because if there’s one thing that Banri cannot make himself spit out even under duress, it’s the simple word ‘sorry’.

And then they’re being called to dinner and both of them know not to make a scene while in the vicinity of others (…most of the time), so Juza doesn’t completely shut him out when Banri asks him to pass the soy sauce or whatnot. But it becomes clear to everyone at the table—everyone in the common room, really—that there’s something weird going on between them, with half the crowd sending Banri looks of pity and the other half ribbing him lightly for whatever he did to get on Juza’s nerves this time.

When the food is finished and the plates cleared away, Juza excuses himself from the lounge. Banri all but chases after him, the last bits of his stubborn pride warring with his genuine fear that he might’ve fucked this up more than he’d like to admit. It’s just a prank, dude, lighten up, rings hollow in his own ears when he knows just how much Juza loves his sweets, and the dessert cups were clearly more high-end than his usual snacks—what was Banri thinking, really?

Juza… hasn’t been oblivious to the way Banri’s squirming to get back in his good graces; there’s a part of him that’s darkly entertained by it, and another, more vindictive voice in his head telling him to push it even further. See just how much Banri is willing to bend over backwards to make it up to him.

He’s sitting at his desk now, back hunched as he pours over one of his uni textbooks, but none of the words are really registering in his brain because this is just an act, a farce. Pretend busywork while his attention is actually focused on the way Banri’s dread and unease is steadily mounting, almost palpable in the atmosphere of the room alone.

“Hyodo, I…”

Banri’s voice cracks on his name and something about it almost makes Juza’s heart go soft with mercy, but he doesn’t let himself give in. Turning around, he folds his arms over his chest and tilts his chin slightly upwards so that he’s looking down on Banri, a hard set to his jaw and one of his brows arched, domineering.

Banri flinches, actually bodily flinches and retreats a step back like he’s been physically struck. The emotion flickering in the depths of his eyes isn’t quite fear, but it’s quiet apprehension all the same, and a spark of recognition; he knows the game that Juza intends to play, now.

There’s only one role that gives Juza any sort of command over Banri, and even then their dynamic isn’t as clear-cut and imbalanced as, say, Dom and John’s master-subordinate relationship. But he’s going to milk whatever upper hand he can get for all it’s worth. It’s only fair.

“And so you come back to me, grovelling at my feet as you always do in the end. Tell me, Shin: do you think my patience is infinite? I give you a looser leash than the rest of my men because you’ve proven to me your worth, yet time and time again you misbehave, you act up and act out in ways that are detrimental to my goals, you press thorns into my flesh and undermine my authority.”

Qilong settles in the marrow of Juza’s bones, weighty and weary. He crosses one leg over the other as he leans back in his chair, jerking his chin downward—and Shin scrambles to follow the silent command, dropping to his knees before his superior.

“Tell me, are you trying to make me regret my decision of taking you into my household? Do you want me to throw you out? Or is this also part of some insidious ploy against me, and I am merely playing into your hands by letting my emotions dictate what I am to do with you?”

“No! Nothing like that.” Shin pleads, one hand reaching for Qilong’s knee before it stutters and stops mid-air, slowly retreating back to his side. He balls his fists and grits his teeth. “I… it was just—an honest mistake. A lapse in judgement. I swear. I promise. I won’t do it again.”

Qilong narrows his eyes, and Shin almost can’t bring himself to look at the burning gold. “Words are cheap; your actions heretofore say otherwise. An honest mistake? One that you’ve repeated how many times, now? And one that you clearly have no remorse for, even when I’ve finally caught you in the act.”

Wincing, Shin keeps his head ducked down, because what can he say to that? What can Banri say besides the one word he’s too stubborn to ever let slip past his lips? But his pride has no place here, faced with Qilong’s jaded disappointment; he has to swallow it.

He breathes in slow and exhales in a rush, his mouth uncertainly shaping around the words in mute rehearsal before he gives it voice. “I’m sorr—”

“You think I want your apology? What use do I have for it? No, no, your transgressions deserve punishment… and I have just the thing in mind.”

Qilong’s voice is harsh and cold, a snarl that makes the skin at the back of Shin’s neck prickle with goosebumps. Stunned into silence, Shin can only watch as Qilong huffs through his nose like a raging bull, reining in the fury that’s on the verge of overflowing. Uncrossing his legs, Qilong leans back, thighs spread apart just enough so that Shin could settle himself between them, if he crawls forward.

And apparently, that’s exactly what Qilong wants. “Come,” he growls, the sound rumbling from his chest, “make yourself useful and show me just how penitent you are.” His tone brooks no argument, curt and expectant. Like he thinks Shin won’t even entertain the thought of defying him. But he doesn’t say another word, even as the seconds tick by without any action on Shin’s part; simply watching, waiting.

Shin hesitates. Banri hesitates, because this… they both have their preferences, their likes and dislikes when it comes to sex. Well, it’s mostly Banri who has his hang-ups with certain acts, and Juza has always indulged him in his desire to be in control―something Banri is always grateful for. In return, he tries to make sure that Juza receives as much pleasure as possible, even forgoing his own gratification so he can focus entirely on getting Juza off until he’s all but begging Banri to finish.

But this… this is not that. This is Juza demanding something of Banri that they both know he doesn’t enjoy doing. Banri knows that he’s ultimately allowed to refuse, that their safeword is always a given if either of them wants to stop.

Still. He owes Juza some way of making amends, and if saying sorry doesn’t cut it, then―

Qilong sees Shin shuffle forward on his knees and derisive amusement curls in his chest like wisps of smoke. What a sorry sight Shin makes, expression pinched tight and miserable. Shin lifts his hands to rest them on Qilong’s thighs, slowly gravitating towards the fly of his pants, only to freeze in place when Qilong clicks his tongue.

“Did I say you could use your hands?”

He didn’t say anything at all about restrictions, actually, and expects a bit of bratty backtalk for that, but both excitement and arousal coil deep in his gut like live snakes when Shin doesn’t speak up against him. Purses his lips and looks more than a little upset, yes, but he’s not complaining or fighting back; completely subservient.

The unfamiliarity of their current situation is thrilling, a heady sensation that makes Juza want even more, to test Banri’s limits even further. He rests a hand on top of Banri’s head, gently scratching along his scalp before pulling him in.

“Since you enjoy getting it on all sorts of things that don’t belong to you, go ahead and put that loud mouth of yours to work.”

Qilong feels the shudder that wracks Shin’s body, keeping a firm grasp on his hair as he dips down, catching the metal of the zipper between his lips. Slowly, carefully, Shin tugs at it, vibrations rattling through his skull as the slider parts the two rows of metal teeth. It’s a little finicky and difficult, not helped by the growing erection straining against Juza’s pants, but eventually Banri manages to get it all the way down, and even manages to undo the button at the top without too much hassle.

He… doesn’t really know how to do this next part with just his mouth, though. Juza’s fly is open and his dick is half-hard, sure, but it’s still tucked away in his underwear, where Banri can’t get at it. He noses at the fabric, even lapping at it with his tongue a few times before pulling away with a grimace.

“I, I don’t know how to, how am I supposed to,” he stumbles over his words before going quiet; his own voice sounds feeble and pathetic to his ears, his whole face flushed bright red with shame.

An irate sigh escapes Qilong’s lips as he presses the heel of his palm to Shin’s forehead, pushing him away. “Useless.” He draws out his cock through the opening of his briefs, giving it a few languid strokes to coax it to full hardness before the hand on Shin’s head threads through his hair. “Now, will you do this of your own accord, or am I going to have to force you?”

Shin gulps, his mouth dropping open with the intention of saying something, anything, but his voice is stuck in his throat, trapped behind a tongue that refuses to move. After a moment of silence, Qilong’s brows furrow with displeasure, and that’s what spurs Shin to action, lurching forward to press his lips to the tip of Qilong’s dick, only to misjudge the distance; his mouth slides along the underside as the hot, hard shaft pushes up against his nose, before falling to the side and hitting his cheek with a wet smack.

Banri nearly goes cross-eyed as he tries to take in the whole of Juza’s dick. He’s big, bigger than Banri, both of them know that, intimately familiar with that objective fact; Banri has seen it and felt it between his hands and against his belly when Juza sits on his lap and in his mouth on the rare occasions when Banri gives oral—but, like this, from this angle, with Juza looming over him wearing Qilong like a second skin—it’s terrifyingly big.

Whimpering, Shin closes his eyes in submission when Qilong clicks his tongue again, and then has to fight the instinct to jerk away when he feels Qilong gripping his own cock by the base and smearing the length over Shin’s cheeks, his forehead, his lips. Debasing him, marking him with his scent. Proving his dominance and putting Shin in his place.

“Open up,” Qilong orders, his voice deep and husky with desire, and Shin does as he’s told, his mouth parting and immediately getting invaded by the fat head of Qilong’s cock, the taste and sensation thoroughly and utterly dominating his thoughts. He practically becomes putty in Qilong’s hands, pliant, letting himself be maneuvered however Qilong wants; two hands on either side of his head, guiding him to take Qilong’s dick deeper and deeper until his lips are stretched around the girth, almost painfully so.

It’s a lot. It’s too much. He can barely breathe, not with the way the glans is nudged up against the back of his throat, nearly cutting off his air completely. His tongue wriggles uselessly, confined to where it’s trapped underneath the shaft, so he hollows his cheeks instead, sucking with as much enthusiasm as he can muster—which isn’t a whole lot.

Through it all, his hands remain where they are, clutching at the folds of Juza’s pants; desperate to at least comply with the constraints set upon him if he can’t bring himself to actively slake Qilong’s lust. His head is starting to spin from the lack of oxygen. Dimly, he feels a thumb brushing the skin under his left eye, caressing his cheek. Deceptively gentle, in sharp contrast to everything else.

Juza watches Banri’s eyelids flutter, feels his tongue weakly lap at the underside of his cock. He looks so good. He looks wrecked, all quiet and obedient, and all it took to get him that way was to shove a dick in his mouth? Juza grunts as he leisurely pulls out, savouring the tight heat of Banri’s mouth as his dick, slick with saliva and pre, drags along the flat of his tongue; before it slips out completely, he stops, sighing as Banri’s lips tremble and tighten around the tip.

“Look at you. Just taking it without resisting me at all.” He coos, chuckling darkly as Shin struggles to regain his scattered focus. “Isn’t this better? Servicing me with that whore mouth of yours. Admit it. You’d be better off warming my bed than going around making a fool of yourself, you flithy cockslut.”

To his delight, a spark of defiance lights up in the hazy blue of Shin’s eyes, who then rocks back on his haunches, pulling off of Qilong’s dick, and twists his expression sour. “Don’t call me tha—”

Qilong grabs his hair by the fistful and yanks him back down, breath whistling through the gritted teeth of his vicious grin as he thrusts even further into Shin’s mouth, groaning when Shin’s gag reflex kicks in and his throat has a spasm and convulses. He keeps himself sheathed in that fluttering warmth, reaching down to cup Shin’s throat and marveling at how it bulges and distends around his dick. Shin thrashes, fingers digging into the fabric of Qilong’s pants before he balls his hands into fists and beats them against his thighs, trying to escape his iron grip, but that only serves to make Qilong laugh harder, enjoying the feel of Shin’s head jerking back and forth as he chokes and drools all over Qilong’s cock.

“What was that? I can’t hear you,” Qilong jeers, dragging Shin off his dick just enough to let him catch his breath before sliding it past those pink lips again. “You’re always, mmh, so fucking loud, yapping on and on about nonsense. These pretty noises you’re making now are so much better.”

Humming, Qilong holds Shin’s head in place with one hand and rhythmically squeezes his throat with the other, like he can jack himself off through the delicate muscles and flesh of Shin’s neck. When Shin continues to resist, scratching at Qilong’s arms, he lets out a low growl before rocking his hips, starting to fuck Shin’s throat in earnest. With each punishing thrust, Shin’s resistance crumbles more and more, until finally he goes limp, eyes glassed over and cheeks blotchy with red and sweat. Soft, broken noises fall from his lips as Qilong brutally uses him like a cheap cocksleeve, culminating in a strangled moan when Qilong buries himself to the hilt, Shin’s lips and nose pressed up against his crotch and pubes.

The heat coiling up deep in his gut is about to burst. Palming the top of Shin’s head, Qilong grinds his crotch against Shin’s face, panting with the effort of holding back. “Fuck—take it, Shin, don’t you dare spill a drop—”

And then Juza cums, releasing his load in bursts, hips stuttering as Banri desperately swallows around him, trying his best not to choke on Juza’s spend. After a blissful few moments, Juza manages to loosen up his tense muscles, unfurling himself from where he’d been bent over Banri’s head.

“That was fuckin’ amazing,” he groans, head tipping back as his softening cock slips out of Banri’s mouth, “you’re so goddamn hot, I—”

The sound of a tiny, wrecked sob reaches his ears, and it’s like someone poured a bucket of ice over him, shocking the breath out of him. Jolting back to attention, the sight of Banri coughing and whimpering floods Juza with panic and regret, all traces of his afterglow evaporating entirely as he tumbles out of the chair and onto the floor, pulling Banri into his chest in a crushing hug.

“Shit! Settsu, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”

Another blubbering noise tears out of Banri’s throat and Juza’s heart squeezes with guilt; he wipes the tears from Banri’s cheeks with his thumbs, pressing their foreheads together and apologizing over and over again. He startles a little when Banri haphazardly kisses him, hesitant to do anything further until Banri whines against him. Parting his lips, Juza lets Banri lick into his mouth, wincing at the faint bitter taste of his own semen coating Banri’s tongue, but otherwise allowing Banri do whatever he wants, relinquishing control.

He smooths his hands down Banri’s back as Banri keeps kissing him even though his shoulders shake and heave with sobs, drool trickling down Juza’s chin and jaw until at last Banri pulls back, using the back of his hand to wipe his mouth, scrubbing at it like he’s trying to remove all traces of Juza left on his skin, rubbing at his cheeks, at his eyes, the thin skin beneath them bruised from his crying.

“Fuck you. Fuck. You.” Banri’s voice is barely above a wheezing rasp, deeply unhappy. “You know, you know I don’t like doing that shit. I don’t like bein’ fuckin… manhandled like that.” He coughs again, hoarse and wet, and flinches away from Juza’s hand reaching for his shoulder before catching himself and pressing his side into Juza’s gentle touch. “I know you’re mad about what I did, but that was going too far. I couldn’t even say ‘cosmos’ to stop you!”

“Yeah. M’sorry.”

Banri rolls his eyes, managing to work up a shaky grin, though half-hearted. “Ugh. Ugh. Don’t… sound so crushed. If I really hated it, I could’ve used my teeth. Bit off your dick or somethin’.” He sighs, raking a hand through his bangs. “We really gotta—we have to work on this some more, though. Establish some way to tap out if using the safeword’s not an option. I don’t want a repeat of this ever happenin’ again, for me and for you.”

Juza makes an affirming noise. He still feels real guilty, knowing that he got off to Banri’s distress. “Is there, uh, any way I can make it up to ya…? You can fuck my face if ya want? Then we’ll be even.” He almost sounds hopeful.

“Enough with the ‘making it up to you’ shit, this whole mess started ‘cuz of it.” Banri shoots him a flat look. Then he snorts, fondly exasperated. “Won’t be ‘even’ anyway since you enjoy that stuff being done to ya while I don’t. But I guess you’ll keep feelin’ bad until I do something, right?” At Juza’s wordless nod, he huffs a laugh. “Alright, big guy. Take off your shirt and lie down.”

Carefully easing Banri off his lap, Juza sheds his shirt and, directed by Banri, lays himself down on the rug, flat on his back. Banri moves over him to straddle his stomach, then shuffles upwards until his groin is right under Juza’s chest. He pulls down his pants and underwear, freeing his soft dick from its confines and slapping it right onto Juza’s sternum, nestled between his pecs. Juza’s shoulders jump at the sensation, a rosy blush rising to his cheeks as he realizes just what Banri has in mind.

“You had your fun, now it’s my turn.” Banri dips down, pitching his voice low as he noses at Juza’s cheek and whispers in his ear. “As mean as you like to pretend to be, I know that you’re actually a huge softie at heart. You closet romantic. You sap. Qi.”

The words, the nickname, it makes Qilong’s breath hitch in his throat; he doesn’t know if he’s being mocked or praised, but he can’t deny any of it. His soft spot for Shin has always been immense, and now, it’s practically debilitating; all he can think about is how to make Shin feel good. Shivering, his hands hover around Shin’s waist, uncertain, before Shin straightens back up and, after tossing off his own shirt, covers them with his own palms, easing them close until Qilong’s fingertips are digging into his skin, leaving faint trails of red in their wake.

“Theeere we go. We both know how much you like marking me up, Qi, don’t even try to deny it.” Shin grins, testing his grip by rocking back and forth. A pleased hum vibrates out of his chest when Qilong’s hold on him tightens, almost enough to bruise. He groans in pleasure as Qilong goes from squeezing to stroking, massaging his thumbs into the bony divots of Shin’s hips, working his palms against the muscle of his thighs through the barrier of his pants, before he wraps his hands around Shin’s cock, stroking him nice and slow.

Thumbing at the slit, Qilong’s eyes flicker between the hardening dick in his hands and Shin’s face, eyes half-lidded and mouth open slightly as he fucks into Qilong’s fist. Pretty, he thinks, and decides that he likes Shin much better like this, gradually unravelling from the pleasure Qilong is giving to him.

“Can I—can you—” Shin chokes out, and Qilong doesn’t need to hear him say it to know what he’s asking, letting go of Shin’s dick so he can use his hands to push the meat of his pecs together as much as he can, forming a plush valley for Shin to rut against. Exhilaration spikes through his head as Shin grunts and speeds up his thrusts, groaning as he feels the drag of Shin’s dick against his heated skin, the glide of it made smoother by the copious amounts of precum drooling from the tip.

The furrow of his brow and the way he bites his lip tips Qilong off that Shin is rapidly approaching his climax. Shin warns him with a stuttering exhale, “Close your eyes, Qi, m’real close,” and he quickly squeezes his eyes shut before Shin juts his hips forward, once, twice, thrice, and a warm, sticky wetness spurts onto Qilong’s face, dribbling over his chin, his mouth, his cheeks, some of it even going all the way to his forehead.

Qilong blinks open one eye, and then the other when it doesn’t seem like any cum is going to get into them, and takes in the sight of Shin’s blissed-out face, flushed red all the way to the tips of his ears. He gets the sudden urge to kiss him, and almost props himself up on his elbows to do so, before remembering that his own lips are covered in cum and Shin probably wouldn’t appreciate having to taste that a second time, not when he’d been forced to swallow Qilong’s seed earlier.

…Only for his expectations to be betrayed when Shin himself leans down, tongue darting out to lick and suck at the sticky wetness decorating Qilong’s face. Qilong stays completely still as Shin gathers up as much of the cum as he can with his tongue, and then his eyes go wide when Shin presses their mouths together, humming expectantly. He parts his lips and groans as Shin pushes the mix of saliva and semen into his mouth, hands reaching up to clutch at Shin’s shoulders as he twists their tongues together and sucks on Qilong’s lips, nibbling on them until they’re puffy and red.

It feels so fucking filthy.

Juza loves it, a gurgling whine bubbling out of him when Banri eventually pulls back with a sigh. He has to swallow a few times to get all of it down, some of it stubbornly clinging to the roof of his mouth and the back of his throat, and by the end he’s left a panting, drooling mess.

Banri gazes at him, his expression almost melting with adoration, at complete odds with what he says next: “You’re one hell of a nasty freak, y’know that?”

Juza only responds with a hum, his lips twitching up into a dopey smile as Banri shuffles back down and slowly lowers himself onto Juza, pressing their chests flush together. They lay together like that for a while, uncaring of the mess and the fact that they should probably clean up before it gets too uncomfortable.

“…Sorry, again.” Eventually, Juza breaks the silence with a murmur, tracing idle circles on Banri’s back.

“Enough of that. M’sorry, too.” Banri tucks his face into the crook of Juza’s neck, kissing at his Adam’s apple. “Sorry for takin’ your sweets without permission and shoving it in your face. I didn’t think you’d be that upset. I… okay, this isn’t me tryin’ to excuse myself, but I swipe stuff from your candy stash all the time and you never got too mad at me. Were the tiramisu cups real special, or…?”

“…I was planning to share them with you.” Juza admits, his smile twisting sadly as Banri jolts up to look at him with wide eyes. “I know you’ve got, like, a way fancier palate than I do, and you like coffee, so I figured, hey, maybe he can eat these without complainin’.” He reaches up to pull Banri back down, not liking the way his expression fills with remorse. “S’okay, though. I’m glad you like ‘em enough to steal ‘em. Means a lot to me that I finally found somethin’ that suits your tastebuds too, instead of just mine.”

Banri makes a noise not unlike a deflating balloon, dipping down to press feather-light kisses all over Juza’s face. “Fuck! Just… fuck, man. What’d I ever do to deserve you. You’re such a goddamn sweetheart, Hyodo.”

Cheeks flushing pink, Juza only laughs at his incoherent babbling, pulling Banri down for a proper deep kiss to shut him up before he can say anything more that’ll embarrass them both.

Chapter Text

It’s been a busy past few weeks.

Between a few tough class assignments and reports that had him scratching his head more often than not, picking up some extra shifts at his part-time job to cover for a coworker who had to deal with a family emergency, and being scouted for a quick modeling gig with a particularly finicky cameraman…

Juza hasn’t had any time to himself lately, much less time to spend with anyone else. Come to think of it, when was the last time he had more than ten minutes to spare at any given moment?

Even his daily interactions with the others in the company had been reduced to rushed, one-word greetings over a bite of breakfast or when he came back home in the evenings, too exhausted to respond to any attempts at conversation beyond wordless grunts.

He’d expected Kumon to kick up more of a fuss, to be honest, but his little brother’s been surprisingly patient and supportive as Juza fumbled his way through that rough stretch of time. It’s… surprisingly melancholic.

He’s so used to Kumon’s loud, insistent clinginess that the absence of it feels immensely jarring. Something in his chest aches with bittersweetness at the thought of Kumon becoming more mature, more composed. Having more friends he can rely on and spend time with so that he doesn’t distract Juza from his commitments. Ah, his baby brother’s steadily growing up.

Speaking of maturity―even the number one constant thorn in Juza’s side has been uncharacteristically quiet lately.

Not that Banri’s been an outright dickhead to him in a while now; he might still take potshots at Juza here and there, but they’re mostly out of exasperation rather than malice. And recently his verbal sniping has become even more subdued, and in its place is a sort of… quiet, unspoken encouragement.

Normally, when Banri does things for him, he’d be yapping to the high heavens about it, holding them over Juza’s head as favours he expects to be returned later. Now there’s not even that.

It’s not like Juza hasn’t noticed the other things he’s doing, either.

Pudding cups and canned hot cocoa mysteriously appearing on his desk as he grinds through his homework, damp towels hung up to dry and dirty clothes tossed in the hamper instead of lying scattered about on the floor where he left them, neatly-written notes about what happened and got discussed during the regular group practice sessions that he’d had to skip out on; small but helpful things that go unmentioned and unacknowledged.

It’s a little ticklish, a little itchy, to be looked out for like that. Juza knows that, for all his abrasiveness and the prideful way he holds and presents himself, Banri’s a genuinely nice guy who likes helping people where he can.

And ever since they’ve added the label of ‘boyfriends’ in addition to all the other titles that can be used to describe their relationship, that goodwill of his has become ever more apparent in the way he treats Juza, though they’re still heated rivals on the stage above all else.

Ugh, no good. He’s thinking himself in circles; if he’s not careful then that circle can easily become a downward spiral.

Shaking his head, Juza drapes his bunched-up towel over his shoulders, careful not to leave a trail of water dripping from his freshly-washed hair as he makes his way from the bathroom back to 104.

The worst of his hectic schedule is over now, and he’d like to make it up to Banri somehow for all the dates they had to take a rain check on while Juza was busy.

Mentally going through the list of dates spots that they’ve yet to check out—there’s a new cafe opened recently near the train station that Juza has his eye on, thanks to their advertised promise of ‘coffee so good, even sweet lovers will adore it!’—he hums a low tune as he crosses the courtyard and knocks on the door before opening it and stepping inside without pause, knowing that the other inhabitant of the room is within.

“Hey, Settsu, I…”

Whatever else he was planning to say trails off into nothing as he takes in the baffling sight.

Banri’s at his desk, back hunched over slightly with his chin resting on the heel of his palm and his other hand occupied by a pen being idly twirled around by deft fingers. That’s not the baffling part. The baffling part is the thin little book he’s scrutinizing so seriously, to the point that his brows are furrowed deep and his mouth twisted into a tight frown.

Juza can recognize a doujinshi manga when he sees one. He personally doesn’t read any beyond what Kumon and Taichi sometimes recommend to him, but he thinks derivative fanworks are a perfectly valid hobby to indulge in. It’s just, y’know…

You don’t really expect someone to read a BL doujinshi of a character they play in a theater performance, right?

Because Juza can very much make out that the two men gripping each other by the throat on the cover of the manga, their faces far too close for comfort, are supposed to be Blood and Dust.

“Settsu,” he chokes out, voice strangled, “Th’hell are ya doin’?”

Banri’s head snaps up, and his frown is replaced by a familiar leer in an instant. “Close the door, dipshit," he orders, imperious, and beckons Juza closer with a jerk of his chin once he’s done as demanded. Then the harsh curl of his lip softens ever so slightly. “Just some research. C’mere.”

Research. Juza wants to hold his head in his hands, even as he steps closer. What kind of research involves that kinda thing?

“How’s your schedule? All cleared up now?” Banri asks, even though he should be able to tell from looking at the shared calendar they have in the room.

It’s a misdirection, Juza knows it, but he nods anyway. He’s too tired to press the issue.

Banri’s gaze goes even gentler, swivelling his chair to the side so he can reach up and caress Juza’s cheeks. “You worked hard. Good job, daikon. You deserve a reward.”

“I didn’t do nothin’―”

“Nuh-uh, don’t fight me on this. I saw how much you stretched yourself thin over the past month.”

Squishing Juza’s face between his hands, Banri chides him with a sigh. He doesn’t even point out the incorrect double-negative in Juza’s sentence, that’s how soft and sweet he’s being.

“We all know how much of a chronic do-gooder you are, but you gotta know your own limits, man. Now that you’ve got some free time, y’need to relax and recharge so you don’t burn yourself out.”

Juza ducks his head, nuzzling into Banri’s touch. It’s true. He needs to unwind before something goes wrong and breaks down, whether it be his body or his mind. But the thing is, Juza’s still too keyed-up, still feels like there’s more he can do and should be doing, even though he doesn’t have any more obligations to fulfill in the immediate future.

He expresses his conflicted thoughts with a grumbling whine, turning his face a little to press his lips to Banri’s palm before flicking his eyes down to the floor. “I’m tryin’, but. I’unno. Feels like I’m still in the wrong headspace to chill out.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Banri huffs a chuckle, pulling Juza’s head down so he can give him a kiss on the forehead. “S’why I’ve been doin’ research. Looking things up, writing things down, thinking of what you’d like.” He pitches his voice low, just barely enough for Juza to pick up on. “Got a lotta ideas. I’m gonna fuck you up so hard you won’t be able to think of anythin’ else.”

A shiver runs down Juza’s spine, travelling to his gut and sparking a flare of arousal. But then Banri releases his hold on Juza and grins at him, cheeky.

“Not tonight, though. Not for a few days. I need to make some arrangements first.”

“You goddamn tease," Juza groans, fighting to get his excitement back under control.

It takes him a few deep breaths and his dick’s still kinda slow on the uptake, sitting awkwardly in his pants, but eventually he’s got his expectations tempered again.

“You gonna reveal what you’re planning to do? Or are ya keepin’ it a surprise.”

“Hmm, I can tell you the gist of it, I guess. ‘Specially ‘cause we’re gonna need to discuss a few things first.” Patting his lap, Banri spreads his thighs to make space for Juza to settle between them. “C’mere. Sit down on the floor and I’ll tell ya the bare-bones outline while I dry yer hair.”

Again, that gentle gaze and that kind tone. Somewhat at odds with the content of the conversation they’re having, but Juza’s learned to enjoy these moments as they come and go along with Banri’s fickle moods. He folds himself into a cross-legged position, facing away from Banri as his nimble hands work the towel through Juza’s hair while he talks.

Juza feels his cheeks reddening and his ears grow hot upon hearing some of the things Banri’s come up with. He gives his halting, stumbling answers to the questions he’s asked, the both of them working together to figure out what sounds like it could be fun or what they’d rather not try out, and by the end of it he’s leaning back into Banri, melting sleepily against him as his arms link together around Juza’s chest.

Mm, world cold and hard, boyfriend soft and warm. Juza thinks about how wonderful it is that Banri’s so willing to indulge him, and resolves to take him on an absolutely fantastic date someday in return.

The day arrives and Juza’s sitting on the floor hugging a cushion to his chest. He’s got his eyes closed lightly, pacing his breaths so that they’re deep and slow and even; a stolen moment of calm before the excitement that’s sure to come.

He can hear Banri flitting about, gathering supplies and whatever else they need for the scene they planned out together. After Juza hears the sound of a zipper pulling shut, a hand comes to rest on his thigh, that light touch drawing his semi-meditative state back into full awareness.

Banri smiles at him when his eyes flutter open, leaning over to gently tilt Juza’s head up and press a chaste kiss to his lips before drawing back.

“You ready?”

Juza nods. “Mhm.”

“Remember the signals we agreed on?”

Lifting a hand, Juza snaps his fingers three times, then reaches over to tap Banri’s shoulder three times. “Either of those to pause.” He pinches Banri’s arm, just hard enough for Banri to wince slightly. “Go slower or tone it down.” And then he looks Banri in the eye. “‘Cosmos’ to stop everything.”

“Or just punch me in the face,” Banri chuckles. “Yep, you got it.”

Juza doesn’t like the slight waver he hears in Banri’s voice, lips pulling into a concerned frown. He reaches up to cradle Banri’s face between his hands, searching for further signs of reluctance.

“Are ya really okay with doin’ this?” While they’ve tried plenty of things that involved Banri domming Juza in one way or another, this is the first time they’re attempting something this… drawn-out and intense. “We can just, not. M’sure we can find some other way to get me to relax.”

“No, I’ll do it,” Banri stubbornly insists. “You always decompress better after a high, right? I wanna make you as blissed out as possible. I wanna try at least once. If it really gets too much, I’ll safeword out, promise.”

“Okay.”

With a puff of laughter, Banri dips down to kiss Juza again; on the forehead, then one on each cheek, just underneath his eyes. He covers one of Juza’s hands with his own, nuzzling into his palm, while using his other hand to tug the cushion off of Juza’s lap, setting it down on the floor next to him. And then—

He blinks, the warmth in his cobalt blue eyes going dull and empty in a heartbeat.

That’s all the warning Juza gets before before fingers roughly wind into his hair and grab tight, wrenching his head backward hard enough to give him whiplash. He’s forced downwards and nearly smashes his head into the floor if not for the cushion to lesson the impact.

Gasping, Juza, no—Blood’s vision swims with blurry stars, winded from the sudden blow.

Above him, Dust leers, lips curled in a hateful smirk that doesn’t match the deadness in his eyes.

“Look what we have here,” he spits, keeping Blood pinned down by the unyielding grip on the back of his skull, “Bloom City’s beloved hero, bleeding to death in some forgotten back alley. Is this the way you wanted it to go, hm? Thrown out with the trash and left to rot?”

Despite his injury, Blood tries to fight back, gritting his teeth against the pain as he struggles under Dust’s hold. The angle’s not good enough for him to shove Dust off, though, and his fingers scrabble uselessly against Dust’s arm, unable to pierce the thick fabric of his sleeve.

“Bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you,” he manages to bite out regardless, pressing his lips together to muffle a grunt when Dust pushes down even harder. “You get to watch me die in your arms.”

“Oh, gross, I’m not a romantic. But now that I’ve got you…”

There’s a clink and then the sound of some rustling fabric. Blood gasps as Dust forcefully rolls his face into the cushion, cutting off his air. He thrashes around wildly, only to have his arms brought together and something looped around them, securing them tight. Leather bites into his skin; his wrists have been bound behind his back with a belt.

“It’d be a waste to just put you out of your misery. I have a much, much better idea in mind.”

Cold fingertips slither under the hem of Blood’s hoodie, pushing it up to trace meaningless patterns onto his skin before skittering down to his waistband and yanking both his pants and his underwear down in one go.

No.

No, he wouldn’t―

He does.

“Hh―!”

Blood hears the sound of Dust hacking up a glob of spit before he feels the disgusting wetness splatter against his lower back. The saliva follows the dip of his curves, dripping down to the cleft of his ass and making him shiver from the feel of it.

Dust hums, almost appreciative, sliding his fingers through the warm liquid and painting a trail over one of Blood’s asscheeks, before drawing his hand back to deliver a sharp slap to the exposed flesh. He cackles, shrill and deranged, when Blood cries out in response, more from surprise than from the pain.

“Y’know, you have a real nice body,” he croons, digging his fingers into the plush fat and muscle, enjoying how Blood squirms under his touch, “It’s a shame you’re just a lowly janitor. I bet you would’ve earned much more money as a pornstar, or a whore. Maybe even become the best slut of a brothel somewhere.”

“Fuck you,” Blood hisses, turning his head so he can glare at Dust over his shoulder.

“Mm. Maybe, one day, if I feel like giving you a treat. But for now…”

He shuffles between Blood’s thighs, forcing them apart and propping Blood’s hips up so that his ass fits against Dust’s crotch while his chest remains pressed to the floor. With a contented sigh, Dust unzips his fly and draws out his cock, already filling out with arousal, and smiles darkly when he sees a hint of trepidation flicker on Blood’s face.

“I’m going to enjoy this.”

Blood twitches helplessly as he feels Dust bounce his cock against his ass a few times before using his thumbs to pry the cheeks apart and expose his hole. The warm, throbbing length saws against the sensitive skin, helped along by the scant bit of saliva as it passes back and forth over his pucker.

He grits his teeth, squeezes his eyes shut, and turns his head away. He doesn’t want to give Dust the benefit of seeing his face as he splits Blood open on his dick.

Fuck, is he going to do it dry? Blood can’t imagine a worse humiliation than that; ripped apart and bleeding as he’s raped.

As if sensing his worries, Dust clicks his tongue. “Aah, almost forgot. Don’t wanna break you on the first go.” He pulls back, feigning the manners of a conscientious lover rather than a criminal. “I wanna drag this out nice and slow, see how long you can take it before you give in.”

As the heat departs from Blood’s rear, he breathes a sigh of relief, only to be flooded with shame. Why is he still afraid of pain? He should just demand Dust to finish him off and get it over with.

“Just fuckin’ kill m—ggh, ngkh!”

Blood doesn’t get the rest of his words out, voice scattering into a breathless gasp as Dust shoves two slicked-up fingers inside him at once. He swallows around the whimper bubbling up from his throat before it can get past his lips, trembling violently as the digits prod at his inner walls, forcefully preparing him for a bigger insertion.

“What was that?” Dust mocks, laughing some more as he twists his fingers around and another gasp punches out of Blood’s mouth. “I couldn’t hear you. Say it again?”

Blood’s hole throbs hot and aching around the intrusion, his muscles trying to push Dust out to no avail. Cruelly, Dust spreads Blood open without ever touching his prostrate, leaving him writhing in discomfort and unable to even get any pleasure out of this.

Dust’s own dick throbs at the sight; his one and only ‘hero’ made to squirm like a maggot beneath him, reduced to just a warm body for Dust to slake his desires on.

But that’s not enough. He needs to drag Blood down even more. If the janitor won’t willingly join his side, where he should be, where he belongs—Dust will make him beg for it.

Oh, he can’t wait to ruin this man. Set him ablaze until he burns as bright as a star going supernova.

And then…

Snuff out the light.

He pulls his fingers out without warning, figuring that he’s given enough prep. After all, he doesn’t want Blood to feel good from being violated. Not without suffering first.

Blood’s vision flashes red when he feels the tip of Dust’s cock nudge against his pucker; he chokes on a shuddering breath as the fat head batters past his weakened resistance and pops in. And then a hoarse cry finally tears out of his chest as Dust slams the rest of himself in, groaning as he feels Blood clench down hard around him.

“Ah, you’re, so, tight! This your, first time? Hahaha!”

“Mmnh! Ah, ahhn, hhmnh―”

Panting, Dust jerks his hips back and forth, not even giving Blood a moment to get used to the incredible pressure bearing down on his insides.

“I can’t believe I got to be the one to break you in like this, pop that virgin cherry of yours. What, been savin’ yourself up for someone special? Or maybe you never dreamed of bein’ the one to take it up the ass, hah.”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, hissing as he pulls out slightly, feeling Blood squeeze tight around him like a vice. Then he rams back in with a harsh bark of laughter, splaying one hand over Blood’s back and enjoying the feel of his muscles flexing and twitching with every thrust.

Setting a brutal pace, he ruts into Blood like he’s just using a cheap fleshlight to get himself off. Blood tries holding back his grunts and groans as much as he can, only to be filled with more mortification when Dust sneaks a hand down to his flaccid dick, curling his fingers around it. He doesn’t jerk Blood off so much as fuck him into his fist, stoking his arousal as he tortures Blood from both sides.

Bending down, Dust noses against the close-cropped hair at the nape of his neck. “M’close,” he whispers, hot breath ghosting against Blood’s ear.

And then he rears back, yanking Blood’s arms to force him to arch backwards with him. With a grunt, he buries himself to the hilt, his pubes smacking wetly against Blood’s ass as he empties himself inside that tight, clenching hole, streaking Blood’s inner walls with his spend.

“A-ahn―nngh…! Hh, hah, h-uhh, mmnf―”

With shallow, hiccuping breaths, Blood drops his head back against Dust’s shoulder, eyes squeezed shut to stave off the burning pain. What’s fucked up is that he’s even starting to feel small sparks of pleasure burst to life deep in his gut, made worse by the almost gentle brush of Dust’s fingers over his stomach, rubbing the sensitive spot under his belly button.

“Did that feel good?” Dust croons at him, brushing Blood’s sweaty bangs away from where they’ve stuck to his forehead. “Don’t worry, my hero. I’m not done with you yet.”

Oh, god. This time, Blood does whimper; his thoughts are starting to melt together, sapping at his will to resist and put up a fight. His voice comes out in nasally, staccato moans as Dust slowly pulls out of him, cleaning the cum off his dick by hot-dogging it between Blood’s asscheeks. After a few moments of staying gaped open, Blood’s sphincter painfully tightens up, squeezing out a glob of cum that dribbles down his thighs; Dust eyes it with a nasty curl to his lip, displeased.

“Ah-ah-ah, we can’t have that.”

As Dust pulls away from him, Blood chides his body before it can topple over onto the floor, telling himself to stay upright and that, no, he doesn’t miss the warmth of Dust’s body pressed up against his back, no matter what the traitorous abyss of his muddled mind is screaming at him.

Then, he gasps when something else nudges against his abused rim, far thicker and harder than a flesh-and-blood dick can ever be. “Hhnf, whuh, what’re ya―”

“Wouldn’t wanna let any more of that spill out,” Dust sneers, slapping a palm over Blood’s mouth to muffle his voice before shoving the plug into his ass. Good thing, too, or else the pained howl that Blood lets out would’ve caught someone’s attention for sure. He doesn’t need any busybodies sticking their noses in his business. “C’mon, up. You’re coming with me.”

Coming with me? Where is Dust planning to take him? And―

He wrenches himself away from Dust’s hold, shoulders heaving with ragged breaths. “What makes you think I’ll just go along with whatever you want, you sick fuck,” he growls, some of his head cleared up now that Dust isn’t touching him.

“Oh, good! You still have some fight left in you. That makes this next part even more fun.”

Clapping his hands with glee, Dust tucks his dick back into his pants before pulling a phone out of his pocket, nonchalantly tapping away at the screen and humming a jaunty tune all the while.

He points the camera lens at Blood.

Blood’s eyes go wide with horror as he realizes what Dust is about to do. Arms still bound by the belt, he tries to headbutt the phone but it’s too late. He hears the shutter noise and then Dust backs away, out of his reach.

“Ahahahahah! That’s the look I wanna see on your face! That panic, that despair…”

Licking his lips, Dust waves the phone in Blood’s face, sneering as Blood’s expression schools back into a grim frown.

“If you don’t play nice, I’m going to make sure this spreads all over the internet. Everyone’s already seen your face on TV before, so they’ll know exactly who, you, are. Whether they still believe that you’re a criminal or not, they’ll know that you’re someone’s bitch now.”

“Fucker,” Blood spits, but his face is pale and his voice choked up and quivering. He doesn’t want to imagine―what if Huey sees that picture. What if Luecke, or, or Kidd. Even Max. These scant few people who know who he is, whether in the light or the shadows. He doesn’t want to lose what little respect he’d managed to earn in their eyes.

Blood stops struggling, hunched over and limp with defeat. Dust grins, reaching down to undo the belt buckle and free him from his restraints.

“Thaaat’s a good boy. See? Isn’t it easier if you just do as I tell y―”

A fist comes flying at him, and he narrowly dodges it before grabbing Blood by the hair and slamming his face back down again.

“Fuckin’ predictable.” Clicking his tongue, Dust presses the top edge of his phone against the back of Blood’s neck in warning. “Hey, dumbass. Even if you break my phone, I already backed the pic up to my personal server at HQ. So if you act up a second time, you can kiss whatever scraps of dignity you have left goodbye. Capisce?”

Blood doesn’t deign him with a response, only letting out a grunt as he’s hauled up to his feet. He glares at Dust out the corner of his eye as the terrorist leisurely loops his belt back around his pants, staying still as Dust then gets Blood’s dishevelled clothes back in order, even brushing the dirt off his sides before giving him a quick once-over and humming with approval.

Dust leans in uncomfortably close, eyes narrowed to upturned crescents as he jabs Blood in the ribs. “How’s the plug? Can you feel it in your guts? Think you can handle a car ride without cumming your brains out?”

Underneath the mocking tone of Dust’s questions, Blood can hear a note of genuine concern, a little bit of Banri rising to the surface.

Blood takes a deep breath, slowly lets it out―and suddenly he’s Juza again, holding onto Banri’s shoulder for support as his boyfriend peers worriedly at him.

He shifts around a bit, noting how the toy feels inside him; it’s keeping him mildly stimulated without tipping over into proper arousal, so it’s not like his dick is threatening to burst clean through his pants or anything, and it’s not too uncomfortable either. Just a steady pressure keeping him spread open. As long as he doesn’t get jostled around too much, he’ll be fine.

“S’okay. I can prob’ly, hhah, sit down. Don’t drive rough or go on a bumpy road, I guess.”

Banri’s forced grin softens into a lopsided smile, stepping away to grab the knapsack he prepared earlier and slinging one of its loops around his shoulder. “Let’s break character for now, we can get back into it once we’re there. I need a pause anyway, I don’t think I coulda kept it up as Dust for much longer,” he admits with a tiny, self-depreciating chuckle.

“‘Kay,” Juza nods, pauses, then shuffles over to kiss Banri on the lips. “Thanks. For, y’know, doin’ all this.”

“You can thank me once we actually finish the scene,” Banri laughs drily, but he no longer looks or sounds unsure, so Juza takes that as a win. He holds up a ring of keys, jangling it. “C’mon. We’re goin’ in Itaru-san’s car.”

Setting aside the embarrassment of borrowing someone else’s car for this purpose, Juza lets Banri curl a hand around his wrist and lead him to the garage. Miraculously, they pass by nobody along the way, which is good; Banri might be silver-tongued enough to dodge any questions, but Juza’s not sure he’ll be able to give a convincing fake answer if they’re asked about where they’re going together like this.

Once they’re situated in the car and Banri’s started the engine, Juza’s breath goes a little funny as the minute vibrations, normally something he’d easily ignore, amplify the feeling of the toy inside him. It makes him very aware that he’s going out in public with something up his ass, and that makes a furious blush spill over his cheeks.

Banri glances at him from the side, then reaches over the car console to lay a hand on his thigh. He keeps it there even as he drives out of the Mankai compound and turns down the street.

Whether it’s meant as a comforting touch, or a show of possessiveness, Juza can’t tell. He rests his own palm on top of it, warm and sweaty, and uses it to ground himself.

The drive is mostly silent save for their breaths, stolen glances between stretches of time where Banri keeps his eyes on the road and Juza’s head is turned down, staring at nothing in particular. When he looks up through the window after a short period of blanking out, he sees that they’ve left the perimeter of Veludo, crossing into the neighbouring city with its less-familiar geography.

Juza’s leg starts bouncing, so he smooths his other hand down his thigh, trying to keep himself calm. He jerks a little in his seat as Banri enters into a parking garage, blinking rapidly to adjust to the sudden difference in lighting. It doesn’t take long after that for them to find a spot to park the car in, and then Banri’s pulling him along to the basement elevator, the two of them pressed close together to share a few hurried kisses in the privacy of the small metal box before it dings and deposits them out into the lobby of a hotel.

And what a fancy hotel it is! Sophisticated and luxe. There’s a chandelier hanging high overhead but the large space is lit by a number of warm-toned wall sconces instead, setting a classy mood.

Juza takes it all in with wide eyes and his mouth hanging half-open. Then he hurries to keep up with Banri as he exchanges a few words with the receptionist, receiving the room keycards before heading to the hotel elevator proper.

Once they’re inside yet another lift car, only slightly bigger than the last, Juza presses close to Banri’s side, enough that their shoulders bump together. Tugging on Banri’s sleeve, Juza shoots him an incredulous look, gesturing around them. “Settsu. Settsu, what the hell is this.”

“Told ya, right? Wanted to take you someplace nice as a reward.”

“Yeah, but I thought, like, the usual place we go to at the end of the month, and then dinner somewhere.” Juza bites his lip, nervously darting his eyes around. “Not… this. This is―”

He’s abruptly interrupted by a fingertip pressed to his lips, Banri’s eyebrows slanted slightly in a way that makes him look sad. “Don’t say it’s too much,” he whispers, thick with emotion, “I don’t wanna hear anything about you not deservin’ it or some bullshit like that. I saw how hard you worked, Hyodo.”

Juza must not look convinced by Banri’s argument, because he barrels on without giving Juza a chance to say anything, growing increasingly worked up with every word out of his mouth.

“Every night, when you came back to our room, we barely got to talk before you were out like a light, ‘nd then you wake up earlier than I do the next morning and leave before I got to see you. One whole month like that.” Banri’s voice breaks on the word and he quickly turns his head away to rub at his nose with his sleeve, before turning back to level a pouty glare at Juza. “If ya can’t accept it for yourself, then let’s say it’s for my sake. I wanna have my fill of spoiling you rotten to make up for all the bedtime cuddles we missed. And―”

“Settsu,” Juza mumbles, lips curling up in a half-smile, “You coulda just admitted you were lonely. I missed you too.”

A bright flush dusts Banri’s cheeks, crawling down his neck and even spreading to the tips of his ears. “Jerk,” he huffs, pulling his hand back so he can land a weak punch to Juza’s shoulder. “I pour my heart out to you and that’s how you respond? You’re the worst.”

“The absolute worst.” Juza can feel his lips stretch into a coy smirk. “So you gotta punish me for my sass, right?”

The elevator dings, signaling that they’ve reached their floor before Banri can respond. Wordlessly, Banri twines their hands together and pulls him out, despite Juza’s half-hearted protests. They’d both normally be a bit more reluctant to display affection so openly in public spaces, considering the reputations they have to maintain as professional stage actors―but now it seems like neither of them have that hesitation anymore, too eager to jump each other’s bones to care much for discretion.

Like that, they stumble their way through the winding hallways, with Juza pulling ahead even though he doesn’t even know which room they’re headed to. Banri yanks him to a stop in front of a door and Juza barely stops himself from slamming Banri against it so he can kiss him senseless.

Instead he leans forward to nip Banri’s lower lip, tugging at it with his teeth and earning a hiss. Banri surges forward, their teeth clacking together, and neither of them close their glaring eyes as they aggressively make out. A little careless of them, considering that they’re still in the corridor and any stranger can catch them in the act, but they’re both too worked up to care.

Juza grabs blindly for the keycards in Banri’s jacket pocket, and Banri lets him, taking the opportunity of his brief lapse in focus to regain the upper hand. Once the door lock beeps and disengages, Juza twists the knob open, trying to push Banri away so that they can actually get inside―but Banri doesn’t let up, swallowing Juza’s complaints in another rough kiss as he drags him backwards into the room. Of course his Super Ultra Easy Mode would let him navigate easily even in an unfamiliar place, what else is new.

Once the door closes shut behind them, they toe off their shoes in the entryway and start peeling each other’s jackets off, hands roaming and groping everywhere like they can’t stand even a single second of being apart. It takes Juza breaking out in a coughing fit to get them to separate. Quickly slotting the keycard into the switch so that he can turn the lights on, Banri hurriedly guides Juza to sit down in a chair, pouring him a glass of water with the provided amenities. Juza takes the offered drink and gulps it all down in one go, grateful for something to soothe his parched throat.

Banri wrings his hands, fretful and apologetic. “Sorry, I forgot to give you any water before we left, I wasn’t thinkin’ straight.”

“S’alright, I also forgot to ask.”

“Still…! Is your throat alright? Didn’t strain it too much when you held your voice back, didja? I―”

“Settsu.” Juza interrupts his fussing with a sigh, reaching out to grab Banri’s arm and gently stroke it. “I’m fine. Besides,” he schools his expression into a grimace, glaring at Banri with a hard set to his jaw, “You’re not done with me yet, yeah?”

Banri gulps, turning away for the span of a few breaths before returning Juza’s glare with one of his own. He jerks his chin towards the bed, a silent command, and roughly helps him shed the rest of his clothes, quick and methodical like he just wants to get Juza naked as fast as possible without bothering to set the mood or anything.

With a grunt, Juza finds himself roughly shoved onto his knees, sinking into the springy mattress. He holds his position but keeps his chin up, defiant, and barely reacts when Banri starts upending the contents of the bag he brought onto the bed in front of Juza.

Handcuffs, spreader bar, cock ring, wireless bullet vibes. Seeing their collection of toys—bought over a span of months, after lots of research and saving up money—makes heat rush to Juza’s face. He fights back a smile when Banri takes out a bottle of lotion, the one Juza likes for its soft vanilla-citrus scent, and sets it to the side for later.

They don’t quite go back into character just yet. Banri gets Juza fitted with all the devices, but he does so with care and caution. Starting with the handcuffs, he binds Juza’s wrists together, then nudges his legs apart so he can tie his ankles to the bar, keeping them spread apart. He presses himself against Juza, a warm, firm presence draped over his back, and slowly strokes him back to full hardness; easy to do when Juza’s already halfway there. Then Banri snaps the ring shut around his erection, soothing him with a nibble to his nape and a line of kisses trailed along the grooves of his spine.

The small vibrators go on next, one taped to each peak of Juza’s chest, two along the underside of his dick; all four of them click on to a low, steady buzzing, instantly subjecting Juza to a wave of sensation. He gasps, then lets out a low groan, head dropping down as he fights to get his stuttering breaths back under control.

Juza had given his privates a thorough shave for this occasion, so there’s no worry about accidents with body hair and adhesives, but still. Banri takes his time to ensure that absolutely nothing can go wrong, or if it still hypothetically does somehow, the resulting injury would be minimal. He can’t stand the thought of Juza coming to harm in an unintended way during these sessions of intimacy, and honestly, even the intended ways are still a difficult pill for him to swallow.

Just to assure himself again, he asks, “Signals?”

Juza sighs, a fond but exasperated noise. He leans back a little so he can lift his hands, snapping his fingers three times. Then he grabs hold of Banri’s arm with one of his hands, giving him a hard pinch.

“Ow!? Okay, okay, geez, yeah. You got it. Now…”

Banri reaches into the bag to bring out their newest purchase, one that nearly had them both coming to blows before Juza convinced him to try it out just once. A ring gag with a sturdy leather strap, two protrusions on each side resembling spider legs. He eyes it with more than mild trepidation, turning to look at Juza.

“Are you absolutely sure? Ya won’t be able to say the safeword clearly once this thing’s on. I mean, I’ll still be listening for it of course, but―”

Juza cuts him off with a nod. “I can still punch you.” And then he opens his mouth wide, in lieu of saying anything else.

Biting his lip, Banri presses the ring into Juza’s mouth, careful not to pinch his tongue between the metal and his teeth. He wraps the strap around his head, securing the small buckle behind his skull. Leaning back, he watches Juza test the strength of the gag, attempting to bite down or push it out; no dice. He’s stuck like that, mouth held open and ready to be used.

There’s just one last thing to complete the whole set. Pulling a blindfold out of the bag, Banri holds it up, waiting for Juza to nod and lean forward slightly before he ties it around Juza’s eyes. And like that, the getup is complete.

Bound, gagged, blindfolded, with vibrators buzzing away against his sensitive spots and let’s not forget the plug still keeping his ass spread open—Juza feels like he’s become a work of fetish art, a living sex toy. The thought sends a shiver tingling up his spine.

He’s truly at Banri’s mercy now.

He feels Banri’s presence move to behind him, flattening a hand against the span of his back and pushing down until Juza gets the hint. Obediently, Juza lowers his upper body until he’s got his chest pressed against the sheets, head turned aside as he holds himself in that position, arms tucked under his stomach.

“Good boy.” Banri’s breath ghosts against his ear, a sweet kiss pressed to his cheek.

Then he rears back, hands following the curve of Juza’s body as they drag lower, lower, until they’re cupped around the swell of his ass, fondling and groping. Juza grunts, or makes some sort of similarly unintelligible noise with the gag keeping his mouth open. Saliva pools under his tongue, dripping from the corners of his parted lips and down his chin.

The hands pull away. One minute, then two. Enough to make Juza uneasy, squirming with impatience.

And then he feels a palm deliver a firm, sharp slap against one of his asscheeks, a stinging pain blooming across his skin. He chokes and jerks forward, face and chest sliding against the satiny bedsheets, as the impact causes him to clench down hard on the plug inside of him.

“Aauhh! Hh, hha, ah…”

Another crack erupts against his ass, the other side this time. Juza can’t help the whimpering groan that rattles out of his ribcage, breaths coming hot and frantic from his throat, and even his nose starts to water.

The spanks keep coming, merciless and without keeping to a rhythm, filling him with dreadful anticipation as he awaits each one. Every harsh smack against his behind makes him tremble and sob, threatening to fall apart. It’s only the spreader bar and the unyielding grip on his hip keeping him propped up, or else he would’ve sunk down and flattened on the bed by the fifth slap.

Through it all, his leaky cock bobs and flexes against his stomach, clearly translating the pain into pleasure.

By the time he reaches ten punishing blows, he feels boneless and incoherent. A hand winds itself through his hair, gripping a fistful of strands and yanking his head back, his neck muscles straining with the effort.

“Rise and shine, hero.” A voice whispers in his ear, deceptively sweet. “Didja enjoy that wake-up call? I bet you did. You had me worried for a sec there, y’know? Didn’t think you’d stay knocked out the whole time I dressed you up.”

The other hand roams across his body, fingertips dancing over sensitive, heated skin. Tracing between every bead of sweat, painting a constellation of nonsense across the expanse of his back.

“But maybe you weren’t unconscious at all. Maybe you were just keepin’ quiet ‘cause you like bein’ manhandled like that. I’d force you to gimme an answer, but, well.” With a chuckle, two slender fingers slip into his mouth, pinching his tongue between them.

No, he was wrong about what he said earlier. He’s not Juza anymore, and neither is Banri.

Blood is at Dust’s mercy now, just a plaything for the terrorist to take apart and put back together as he sees fit.

For now, maybe he should just… do as Dust says. Keep quiet and obedient. Surely Dust will get bored of him sometime, and if anything, Blood is confident in the amount of hurt he can take before he breaks.

So he stays rebelliously silent, even as his dry mouth waters uncomfortably, drool dripping down over his throat and joining the sweat on his chest. He hears a tongue click, then his head is released, letting him breathe easier.

He doesn’t get to enjoy the brief moment of respite for long, though. Again, a hand smacks his ass, by now hot and sore with nerves lit aflame, and pulls it aside to expose his hole. Dust grabs hold of the plug’s flared base and jams it in impossibly deeper, tearing a horrible, wretched noise out of Blood’s throat, before rocking it back and forth.

Blood can feel his rim stretch around the widest part, almost as if his body’s trying to beg the hunk of silicone to stay inside him, keep him plugged up. It makes his face flush hot, blotchy patches of shame blooming down his neck and over his shoulders. He tries to relax, breaths coming out in stuttering gasps, and keens when Dust finally yanks it out of him.

“Fuck, look at that,” he hears Dust snicker, thumbs keeping his hole pried open as he inspects it. “Didn’t spill a single drop.”

He can feel his muscles twitch in protest, trying to push out some of the semen that’s been kept inside him. Only for Dust to kiss his gaping pucker with the tip of his cock before he slides right in, the entry made easier by just how wrecked Blood’s ass already is, slick with Dust’s previous load.

Groaning, Blood clenches his fists tight, struggling to keep a grip on reality as Dust fucks him. This time, his pace is deliberately drawn out and sluggish, forcing Blood to feel every torturous inch as it goes in and out of his guts. Dust angles his hips so that the bump of his glans catches on Blood’s sweet spot with every thrust, every outstroke. Blood feels himself rapidly burning up, the tight coil of arousal working itself into knots in his stomach with nowhere to go. Not with that ring around the base of his cock preventing his release.

One of Dust’s hands skitters up to his chest, playing with a vibrator and the hardened nub of his nipple. The grip on his waist goes bruisingly tight as Dust grinds himself in, holding himself still as Blood’s insides writhe around him, before pulling out almost completely and repeating it all over again.

And then Dust bends down so that Blood can feel his panting against the back of his ear, can practically feel the smirk in his breathy, childish giggle before he sinks his teeth into Blood’s nape, the sharp points of his incisors almost digging hard enough to break the skin.

With a wordless shout, Blood’s entire body quakes and convulses with orgasm, painful and dry. Dust holds him down, one hand to his head and the other gripping his flank, his hips mashing against Blood’s ass as he quickly chases his own climax. Blood feels him stutter to a stop inside him, his cockhead throbbing hotly against the aching little gland and drawing out a few pathetic little noises from the back of his throat, helplessly overstimulated.

“Ah…” Dust sighs, contented, trailing off into a chuckle. “That was a nice surprise. Didn’t think you’d have it in you to cum just from being fucked, but I guess you’re full of hidden talents, huh?”

He gives Blood’s ass a few more swats, though not as forceful as before. A lurid wet squelch fills the air as he pulls out fully, once again cleaning off his dick by squeezing it between Blood’s cheeks. As he moves away, taking his body heat with him, Blood lets out an involuntary whine, shuffling back to chase after Dust before he realizes what he’s doing and forces himself to stay put.

Too little, too late; Dust lets out a mean bark of laughter, reaching out to tousle Blood’s sweat-matted hair. “Don’t you worry, hero. I’ll be right back. I ain’t going anywhere ‘til I’ve had my fill of you.”

And then he steps away, out of reach. Blood can hear a few of his footsteps on the floor before the noise becomes too soft and indistinct to make out. His whole body aches like one giant wound. He’s still struggling to stay upright out of what little dregs of spite he has left to cling on to, but part of him wonders if he should just tip over, get some rest while he can.

That part of him wins out in the end, the muscles in his thighs and calves burning with too much effort to keep himself propped up any longer. With a grunt, he lets himself sink into the bed, legs straightening out. The only problem is that his arms are trapped underneath his chest, damp with sweat, but that’s only a minor discomfort compared to the coolness of the sheets against the rest of his skin.

Belatedly, he wonders where he’s been taken to. Dust mentioned a headquarters, but he doubts that he’d be able to take any random stranger into a terrorist organization’s hideout, even if they do know Blood as the one who single-handedly fucked up their plans at the stadium.

Then, Dust’s own place…? That seems unlikely—or maybe it isn’t. Maybe the terrorist, for all his radical ideals, is also a huge hypocrite: one of those ‘people who live in the light’ that he claims to hate so much, who has a warm, comfortable home with a big, soft bed.

The thought of it makes Blood’s head boil with anger, enough for him to start struggling against his restraints again.

“Hey now, what’s got your panties in a twist all of a sudden? I was only gone for a couple minutes.”

Before Blood can react to Dust’s abrupt return, two hands plant themselves firmly on his side, roughly turning him over so that he’s lying on his back instead. Winded by the sudden change in position, Blood yelps as he feels himself pulled over until his head dangles off the side of the bed, cuffed hands scrabbling wildly for purchase and finding none.

“Yeah, yeah, I know what you want." Sensing Dust nearing his head, Blood blindly lashes out, only to be kept still by a hand wrapped tight around his neck. “Bitches like you can’t go a second without somethin’ to shut you up. Here, open wide.”

That’s all the warning he gets before his mouth is filled, Dust’s half-hard dick sinking past the metal of the ring and bumping up against the entrance of his throat, tasting faintly of silicone and soap; he must’ve been wearing a condom while he fucked Blood earlier and then gave himself a quick wash, then.

Blood chokes and gags on the intrusion, drool spilling messily from his lips and nostrils. Upside-down like this, he can’t do much beyond suckle weakly on what’s inside his mouth, tongue wriggling uselessly against the shaft, unable to move his head. But Dust just holds himself in there, waiting. Waiting. Watching.

“Kkhhk, nghk… hhk…”

Until finally, the lack of air makes Blood go limp and light-headed, his throat relaxing and opening up wider. With a grunt, Dust slides himself in to the hilt, balls bumping against Blood’s nose as he savors the tightness of his quivering heat, before slowly drawing back and letting his tip poke into the slick insides of Blood’s cheeks.

“That’s it, hero. Just give in and let yourself enjoy this,” Dust purrs, laughing softly when Blood makes a desperate noise in response.

He swivels his hips, relishing in the choked sound that gets him, then pulls out completely, painting Blood’s lips with the precum dribbling out from the slit. Blood feels like he’s no longer in control of himself as his tongue darts out to lick up the salty liquid, tears escaping from the blindfold to join the sweat beading across his hairline.

His ears pick up on a sound he’s familiar with, having done it to himself plenty times when he’s pent up: the fapping noises of Dust jerking himself off. With a start, he realizes that Dust probably intends to shoot his seed all over his face, and—he doesn’t know what devil possesses him to do it, but he sticks his tongue out, stretching it as far as he can manage. Desperate for a taste.

Dust chokes on an incredulous laugh, stroking himself faster until he hits his climax with a string of muffled curses under his breath. Breathing hard, Blood feels the cum splatter across his chin, his cheeks, his forehead, some of it catching on the underside of his tongue that he quickly retracts back into his mouth to swallow. Miraculously, none of it enters his nose, but the end result is the same.

He feels utterly debased, top to toe: vibrators still buzzing their torment against his chest and his dick, which by now feels so swollen and engorged with blood that he wonders if it’ll ever be able to go soft again. All while arousal still pools heavily deep in his gut, demanding more. His needy, aching hole begging to be violated in harder, crueler ways.

He hears Dust laugh, soft, a little wondrous. A hand comes to rest against his cheek, palm cradled tenderly against his jaw.

“Aa…?”

“Ah, that look on your face… we’re almost there, aren’t we?” The hand goes away. Blood lets out a wail of lament. “Shh. I’ll be back for you, don’t worry. Just—here, take it easy for a bit.”

Then those hands are on him, pushing him back to settle in the middle of the bed, turned onto his side. He curls up as best he can, given his restraints, whimpering softly when Dust switches off the vibes and carefully peels the tape off of Blood’s skin, rubbing the reddened spots where the adhesives had stuck to him.

He gives Blood’s dick a languid stroke, not letting up even as Blood whines a complaint at him, and spends a few minutes just petting Blood all over before moving away again.

“I’ll be back for you, hero,” he hears Dust say, muffled by distance, “Just gotta answer a call, talk shop with a few friends. Be right back.”

And then he’s gone, the creak of a door marking his departure, leaving Blood with nothing but the company of his own thoughts. He doesn’t know how long he lays there, unmoving. More than once, the temptation to wriggle out of his restraints, attempt an escape, do something, anything, tugs at the edge of his consciousness, only to be dismissed.

What can he even do? He’s bound so tightly, and he’s so exhausted, and he doesn’t know how soon Dust will come back. He’d rather not get caught in the act and face harsher punishment, even if a sick part of him thrills at the idea.

He doesn’t know how long he drifts in his thoughts. Ten minutes, twenty minutes, half an hour. Maybe not even five minutes. Certainly more than sixty seconds. Right? How long does Dust intend to leave him here?

Unbidden, a noise of distress crawls up from the depths of his chest, followed by more. He doesn’t thrash about, but he does weakly grasp at nothing. Panic and dread fills his veins like a shot of ice water. He doesn’t know where he is, whether he’s in enemy territory or not. If he’s safe.

“Aa, uaah! Aahhk, hhgh… uua…”

Dust. Where’s Dust? Where did he go? Blood writhes, crying out for his tormentor. Even if all Dust has ever done is humiliate and abuse him, that at least is familiar.

He dimly realizes that he’s falling down a slippery slope, some distant part of him still clinging onto rational thought, trying in vain to fight back.

The rest of him wants Dust back. Dust’s hands, Dust’s voice, Dust’s cock in his ass or down his throat, filling him up until there’s no room left in his head to think about anything else―

“Ahh, what did I tell you. It’s only been fifteen minutes, you hopeless whore.”

The way Blood wriggles, hips swaying as he struggles to right himself upward, like a trained dog ecstatic with his master’s return. It’s utterly shameful, and he knows it. He just doesn’t know if he can bring himself to care.

Even Dust seems to notice his change in demeanor, heaving a disappointed sigh as he sits down next to where Blood’s curled up on the bed.

“Broken already? Aww. Well, I guess this makes it easier. I was just tellin’ my buddies about the new warm body I kidnapped, and they were wonderin’ if I’m willing to share. What do you think? Wanna be the communal cumdump?”

To share… him? With other people? Blood cringes, head drooping. He nuzzles up against Dust’s hand when he feels fingers brushing through his hair, panting and groaning when his scalp gets shallowly scratched, like Dust really is scritching between the ears of an actual dog. It should feel dehumanizing. He doesn’t care.

He doesn’t want to be shared. He just wants Dust, and only Dust, to lay his hands on him. He doesn’t know how the other terrorists might treat him. Even if they’re kinder, or gentler, they won’t be Dust. Dust is the only one so obsessed with him that Blood can feel safe in the face of his insanity.

“I see the faces you’re making,” Dust teases, tickling under Blood’s chin. “Either way, ya won’t have to worry. I’ll keep you fed and all drugged up so you don’t have to worry about anythin’ from the outside world anymore.”

Blood can’t help it; he starts drooling, even more than his mouth had been watering uncontrollably before. He struggles to sit up, has to be helped up by Dust’s hands holding him steady, and tries to show his appreciation, butting his face against Dust’s arms, his chest, wherever Blood can reach.

“Ah, haha, hey. You’re real eager for it. What, haven’t had enough?” Blood perks up at the sly tone slipping into Dust’s voice. He nods, squealing in surprise when Dust climbs onto the bed and props himself up against the pillows, pulling Blood over to make him straddle Dust.

Carefully, he spreads his weight on either side of Dust’s thighs so he doesn’t squish the man underneath him, whining as he tries to keep his crotch up and away from Dust’s clothes. His cuffed hands are fisted in Dust’s shirt, chain jangling. When hands grab him on both sides of the head, he goes still.

He feels a hand brush the hair away from his forehead, before something comes to rest against it with a gentle thump. He can hear Dust’s breaths, slow and steady. Their faces are so close together, it makes his cheeks heat up.

“We’re almost there, aren’t we,” Dust murmurs, a repeat of what he’d said before, this time a flat statement rather than a rhetorical question. “Maybe once I’m done with you, I’ll leave you out for that fake hero to find.” He spits the epithet out with such vitriol that it almost makes Blood wince away. “Won’t that be a sight. The dark hero of the alleyways, begging for anyone to fuck him. A completely mindbroken slut.”

‘That fake hero’. Some dim part of Blood’s brain lights up with recognition. There’s someone else who’s a hero to him too, isn’t there? Hu… Hue… what was his name…?

But then the rest of his brain snuffs it out, like a fire extinguisher to a single, sputtering candleflame. It’s unimportant, compared to the rest of what Dust said.

Dust wants to abandon him? He can’t let that happen. Doesn’t know what’ll happen to himself if it does. Bloom City doesn’t need a janitor that can’t work anymore, a single broken cog in a well-oiled machine won’t get special treatment. They’ll just put him out of his misery, like a wild animal that’s gone rabid.

And if not, well. He’ll just put himself out of his misery first.

Blood feels thumbs rubbing at the spot beneath his blindfold, dampness staining his cheeks that isn’t just sweat or saliva. Dimly, he realizes that he’s crying. The plaintive noises coming from his throat? Sobs.

Dust continues to wipe away the tears that don’t get absorbed by the blindfold’s fabric, waiting for Blood to calm down. He doesn’t say anything to comfort or berate Blood. Blood doesn’t know what expression he’s wearing, whether it be pity or derision or something else entirely.

“Don’t worry,” he feels Dust whisper against his cheek, “I won’t let you go. I’ll take good care of you. But you’ll have to work hard to be a very good bitch, make it worth my time, alright?”

Nodding, Blood lets him maneuver him around a bit more, shedding clothes along the way until they’re both naked and pressed up against once another. Dust takes his hands, and after a few clicks, he feels the handcuffs fall away. A string of kisses press into and around his bruised wrists, before he feels his ankles being freed from their restraints, too.

Then, he feels hands reaching around his head, fiddling with the buckle of the strap holding the gag in place. Carefully, Dust tugs the ring out from his mouth, holding Blood steady as he coughs wetly a few times, working his jaw after being forced to hold it open for so long.

Now with the ability to speak given back to him, Blood groans, grinding his crotch down against Dust’s stomach as he plants both hands on Dust’s chest. “Please,” he begs, voice hoarse and scratchy from all the noises he’d made, “I want… I wanna…”

He can’t even finish his sentence, still somehow hanging on to the last thread of shame preventing him from doing so. But Blood can feel it. The way his cock throbs, aching, desperate for release; he doesn’t know how much more he can take before the last of his mind melts into nothing.

Humming, Dust makes him lift himself up on his knees for a bit, a familiar heat coming to rest against his twitching pucker. Blood grunts, figuring out what’s expected of him. He sinks down slowly on that hard shaft, savouring the burn as it fills him up. Shivers wrack his entire body as pleasure shoots up from the base of his spine, all the way up to his brain.

“Sloppy. Can’t you tighten up a bit more?”

With a whine, Blood shakes his head, even as he starts bouncing himself on Dust’s lap and his ears fill with the noise of wet slurps and squelches, the slap of skin against skin. “Ca-ahhn-n’t, I—you, mmph! You, m-made me, like this…!”

Wrong thing to say. The world spins around him, air knocked out of his lungs as Dust shoves him onto his back. The new angle makes him cry out with a strangled moan, Dust’s dick fucking into his prostrate merciless and rough. He bounces and jolts with each thrust, nails raking down Dust’s back.

“Still got enough of your brain left to backtalk, I see,” Dust sneers, grabbing both of Blood’s legs by the back of the knees. “I’m gonna break you until there’s. Nothing. Left. To break!”

And then he spreads Blood’s legs as wide as they’ll stretch, throwing his entire weight behind every thrust. Blood gasps, head thrown back and mouth open in a high-pitched, prolonged moan, broken only when he needs to suck in a breath.

His whole body’s on fire, lit up incandescent. But there’s a mild burning in his joints that isn’t so pleasant; a sharp, shooting ache that’s threatening to overwhelm him. He forces his hand to move, reaching up to the delicate junction of Dust’s neck and shoulder, and gives it a pinch.

Immediately, Dust’s pace slows down, huffing a questioning noise through his nose. He leans down enough that Blood can feel his hair curtain around his face, a ticklish comfort.

“Too, hard,” Blood mumbles, tripping over his own tongue. He likes the closeness and body heat that Dust is giving off, wants to feel more of that, just… not in such a position that puts too much strain on himself. “Can do, before? Me, on top, was good.”

He doesn’t feel like those are coherent statements, but Dust must understand what he means anyway, because he pulls Blood up and flops back against the pillows, back to their previous arrangement. Appeased, Blood spreads his thighs and leans back, tries to put on a show, but instead Dust tugs him down until their chests are pressed flush together, sweaty and warm.

Like that, he resumes his pace, thrusting up and into Blood’s welcoming hole. With a groan, Blood lifts his ass a little, bends his body into a bow to make it easier for Dust to fuck him. Toes curling and fingers clenching, he lets out a whine when Dust sneaks a hand between their bellies, reaching for the cock ring.

“My hero. Mine.”

His chin is tilted up, and a tongue presses past his lips, licking over his teeth, the roof of his mouth. Dust kisses him as demandingly as he fucks him, giving Blood no choice but to be ravaged from both ends.

He melts. His limbs tense up, his muscles squeeze tight around the dick claiming his depths, and the orgasm that hits him is so hard and so intense that he’s never felt anything like it before. Not a gradual thing rapidly expanding from his belly, but a single burst of electricity setting all his nerves alight at once.

He can only describe the experience as: dying. Because this must be what it feels like to be fucked to death, overloaded with pleasure until his eyes roll back into his skull.

“Ahh―hahhn, nngh! Ah, hahh, I’m, cum―hmmfh… cumming…!”

He can feel his cock pulsing as it finally shoots his load, balls churning and pulled up tight as he empties himself in one go. But it’s a hazy, disconnected feeling. Along with the rest of his body; everything feels disconnected. His inner walls being streaked with warm seed, the hands cradling his head and the lips dropping kisses everywhere on his face, the limbs curled protectively around his own.

Finally, just before he blacks out, the blindfold is taken off and his eyesight is returned to him. In his blurry vision, all he can make out is a look of such adoring affection, two melted pools of evening sky gazing up at him.

Heart overflowing with love, Juza falls into unconsciousness.

He doesn’t know how long it takes until he fully returns to reality. Somewhere along the way, he catches snippets of things being done to him.

Brought to a luxurious bath filled with bubbles and foam, every single inch of him cleaned gently and thoroughly, inside and out. Then he’s back on the bed again, clothed in a soft and fluffy bathrobe, and he can feel Banri massaging out the aches and pains, down to every last finger and toe. His nostrils fill with the scent of the vanilla-citrus lotion, a sure sign that their roleplay session is over and they’re back to being themselves again.

Blinking languid and slow, Juza keeps his eyes on Banri, observing his boyfriend as he flits about the room. One moment he’s on the landline phone, the next he’s cuddled up next to Juza, peppering the side of his face with chaste kisses, then he’s at the door, nodding at a staff member’s explanation before wheeling a cart into the room.

Which turns out to be dinner, as delicious as it is expensive-looking. Juza allows himself to be guided to one of the two chairs flanking the small table. Fed like royalty, the food cut up into small, bite-sized pieces before they’re brought to his mouth.

Banri goes the whole nine yards when doting on him, and while normally Juza’d be a bit more reluctant to be babied like this, he knows this is just as important for Banri’s own mental state as well as his own.

He lets Banri bring a glass of ice tea to his lips, tilts his head back. Savours the sweetness as it moistens his parched, leathery tongue. When he’s had his fill, he squeezes his mouth shut, laughing through his nose when Banri tries to needle him into taking one more bite, one more sip.

Banri eats his own meal after that, smiling at Juza every time their eyes happen to meet. He fills up the quiet with pointless chatter, in between heaping praise on Juza that Juza’s forced to accept on account of his voice still not being back to refute Banri’s words. He can manage a few noises, like humming or grunting, but he knows it’s not enough to argue the point. Especially if Banri’s dead set on being in the right.

After all that, they return to the bed, spending a few blissful minutes on their sides, just gazing at each other with fondness. Eventually, Banri starts to fidget, so Juza opens his arms and hugs Banri tight to his chest as he tucks himself under Juza’s chin, pressing his ear against Juza’s chest so he can hear the steady beat of his heart.

Finally, when Juza feels his voice return to him, the first thing he does is press a kiss to the top of Banri’s head, nosing against the whorl of his hair. “Thanks,” he murmurs, lost amongst the milk-tea strands.

Banri doesn’t say anything, just presses his face into Juza’s chest, tickling him with his breaths.

Like that, they drift into slumber. Everything else in the outside world rendered unimportant, compared to the bubble of warmth and comfort that they belong in, just for this moment.

Chapter Text

It’s just one of those days.

One of those days where nothing goes right, where they wake up on the wrong side of the bed and start off the morning grumpy and irritable. So of course they have a squabble right from the get go, and it takes Sakyo barging into their room and smacking them both up the head with the rolled-up daily newspaper for them to stop bickering, get dressed and eat breakfast.

Not that their day gets any better after that. It’s a Saturday, and normally if they’re free they’d spend the morning cuddling together while watching a play or movie or something on Banri’s laptop, making plans for Sunday’s date or discussing a script and stage direction like the theater junkies they are.

But the usual conversation gets heated up more than either of them would like to admit, and not even halfway through the runtime of the video, they’re at each other’s throats again.

This time it takes Omi coming in and headlocking them both into submission before they both slink away from 104 to lick their wounds and their bruised egos with their own respective friends; Banri to Itaru’s and Juza to Kumon’s.

So the morning passes into noon just like that, the both of them avoiding each other and going out separately for lunch. The director’s got her worried eye on them, and even the others are starting to make comments on it.

Not yet to the point of deep concern though, because it’s them after all, it’s Banri and Juza, and even before they’re boyfriends they’re still rivals above all else. A little fight like this isn’t anything to worry about.

Or that’s what Juza tries to tell himself at least. By the time afternoon’s starting to tip over into evening, he’s mostly cooled off from his grumbling moodiness. Sure, a lot of it is Banri’s fault, he’s adamant about that part of the blame, but also… it’s kinda on him that he keeps rising to the bait?

Cheap provocation it may be, but Juza can’t help but respond to Banri’s goading insults with his own deadpan sarcasm, and, well—it’s easy to keep the fire going when you keep pouring gasoline on it.

Ugh, whatever.

He’s not going to apologize for his behaviour, because Banri will probably just throw it back in his face and laugh at him anyway, but he’ll… stop being so grumbly about it. Probably would scare the others less, too; he feels pretty bad about the way some of the younger ones had been obviously tiptoe-ing around his bad mood earlier. So if not for his own or Banri’s sake, then at least for them.

With that out of the way, Juza pats his cheeks twice, shaking his head hard enough to fling out the unpleasant thoughts. He checks the clock in the room; it’s almost time for Autumn’s scheduled nighttime practice, he should get going.

He didn’t see Banri at dinner earlier, but that can easily be chalked up to his roommate grabbing a bite to eat outside. There’s no rule that you have to eat at the dorms, after all.

Changing into his practice clothes, he makes his way to the hall on the first floor, pushing the door open and, huh. The lights are already on. Usually he’s the first one to turn up at these lessons, enthusiastic as always, but not this time.

Standing at the opposite end of the room, script in one hand and pen in the other, Banri barely flicks his eyes up to give Juza a passing glance before looking back down and scribbling something on the page, his lips set in an obvious frown.

“…Hey,” Juza greets lamely, just to fill up the awkward silent air with something.

Which Banri responds to with a derisive scoff.

Well, shit.

Juza can feel his own temper flaring at the sight of Banri’s obvious displeasure. He heaves a gusty sigh, stepping into the room and setting his water bottle and hand towel down before leaning against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest.

Hopefully they won’t devolve into a shouting match before the others even arrive.

It doesn’t go well, to put it mildly.

“Watch your fuckin’ legs, you big stupid oaf,” Banri sneers, his voice coming off caustic as he comments on Juza’s motions as he goes through a short fight choreography with Azami, “We all know how much you love manspreadin’ but the audience doesn’t need to see it. Keep that shit off the stage, dumbass.”

“Settsu.” Sakyo sounds exhausted as he says Banri’s name in a warning tone. “If you’re going to criticize, at least make it constructive. No need for all this childish name-calling.”

“Well it ain’t my fault he can’t get it through his thick skull no matter how many times I tell him, is it?”

Juza grunts, distracted, narrowly avoiding actually hitting Azami’s shoulder as he throws a punch, and is left too unsteady to avoid the leg sweep that Azami counters with. Stumbling on the backfoot, he topples to the floor on his side, quickly rolling up into a sitting position as he rubs at his aching elbow.

“Oh, shit! Sorry Juza-san, I thought you could take it.” Apologetic, Azami offers a hand for Juza to take, pulling him back up to his feet. He winces when he sees the reddening skin start to bloom across Juza’s arm.

“S’alright, don’t worry about it.”

Taichi trudges over, inspecting the injury despite Juza’s dismissal of it. “Ahh, it doesn’t look that bad, yeah. Not gonna bruise or anything. Still! You might wanna sit down for a couple minutes.”

“So y’all are just gonna baby him? Fuck’s sake, he’s not made of glass.” Trudging over, he jabs Juza in the shin with his foot, sneering when Juza tries to kick back at him. “See? Perfectly fine. Up and at it, daikon, I wanna see you run through that scene from the top again.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Banri-san,” Azami pipes up, clearly unwilling to go along with his demands.

Banri rolls his eyes, cracking his knuckles and shaking his limbs to loosen them up. “Fine. If you won’t do it, I will. Hey, fucker, think fast!” And then he launches an upward kick at Juza, who doesn’t have much time to react beyond throwing up his arms to block it.

“Banri! That’s enough.” Omi immediately hooks his arms under Banri’s armpits, wrenching him off even as he keeps trying to kick at Juza, letting loose a string of expletives.

Juza watches him get dragged away, irritation burning in his gut, and something in his head snaps. He roughly brushes off Taichi and Azami’s concern, leaving them to gawk at him in confusion as he stomps towards Banri, intent on giving him a piece of his mind.

“Piece of shit, how ‘bout I—”

“Hyodo.” This time Sakyo calls out his name, one hand held out to stop him from advancing any further.

Juza turns to look at him, nostrils flaring. “That ain’t fair. He got to land a hit on me, how come I can’t—”

“Fair? You wanna talk fair?” Banri seethes at him, still caught within Omi’s armlock. “What ain’t fair is how I have to keep watchin’ you fumble your footing and miss all the goddamn cues, if ya could just do it right from the start, then—”

“That is enough.” Sakyo’s thundering voice shuts them both up, the whole room falling silent as everyone looks at him, a vein throbbing on his forehead. “If you two insist on acting like buffoons, then we may as well wrap up practice here, since we’re clearly getting nowhere at this rate.”

Azami shrugs. “Sure, I don’t mind takin’ a day off.” Next to him, Taichi echoes the same sentiment, his grin strained at the edges. He must be tired of trying to keep the mood up, too.

“Settsu. Hyodo. Both of you get cleanup duty, since it’s your fault that we have to cut this short. I don’t want to hear,” he glowers at Banri, who has his mouth open, ready to argue, “Any complaints from either of you. Make sure you mop the floor, then bring everything to the storeroom and lock it up once you’re done. Fushimi?” He nods at Omi, who releases Banri from his grip. “As for the rest of you… shall we have board game night instead?”

Taichi’s eyes sparkle with excitement; he pumps both fists in the air. “Yesss. Board game night! Board game night! I wanna play Cluedo!”

“Cluedo sounds good,” Omi agrees, shooting Juza and Banri an apologetic look as he scoops up his water bottle and follows Taichi out the door. Azami’s much less sympathetic, grinning cheekily and sticking his tongue out as he waves goodbye at the two of them before making his exit.

Sakyo’s the last to leave, giving the both of them a long, hard stare before rifling through his pocket to take out a ring of keys, tossing it in Banri’s direction. Juza snorts when Banri fumbles the catch, earning him a murderous glare, but Sakyo clears his throat before either of them can go further beyond that.

“Why don’t you sort out and clean up the props while you’re at it. Take some time to clear your heads and remember why we don’t commit actual violence against each other.”

Sakyo’s gaze sharpens.

“If I see any bruises or scratches on either of you tomorrow…”

He doesn’t finish the threat, leaves it hanging ominously in the air for a few moments before turning around and walking out, leaving Banri and Juza alone.

When the door swings shut behind Sakyo, Banri whirls on Juza with an ugly scowl on his face. “Nice fuckin’ job getting us both in trouble, dipshit.”

The nerve of this prick! Juza doesn’t know how he himself can stand Banri’s assholery most of the time. “Oh, so you’re gonna pin all the blame on me, you goddamn hypocrite? You started it.”

“Yeah, and I’ll fuckin’ end it,” Banri snarls.

But then he gets a weird look in his eye, a flicker of an expression that Juza knows means that some incomprehensible thought is crossing his brain, and―it knocks him out of his anger, just a little bit. Worry bubbles up to take its place instead.

“Y’kay there…?”

Blinking, Banri waves him off, that weird, sorta blank look still stuck on his face. “Yeah, I—you mop the floors. I’ll get started on the other shit.” He doesn’t wait for an answer, rushing out of the hall towards, presumably, the storeroom.

Hm. That’s… concerning.

But he doesn’t wanna risk Banri getting snippy at him if he goes to check on him—and everyone in the company knows how weird the Autumn leader can still get about exposing any sort of perceived ‘vulnerability’, even now. So Juza swallows his apprehension and just pulls the mop and bucket out of the cleaning closet, heading for the restroom to fill it up with tap water.

“Oi, Settsu, ya still sortin’ shit out? I’m done already, I can give you a hand if ya need it.”

The storeroom-slash-warehouse is quiet. No sounds of shuffling or rattling to indicate any activity. But it also does look pretty clean, all the props and boxes that littered the floor before now neatly sorted on the shelves, so Banri must’ve actually stayed true to his word and did his part of the cleanup duties.

Still, though. Where is he? The room’s not locked, and Sakyo told them to lock up after they’re done. Since he left Juza to mop the practice room, that means Banri must have the keys.

Baffled, Juza steps into the room, peering around. “Hello? Where didja go, fox-face?”

And then something hits him square in the back, hard enough to send him stumbling.

“Wh—!?”

He hears the door lock click shut, and then a few heavy footsteps before something’s being pressed against the back of his head. Something cold and metal and vaguely familiar.

“Took ya long enough, hero,” someone sneers. It’s definitely Banri, but there’s something weird about his voice. “Sure like to waste my time, don’tcha?” That low, raspy, wrong pitch; Juza recognizes it with a startled jolt.

That’s the tone Banri uses when he plays his role as Dust.

Head still spinning with confusion, Juza decides: what the hell. He might as well play along and ask questions later, when his boyfriend isn’t threatening him with a gun to his head anymore. Sure, it’s a fake gun, but it’s a gun nonetheless; the intent is there.

He sucks in a deep breath and when he exhales, he’s gone through his mental wardrobe and come out dressed as Blood, all tense and tired. “What d’ya want,” he growls, hands curled into fists, “I thought you’d be over me by now, ya obsessed freak.”

“You answered your own question there, stupid. Wonderin’ why I’m still hung up on you, then callin’ me obsessed. Use your brains for once.”

There’s a soft huff of laughter, then the gun presses harder against his skull, urging him forward. Dragging his feet, Blood reluctantly lets himself be marched forward, led deeper into the room until…

“What the hell,” Juza blurts out, broken out of character, because―that’s the spare futon they use for sex, and he can also see a bottle of lube set to the side. And a packet chain of condoms, too.

Did Banri really set this all up just for a quick fuck?

Like, don’t get him wrong, Juza’s not strictly against the idea, and fucking out their frustrated feelings is a thing they do sometimes, but, y’know.

Being told in advance would be nice, and didn’t Banri himself admit that he didn’t like to be surprised with shit like this?

Before his confusion can fully morph into exasperation, however, Juza gets his legs swept out from under him, thankfully landing on the futon instead of the hard floor. That’s the second tumble he’s taken today. His elbow’s definitely gonna complain about it later.

“Asshole, what’re ya—”

The gun jabs into the back of his head, forceful enough to actually hurt. Grunting, he tries to turn around, only to find a hand pressed against his shoulder, keeping him down.

“Don’t talk. Don’t move a muscle,” Dust growls, sending a chill running down Juza’s spine. He sounds angry, but it’s not the usual exasperated anger that Juza’s used to from Banri. This feels more like a tranquil sort of rage, something simmering under the surface.

Venomous irritation and actual, honest-to-god contempt. The kind Juza hasn’t heard from Banri in a long, long while.

But he’ll be damned if Dust thinks Blood is just gonna lie there and take it. Struggling against Banri’s grip, Juza manages to flip himself around so he can actually look at Banri’s face. What he sees there makes his heart clench.

“Settsu,” he whispers, trying to reach up to touch his boyfriend’s face.

A pained noise and spittle flies from his mouth when Banri rears his arm back before driving his fist right into Juza’s stomach, not pulling his punch at all. Juza gasps and winces, the air knocked out of his lungs; that’s definitely leaving a mark. Sakyo and Azami are both gonna be pissed. Omi and Taichi too, probably.

“I said don’t fuckin’ talk and don’t fuckin’ move,” Dust snarls, eyes narrowed to slits, the purple-blue of them dark and murky. “Didja get dropped on your head a buncha times as a kid or somethin’? Fuck, you’re such a goddamn idiot, why do I even—” He cuts himself off with a click of his tongue, shoving his hand over Blood’s mouth before he can respond.

Even though he can easily get out of Banri’s hold on him, Juza only puts up a token, half-hearted resistance. Not too weak that it seems like he’s given up completely, but not enough to actually overpower Banri and kick him off or flip their positions around.

He’s still a little pissed, a lot confused, and he’s definitely gonna ask Banri ‘what the hell was that’ once it’s over.

After a bit more of their not-quite play-scuffle, Dust clicks his tongue again and pulls out two lengths of cord out of a nearby cardboard box, deftly tying up Blood’s wrists before doing the same to his ankles. Flabbergasted, Juza tries to wiggle out of his sudden restraints, a complaint that Banri’s taking things too far right on the tip of his tongue before he gets a balled-up piece of cloth shoved into his open mouth, reducing him to muffled grunts.

Something’s definitely wrong.

If there’s one thing Banri won’t do, one line he won’t cross without Juza’s permission, it’s taking away Juza’s ability to use their safeword.

Panic starts to actually flood Juza’s veins for real, cold sweat breaking out across his skin as Banri shoves him onto his arms and knees. His saliva quickly dampens the cloth gag, making it sticky and unpleasant as he tries to spit it out of his mouth to no avail.

“Shoulda just listened to me, never fuckin’ listens to me,” Dust grumbles, or Banri does; Juza doesn’t know if he’s even trying to pretend anymore.

Juza himself is definitely no longer in Blood’s headspace, very aware of the way Banri’s touching him, nothing familiar about it. Those groping fingers skitter under his shirt and pull his sweatpants down to pool around his knees, exposing his sweaty skin to the musty air.

One hand teases at his chest, thumbing around a nipple before rolling it between his fingers, pulling a groan from Juza’s throat. The other hand yanks down the front of his boxers just enough to free his dick, a palm none-too-gently wrapping around his flaccid length, trying to coax it into arousal.

The thing is, no matter how not turned on by this situation Juza is, there’s little he can do to stop his body from responding the way it does when given direct stimulation. He shudders and groans as his erection fills out under Banri’s touch. Deft fingertips catch the wetness starting to leak from the tip and uses it to slick the rest of his shaft, making the glide of each stroke smoother.

“Hff. Feh, ffu?”

“Shut up, shut up, shut up.” Almost pleading, Dust gives Blood’s dick a squeeze, just tight enough to hurt, before reaching down to fondle his balls. “Just… be quiet for once.” Then, so soft that Blood almost can’t hear him, “Let me have this.”

Blood goes still, the last of his resistance waning. He inhales deeply through his nose, closes his eyes, and submits.

Juza pretends not to feel the near-soundless ‘thank you’ mouthed against his ear, or the kiss and hickey sucked into the spot between his neck and shoulder. He still doesn’t understand why this is happening, but if Banri’s so desperate for it, then…

Pressing his face into the dip between Juza’s shoulderblades, Banri rucks his shirt up even more so he can mouth at the spot below the jut of his nape, kissing and nibbling at the grooves of his spine. Twisting his head a little, Juza glances over his shoulder.

“Mmph―! Heffu…?”

His boyfriend’s expression is somewhere between smitten and crestfallen, before he manages to catch Banri’s gaze. In an instant, that soft, vulnerable look is wiped away, smoothed over to resemble something that fits Dust much more. Icy and overcast and apathetic.

“Eyes forward,” Dust orders, grabbing the back of Blood’s head to force him to comply when he doesn’t immediately obey. The hand on Blood’s dick slides back towards his ass, pulling down the waistband of his underwear to fully expose him.

Juza hears the pop of the lube bottle cap and quietly breathes a sigh of relief. Even if they’re playing at some fucked-up rape scenario, at least he’s not being taken dry. He scrunches his nose through the brief discomfort of cold gel against his ass, a thumb pulling the meat of it apart so that slicked-up fingers can circle and prod at his hole.

Banri usually likes to touch and tease him until Juza’s melted with pleasure and ripe for the taking, but there’s none of that now.

With a choked grunt, Blood feels a finger press inside him, down to the knuckle in one swift motion. He tries not to squirm as Dust quickly adds another digit, heedless of the pained noises that crawl out of Blood’s throat.

It’s a burning stretch, far too hasty for his liking. When Dust tries to push in a third finger, Juza’s hips instinctually buck away from his touch.

“Stay still.” Dust grabs his flank with his other hand, fingers digging in hard enough to bruise. And then, rather ominously, he warns, “I can’t promise you won’t get hurt if you don’t let me stretch you open.”

Stretch him open? For what? Usually, three fingers is enough prep for Juza to take Banri’s dick, and they only go for four if they want a rough fuck that’s loose and sloppy.

Is he planning to shove his whole fist in there? It’s not like Juza hasn’t thought of it once or twice before, but still…!

Caught between wanting to wiggle out of Banri’s grip and not wanting to risk any injury, Juza huffs rapid, shallow breaths through his nose as he forces himself to relax. Or tries to, at least. There’s only so much he can do to calm his racing thoughts.

The pinch and then the pressure of Dust’s three fingers slowly inching inside him, then spreading apart to loosen him up, makes Blood wince and jolt with every tiny movement. It hurts with how tense he is, but the pain is slightly alleviated with how much lube Dust seems to have slathered his digits with, practically drenching his tight entrance with the viscous gel.

Groaning, Blood feels his muscles quiver around Dust’s hand, right on the precipice of dull pleasure as Dust works him open without touching his most sensitive spot. Even just being fingered like this is enough to make a roiling heat well up in his gut.

Another finger slips in alongside the rest, and a low groan rumbles out of Blood’s chest. He hangs his head, eyes squeezed shut as he tries to focus on breathing. The spread aches, his body fighting against the intrusion… then he feels the flat of a thumb stroke against his stretched-out rim and he chokes on a panicked cry, shaking his head.

It’s too much, there’s no way it’ll fit, stop, stop—

Banri leans down, a burning presence along the line of his back, and cups Juza’s chin with his hand, forcing him still. He doesn’t say anything, just breathes slowly, lips ghosting along the back of Juza’s ear.

Closing his eyes, Juza tries to match Banri’s breathing, his shuddering lungs eventually smoothing out to an even pace. He bites down hard on the cloth gag when Banri carefully eases his thumb into Juza’s entrance, pushing steadily until the taut ring of muscle eventually stops resisting and relaxes, swallowing him up to the first joint.

“That’s it, I knew you could take it.” Dust sighs, catching the helix of Blood’s ear between his teeth as Blood grunts in surprise from the sudden feeling.

He keeps up the pressure, the hand around Blood’s neck tracing down over the dips and curves of his throat, coming to rest splayed over his sternum. He pulls Blood in until their bodies are pressed snug against each other, sighing and cooing in his ear until Blood’s hole is stretched around the widest part of his knuckles.

And then the rest of his hand pushes in, punching the wind out of Juza’s lungs as he feels Banri’s hand settle inside him, clenched into a fist.

The pressure is exquisitely maddening, both pleasure and pain mixing together into an incomprehensible mess in his head. A burning sensation spreads outwards from the base of his spine as his inner walls tremble and squeeze around the insertion. Lines of saliva escape from being absorbed by the cloth and drip from the corners of his mouth, his vision going spotty and unfocused as his eyelids flutter.

He feels so intensely full.

Banri’s barely even moving, just minute little twists and sporadically unclenching his hand the tiniest little bit, but the unpredictablility of it all adds to the agonizing stimulation that ripples through Juza in pulsating waves.

A moan falls from his throat, thick and heady. All Dust has to do is to brush his palm over the underside of Blood’s dick, tracing a vein up to his cumslit before wrapping his fingers around the tip and giving him a few quick strokes before Blood comes undone, shuddering apart and spilling into Dust’s hand with a muffled whimper.

Arms burning with the effort to hold himself up, Blood’s upper body slowly crumples to the floor, his forehead coming to rest on the futon’s softness.

Dust follows him down, keeping his teeth locked onto the meat of Blood’s shoulder. Not biting down, just keeping a hold on him. He rocks his fist back and forth, pulling it out of Blood’s ass excruciatingly slowly, forcing him to feel every inch of it as it slips back out of it. Just to be cruel, he drags the pads of his fingertips along the sensitive little gland near the entrance, stroking and circling around it a few times, causing Blood to squirm and writhe from overstimulation.

Then the pressure is gone, slipped out completely, and Juza has to hold his breath for a few moments from how empty he feels without anything inside him. He lets his eyes roll shut, groaning from the aftershocks of pleasure still surging through his body. His hole remains gaped open, winking around nothing a few times, and finally pulls shut―

“Hnngh?!”

Something presses into him, his pucker clenching hard around the unexpected penetration. It sends a violent shudder running up Juza’s spine, pulling noises from his throat as Banri forces whatever it is he’s using to fuck Juza deeper, because it’s definitely not his hand again, or his dick.

No, the thing inside him feels solid and heavy, thinner but more unyielding than a dildo or a vibrator. Eyes blinking wide open with disbelief and a mild hint of fear, Juza forces his head to the side so that he can look over his shoulder and see…

“Fheffu!!”

“Don’t. Move.”

Running his free hand up and down Juza’s flank, a thin, strained smile settles crooked on Banri’s lips as he nudges the barrel of the prop gun deeper.

Heedless of Juza’s frantic protests, he works the gun into Juza’s body, made easier by how Juza hasn’t yet recovered from being fisted open. Shushing and cooing noises fall from his lips, almost condescending in its gentleness. The only saving grace is that he’s sheathed the gun in a condom beforehand, which is only the mildest reprieve to Juza’s frayed nerves.

Wracked with shivers, Juza squeezes his eyes shut. Maybe he shouldn’t because blocking out his sight only heightens his other senses, but he doesn’t want to look at anything anymore. Doesn’t want to question why his boyfriend insists on torturing him mentally and physically like this.

He just lies there and takes it, clenching his jaw tight to stop any further noises from coming out of his throat, shameful tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. The muscles in his thighs occasionally convulse and spasm, especially when Banri angles the gun just right, the tip of it digging right into his abused prostate gland. A headache even starts to brew in the back of his skull, adding to the confusing, miserable mix of emotions swirling in his thoughts.

The sound of a belt unbuckling and fabric rustling rouses Juza from his stupor. Reluctantly opening his eyes, he looks at Banri, taking in his boyfriend’s face, blotchy with sweat and flushed red skin.

Mouth hanging half-open, Banri locks eyes with Juza as he pulls his dick out from his pants, a wet spot on his briefs from all the precum he’s already leaked. Curling a hand around his cock, he furiously jerks himself off with one hand, keeping the other splayed on Juza’s ass, thumb settled against the prop gun.

“Fuck,” he bites out, more wrecked than Juza sounded despite being the one to inflict his impulsive, selfish whims on his boyfriend, “Ha-ahh, hff, you’re so―you look so good like this―I’m sorry, I’m so fucking sorry, I’m the worst, nngh―Hyo, H-Hyodo…”

There’s even a tear or two dripping down his cheeks, choking him up. Juza watches him through half-lidded eyes, all coherent thought slowly drifting out of his throbbing head.

He should be angry. He should be pissed that Banri’s getting off to this, to his shame and fear. But instead… he feels some weird, twisted sense of relief.

Relaxing his throat, he lets himself groan, soft and exhausted, something settling deep in his gut. Not arousal again, he’s not getting turned on despite the thrilling sight of Banri red-faced and panting, but there’s something like… secondhand satisfaction, that he’s getting out of this twisted scenario.

Banri must see something shift in his expression, because his slack jaw clicks shut, face scrunching up, confliched ecstasy playing out over his features. His pace falters for a few seconds before going faster, hips jerking back and forth.

Then his thumb reaches up for the gun’s safety mechanism, cocking the hammer with a loud click that cuts through all the other wet noises in the room.

And, despite knowing that the weapon is a fake, that it’s just a stage prop, a harmless replica incapable of shooting actual bullets―Juza flinches, hard, a gasp punching out of his throat from both the shock and the sudden movement making the point of the gun push right up against his sweet spot.

“―FUCK!”

With a muffled shout, Banri slams right into his climax, working himself through his orgasm with panicked strokes, covering Juza’s lower back with thick ropes of his spend.

And then he bursts into tears.

As Banri doubles over, hunching over Juza and pressing his face against his upper back, rubbing his snot and tears into his sweat-damp skin, Juza closes his eyes. He hears Banri mumble an incoherent string of “I love you”s and “I’m sorry”s, gasping and trembling with each breath, and thinks―thank goodness, they’re not angry at each other anymore.

He wishes he could turn around and gather Banri in his arms to hold him close and tight. As it is, he settles for stretching an arm backwards, reaching blindly for Banri.

Who grabs his hand, twining their fingers together.

They’ve made it out through worse fights. They’ll be alright.

Later, Sakyo doesn’t scold them when he catches them coming out of the bathroom, freshly-showered despite the late hour.

He simply takes one look at them both, at Banri’s still slightly red-rimmed eyes and the faint red marks dotting the side of Juza’s neck, heaves a bone-deep weary sigh, and tells them to go to bed.

“If you’ve got it sorted out between yourselves, I won’t step in any further. I can’t police how you choose to vent your grievances against each other. Just… try to keep it private, won’t you? At the very least, don’t waste my time by having those petty spats during practice or, god forbid, actual rehearsals.”

Uncharacteristically chastened, Banri nods, accepting Sakyo’s advice without a single word of backtalk. Or maybe it’s just all going in one ear and out the other.

Sakyo shifts his attention to Juza, who gives him a shrug and a subtle nod. Rolling his eyes, he ushers them both towards their room before walking past them to step into 106.

They can faintly hear him say: “You’re still awake? They’re fine. I’ll give them a proper lecture tomorrow,” before the door pulls shut and muffles the rest of his words.

Banri slips his hand into Juza’s and tugs him into their room, barely waiting for Juza to toss their dirty clothes into the laundry hamper before scrambling up the loft ladder to Juza’s bed. He peeks over the railing, gaze meekly downcast, and doesn’t say anything even as Juza climbs up to settle in with him.

He turns his back on Juza, which makes Juza’s heart sink a little. Only to buoy back up when Banri reaches back to tug his arm around his waist, pressing Juza’s palm against his stomach.

Juza obliges his wordless request, spooning him and nosing at the whorl of his hair. He waits for a while to see if Banri has anything to say, but when it becomes clear that there’s nothing forthcoming, chooses to break the slightly uneasy silence.

“D’ya feel better?”

Banri chuckles, low and mirthless. “I don’t feel worse.” He turns around slightly, just enough for Juza to see the way his hair falls over his cheekbones, the profile of his nose. “I… I’unno why I did that. M’sorry. It was a shitty thing to do.” He sucks in a stuttering gasp, like even the admission hurts to say.

Juza doesn’t say anything, just waits for Banri to collect his thoughts and continue.

“I jus’ wanted… dunno. I was mad at you for stupid shit, and you were mad at me for stupid shit, ‘nd then I got mad at myself for bein’ mad at you an’ just fuckin’ it all up.” Then, quieter, “Got scared, I guess.”

“Scared?” Juza asks. Not judgemental, purely curious. “Of what. Me bein’ angry at you?”

Inhaling a deep breath, Banri nods. Then shrugs. “Maybe? Kinda. Been a while since I saw you that pissed. An’ I know I was being a massive bitch ‘bout it too. S’just…” He makes a vague hand gesture in the air. “Figured if I could give you a real reason to be that furious at me, it could—dunno, retroactively justify all the shit we’d been givin’ to each other since mornin’.”

The words sink into silence, broken only by the quiet noise of their mingling breaths. Juza tries to wrap his head around it, picking through Banri’s explanation. It’s probably a bit more complicated than just any one single factor he can point a finger at, but—overall? Sounds like a bad brain day thing, to be honest.

Does it excuse what Banri did to him? Hell no, and they’re definitely gonna have a proper talk about it when they aren’t so rubbed-raw and exposed like they are right now. But he gets the angle of it, or at least he thinks he does.

Juza pets Banri’s belly, offering comfort where he can, twisting their legs together under the blankets. “We both woke up cranky and things got outta hand. Okay. Shit like that happens sometimes, can’t do anything to predict it.” He hums, thoughtful. “Maybe next time either of us gets in a bad mood, we could… tell each other? Jus’ a ‘lil heads up, don’t take it personal kinda thing.”

“Mm. Dunno if it’ll work, but I guess we can try.”

“Yeah.” Pressing a kiss to the back of Banri’s ear, Juza closes his eyes. Sleep calls out to him like a siren song. He’s tired of thinking, and just tired in general. “If ya don’t got anythin’ else to add, I’m prob’ly gonna doze off soon.”

“Okay.”

But Banri still sounds a little uncertain, a little shaky. Juza wraps his limbs tight around his boyfriend’s body, crushing him in a hug.

“The cakeshop three doors down from the thrift store ya like to go to, they’re sellin’ a seasonal exclusive peach custard tart,” he whispers, soft and languid. “If ya still feel like shit ‘bout what happened, go get me one o’ those. We can have a ‘lil date in our room ‘nd talk about it some more.”

That finally gets Banri to huff a gentle laugh, tilting his head back to lean against Juza’s shoulder. “Damn sweet tooth. ‘Kay, you got it.”

Like that, curled around each other, the two of them drift off into dreams.

Chapter Text

They’re just about to finish up a regional tour of a performance rerun―this time for ‘Welcome to Akebono-so!'―when the director cheerfully informs them that they get to stick around for an extra day before they have to return to Veludo.

It’s a suspiciously generous indulgence, even more so that Sakyo isn’t sputtering and complaining about unnecessary expenses, but one quick search on the internet reveals a curry festival of all things happening in a local mall, and, well. There’s no way any of them can stop Izumi from attending an event like that.

So while the director’s rushing off first thing after breakfast, the rest of them decide to also follow in her footsteps and split off to do their own things.

Azami drags Sakyo out in search of souvenirs to buy and bring back for Sakoda along with the rest of the company, and despite Sakyo’s exasperation, he tags along with minimal grumbling, because they’re both sweet on the guy―who isn’t, really? Taichi gets the bright idea to head for a local market to try out some street food, bringing Omi with him so they can both enjoy the culinary excursion―Omi gets to potentially expand his repertoire of recipes, and Taichi gets to snack on all sorts of fun oddities.

And Banri decides, what the hell. Might as well make the most out of the change in scenery and take Juza out on a date, right?

Not that he’s gonna call it a date, because he’d rather die than let the word come out of his mouth (thinking about it doesn’t count!) and Juza would also probably die hearing Banri say it because the secondhand embarrassment will kill him. If Banri doesn’t kill him first.

Maybe they can have a stroll through a nice park or something, or go window-shopping, or maybe even perform a few street acts as one last promo for the folks in the area. Then they’ll have a bite to eat somewhere while arguing over who gets to be the gentleman and pay the bill before they end up splitting it like they always do.

And Banri will rag on Juza for his damn sweet tooth like he always does, all while hiding how much he secretly enjoys watching Juza bulldoze through countless desserts like a vacuum cleaner sucking up dust.

Don’t tell anyone, but his boyfriend’s just so damn cute with that sparkle in his eyes when he gets to indulge in sweet treats, or how his cheeks puff out like a chipmunk’s because he can’t help but shovel the whole thing in his mouth in one go.

Ahem. Anyway.

He’s alone in their shared hotel room now, while Juza’s still down at the breakfast buffet. Probably making the staff cry from how thoroughly he’s abusing the hot cocoa dispenser machine. Banri opens up the closet to see what outfit he can throw together on short notice; he hasn’t brought any of his fancy clothes, but aside from his own impeccable taste, he’s also picked up a few tips and tricks from Yuki on how to style casual fits into something fashionable.

Unlike a certain daikon, who thinks it’s perfectly fine to just throw on the same jersey, jeans, and sandals combo every time and call it a day. What a lameass basic bitch. And yet, that’s kinda part of his charm, isn’t it?

Ugh, Banri is so fucking down bad for the guy, it makes him cringe sometimes.

In no time at all, he’s gotten himself dressed and freshened up, a bit of cologne spritzed around his neck and on his wrists, each strand of hair tamed and meticulously in place. He checks himself out in the mirror one last time, and yep, perfect as always, Settsu Banri. Not that he’s gonna get any compliments outta Juza for his efforts, probably, but it’s the thought that counts, right?

Checking his phone, Banri scowls. Is that dipshit still not done terrorizing the cereal bar yet? Typical. He might as well haul ass down there and kick Juza out of the restaurant himself.

Thoughts swirling with irritated fondness, Banri opens the door and―nearly walks right into Juza, who’s just. Standing there, like an idiot.

“Fuckin’ hell, don’t jumpscare me like that,” Banri wheezes, clutching a hand to his chest. He steps aside to let Juza in, briefly confused by the lack of a snarky retort before he shakes it off. Maybe Juza’s in a good mood or something, who knows what goes on in that empty skull of his.

Juza doesn’t just rudely barge past him like he expects, though. Instead, he gives Banri a polite little nod, which is already baffling and alarming in and of itself because Juza is never polite towards Banri. It’s enough to make Banri go tense, torn between asking Juza what’s wrong or just snapping at him to spill the beans.

Before he can get any bitchy complaint past his lips, Banri’s struck into dumbfounded silence when Juza rummages through his bag, picks out a familiar plastic case and opens it up to retrieve a familiar pair of glasses. Which he then puts on his face, scrunching his nose a few times to make sure it settles.

And then he goes to the mirror and brushes his bangs back with one hand, a little neater-looking than usual, and it’s that along with the realization that he’s dressed in attire that leans a bit more towards smart-casual instead―

Even knowing where this is going, Banri’s still caught off-guard when Juza turns around, walks up to him with a small, timid smile on his face, and takes one of Banri’s hands to clasp between his palms.

“Mita-san,” Juza says in Takumi’s cadence, low but earnest and hopeful, “Before you leave for the other world, will you… go out on a date with me? …Please?”

God-fucking-damnit, Hyodo! Banri can practically feel Cupid’s arrow pierce his heart, a sweet, sharp shock that sends heat flooding to his cheeks.

He flounders, trying to get into character so he can spit out Mita’s response. Giggling, and feeling more than a little incoherent, Banri rakes back his hair, tucking that pesky curl behind his ear just like Mita has it.

“I―y-yeah, I mean omigosh Takumin, absolutely! I totes wanna have a fun day out with you, cutie-patoots!"

Banri is going to fucking throw up, how does Kazunari say goofy shit like this with a straight face. But the way Takumi beams at him, Juza’s own delight shining through (and a little bit of a smirk, the fuckin’ smug asshole)―Mita doesn’t care how embarrassing he sounds.

Fuck cringe culture or what anyone else says, including himself. His super-adorbs boyfriend takes number one priority!

Roleplaying for sexytime purposes is one thing, done in the privacy of their room or a hotel room or somewhere secluded from others and with an audience of only each other. Staying in-character for a date in public feels frivolous and self-indulgent, with the added mortifying possibility of getting caught by their fans. And, seeing as they’d just done the Akebono rerun just yesterday…

(Well, there is a certain subset of their fans who would absolutely eat that shit up, though. Does it count as queerbaiting if the characters aren’t written to be gay but the actors playing them are in fact romantically involved behind the scenes? Ah, whatever, that’s a moral quandary to ponder for another time.)

But as always, logic and rationality go flying out the window for Banri when it comes to Juza. It’s hard enough not to get swept up in the flames of Juza’s passion when they’re on the stage proper, but add the volatile mix of romantic feelings into the fray and suddenly, Mita’s having the best time of his life.

Not to mention just how different Takumi is from Juza and from the rest of Juza’s roles. Sure, there’s a special place in Banri’s heart for all of them, Lansky and Blood especially, but Takumi—he’s different.

Strait-laced and a little naïve, scared of violence but brave enough to join in the fray when someone he cares for is threatened. Though he’s learned to be a bit more flexible in his thinking and a bit more daring now that he’s had his character development.

And it’s clear Juza’s having fun acting as him as well, adding new little bits and pieces of characterization to Takumi as they spend their day together.

Hearing him try to emulate Itaru’s gamer lingo when they chat over a light lunch, in return Banri tones down the Kazunarisms in his speech to copy a bit of Muku’s verbiage, so Takumi ends up being a closet otaku hiding his hobby from his family and Mita turns out to be a romantic at heart who’s over the moon that his boyfriend is sharing his secrets with him.

Their usual spat over paying the bill turns into a skit that has the impromptu audience around them chuckling and clapping their hands. Banri’s almost forgotten that they’re acting, brought out of the moment by the sound of applause. He fixes his smile into his usual fanservice grin, giving out a few saucy winks and finger-hearts as they leave the cafe to the warm, bright light of the afternoon sun.

They walk a bit more down the street, taking a detour into an empty park where they both take a seat on a wooden bench. Mita’s more than satisfied with their date, his chest and belly full and warm with fuzzy feelings. But can anyone blame him for his heart skipping a beat when Takumi takes one of his hands to lace their fingers together?

“Um, Mita-san,” Takumi mumbles, almost too quiet to make out. Mita leans in slightly to hear what he has to say. “Thanks, for today. I had a lot of fun. But… I don’t want it to be over yet, if possible.”

Banri is going to fucking explode.

“Me too, Takumin,” he says softly, squeezing Takumi’s hand. “I don’t wanna let go of you just yet.”

A bit of Juza’s shame shines through Takumi’s facade, like the deep blush that settles high on his cheeks, and it’s enough to make blood rush to Banri’s face as well.

“Would you… like to come over? There’s also a gift I bought for you, but I didn’t bring it with me, because…”

A bunch of questions fly through Banri’s head at once; the sudden extra worldbuilding (Takumi has his own place now?), the fact that Juza has a present for him (when did he get it??), and, if he’s reading between the lines correctly: oh, fuck. He’d always thought that Mita would be the one to proposition Takumi first, so having the script flipped on him is turning him on so goddamn much.

Calm the fuck down, Settsu Banri, do not pop a boner in your pants right now. Getting charged for public indecency won’t help anyone.

“Babygirl, I’d be honoured.” Mita brings Takumi’s hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to his knuckles, and then huffs a little laugh. “Always thought I’d be the one to sweep you off your feet, but here you are, charming my pants off. You really are somethin’ special, Takumin.”

They don’t waste any time after that, rushing back to their hotel room. Mita barely gets to lock the door before Takumi’s upon him, pressing kisses to his lips that are clumsy but eager. He tilts his head to slot their mouths together better, a gasp rattling out of his lungs when Takumi swipes his tongue over his lower lip before pressing in.

Would Mita show Takumi the ropes, or let him take the lead?

It’s hard not to get distracted by his thoughts while they kiss, and again Banri curses his inability to just drop into the mind of his character and feel it out from within, rather than analyze from a bird's-eye point of view.

Juza doesn’t let him get too frustrated though, drawing his attention back to the way that Takumi licks against Mita’s tongue, exploratory, before drawing back and inviting Mita to chase after him.

Their hands don’t stay idle either, grabbing at each other by the shoulders, the arms, around the waist; Takumi’s palms end up settling on Mita’s hips and staying there, keeping him in place. In playful retaliation, Mita winds his fingers through the hair at the back of Takumi’s head and gives it a tug, drawing a sound out of Takumi that he quickly swallows down before it gets a chance to escape.

Like that, they pass the reins of control back and forth, pausing only for short little breaths before closing their lips around each other again and again. It gets a little messy, saliva starting to spill down their chins, and Mita finds himself backing up until his calves hit the edge of one of the two beds in the room.

Usually Banri would snap at Juza for crowding him in, but Mita’s just utterly charmed by the desperate way Takumi grinds against him, a familiar hardness pressing against his hip. He nudges a knee between Takumi’s legs and rolls his thigh against the obvious bulge, chuckling when Takumi pulls back with a gasp, clutching at the lapels of Mita’s collar.

“Takumin,” Mita whispers, breath hot and heavy against Takumi’s cheek, “How d’you want this to go?”

They could just keep going like this, making out and maybe some heavy petting. He’s okay with not crossing any lines Takumi isn’t ready with, even though they’re both more than used to kinky stuff at this point as Banri and Juza, let alone vanilla sex.

Takumi huffs, readjusting his crooked glasses before wriggling out of Mita’s grasp. “The gift.” He grabs Juza’s duffel bag and rifles impatiently through it, pulling out a plastic package, which he then hands over to Mita with a nervous smile.

“Oooh, what didja get for me? Something to wear?”

A sweater, by the looks of it. But hang on… there aren’t any sleeves? And… it’s a halter top?

Intrigued, Mita takes the garment out of its plastic packaging and holds it up, his lips stretching into a wide, somewhat incredulous grin. His eyes flicker back to Takumi’s, narrowing with coy amusement.

“You naughty, naughty boy… did you really get me this, what’s it called? A virgin-killer sweater?”

Takumi flushes a deep red, nodding. “I thought, you’d look good in it…?” When Mita doesn’t say anything, he squeezes his eyes shut. “And I really want to see you wear it. Please.”

Oh, how can Mita say anything but yes to that adorable, desperate request?

“You got it, baby,” he purrs, slipping an arm around Takumi’s waist and swapping their positions so that Takumi’s pressed against the bedside. “How ‘bout you sit down and get yourself all nice and relaxed while I go get changed, hm? Maybe slip outta those stuffy clothes of yours, too.”

“O-Okay.”

Before Mita can pull away, Takumi quickly presses a kiss to his cheek, fluttering a hand at him when Mita tries to kiss him back. With a fond sigh, Mita steps into the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

As the lock clicks shut, Banri drops the act and covers his face with both hands, resisting the urge to let out a gleeful yell. What the fuck? What the fuck?? Where did Juza get this??? How even???? Why is his boyfriend so goddamn cute?????

He shuts off his thoughts and starts shedding his clothes, quickly pulling on the sweater and marveling at himself in the mirror. Wow. Holy shit. It’s so… cute, but also, definitely lewd. The soft fabric and the ribbon tassels, but also the prominent boob window and the deep cut of the open back going all the way down to his ass.

After hesitating for a moment, Banri decides to take his underwear off as well. Might as well go all the way, right? His cock springs out, ready for action, pushing up the hem of the sweater to complete the picture. Banri chuckles at his own eagerness, blowing a flirty kiss at his own reflection to get back into Mita’s mindset.

When he steps back out, Mita is delighted to see that Takumi’s stripped himself of all of his clothes, leaving on only his underwear. A part of Mita pouts at being denied the fun of peeling Takumi out of his layers, but the rest of him revels in the fact that, apparently, Takumi is just as eager and horny as he is, judging by the damp spot on his briefs barely keeping his dick contained.

“Mita-san.” Takumi’s deep, husky voice calls out to him like a siren song, along with his heated gaze and outstretched arms inviting Mita in.

Mita quickly crawls onto the bed, catching Takumi in a kiss as he runs his hands along Takumi’s sides, stroking across the expanse of his skin before settling on his chest, fuzzy with dark curls of hair. Mita teases the sensitive nubs with his thumbs, keeping their lips locked together as Takumi groans into his mouth.

Warm, slightly sweaty hands slip behind his back, sneaking under the fabric to cup the swell of his ass. Mita doesn’t have as much of a bubble butt as Takumi does, but it gives him just as much of a thrill to feel Takumi just as engrossed fondling him. A squeak escapes Mita’s throat at a particularly handsy squeeze, pulling away from Takumi’s mouth with a wet-sounding smack of his lips.

“Mita-san,” Takumi says again, this time with a hint of trepidation. Banri can hear the undercurrent of Juza’s anxious worry in his tone as he asks, “Can I touch you?”

He’s asking for permission so sweetly, Mita finds himself relaxing into Takumi’s hold without much thought.

Banri himself is surprised by the lack of a fight he’s putting up when Juza shifts him around so that he’s settled in Juza’s lap, leaning back against his chest.

“Takumin…?”

His hackles rise a bit when Takumi cups his chin with a hand, guiding him to look a certain way, but a gentle kiss to his cheek soothes him back into pliancy.

“Look, Mita-san.” Drawing Mita’s attention, Takumi whispers into his ear. “Look how pretty you are.”

Mita flicks his eyes up, and gasps.

Takumi has him looking right at the full length mirror in the corner of the room, his reflection staring right back at him in shock. His hair’s all mussed up, his face is a blushy mess, and Takumi’s hands won’t stop roving over his torso under the sweater, making Mita arch into his touch, greedy for more.

But no matter how embarrassed he feels, he can’t stop staring. Especially because it seems like Takumi can’t stop staring either, his smoldering gaze locked onto their reflections.

Mita gasps and squirms when one of those wandering palms trail down to his belly, following the coarse hairs of his happy trail before closing around his leaky cock. He reaches a hand back to grab onto Takumi’s arm, panting heavily as Takumi gathers up the precum running down Mita’s shaft and then starts jerking him off with steady, slow strokes.

“I’ve never met anyone as beautiful as you, Mita-san.” Takumi’s chest rumbles with appreciation; he noses at Mita’s hair before giving a little nip to the shell of his ear. “I wish I could keep you all to myself, make you stay here with me, but I know that’s not what you want. That’s not what I really want, either.”

Mita opens his mouth to say something, but his voice scatters into a breathless gasp when Takumi swipes his thumb over the tip of Mita’s cock, teasing the slit and spreading the drops of pre over the whole glans, making it glisten wetly under the fluorescent ceiling lights.

“It’s not like I want to become a yandere like in those manga, but I think I can understand how they feel. I want you to be mine.”

Chuckling, Takumi speeds up his stroking, using his other hand to keep a tight grip on Mita’s hip as he starts thrusting into Takumi’s fist.

“Takumin, I’m gonna—Takumi, Taku—!”

Mita’s ecstatic cry warps into a frustrated shout as Takumi squeezes tight around the base of his dick, stopping him right before his climax. With a snarl, he twists around and pulls Takumi into a biting kiss.

Once he pulls back for air, Mita growls, glaring ferociously at Takumi while licking his lips like he’s a predator looking at a prime cut of meat.

“What the hell didja do that for!?”

Takumi smiles at him, lopsided, giving him a one-shouldered shrug that feels more Juza than Takumi in the moment. “You always look so put-together, I wanted to see you losing your cool for once.” And then he seems to catch himself, his mouth dropping open in a silent ‘oh’; he flaps one arm about, flustered. “I-I mean, I didn’t want you… to finish, like that?”

“Well, you shoulda just told me that then!”

It’s a shoddy excuse, but it appeases the ember of irritation burning in Banri’s chest anyway. He truly has gone soft for this man. Though his dick remains rock hard.

Mita sighs, smoothing his scowl back into a grin. He leans back to mouth at the line of Takumi’s jaw, careful not to leave a mark no matter how much he wants to suck hickeys all over Juza’s bared throat.

“If you don’t want me spilling in your hand, then how exactly d’you want this to go, sweetie-pie?”

For emphasis, Mita grinds back against the heat poking at his ass, giggling when Takumi makes a cute, needy noise in response.

“Repressed nerds like you must have a lotta horny fantasies, right?”

“Mita-san,” Takumi chides, then falls silent. Banri can practically hear the gears grinding in Juza’s skull as he thinks hard about his actual answer.

When he takes a touch too long, Banri twists around slightly, one eyebrow arched as he shoots a quizzical look at his boyfriend. Juza ducks his head, his blush crawling down his neck and spreading over his chest and the tops of his shoulders, a beautiful shade of red.

“We can’t go all the way; I didn’t pack any lube or condoms.”

Ah, makes sense. And no for doing it raw either—penetration in general is probably out of the question. Not a good idea since they’ve still got a train ride back later in the evening to sit through.

Mean as Banri can sometimes be during sex, he isn’t about to make Juza suffer through that long transit with a sore back.

As he drops his gaze to his lap, though, an idea comes to light in Mita’s head. “You can use my thighs,” he offers, a sultry indulgence, and smirks at the flash of hunger that crosses Takumi’s expression. “And then I want you to suck me off.”

This time it’s Takumi’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “That’s it?”

“While you’re still wearing your glasses.”

There’s the kicker.

Juza’s brow creases deeply as he weighs the pros and cons. On the one hand, yes he wants to sandwich his dick between Banri’s thighs so bad, especially with that goddamn slutty excuse of a sweater Banri’s wearing. But on the other hand, the glasses are literally part of Takumi’s outfit. Getting it dirty is… less than ideal, if he doesn’t want to risk the wrath of the costumers.

While Takumi’s still thinking, Mita wriggles off his lap, shuffling forward on his knees a few paces before glancing over his shoulder. It doesn’t take long before Takumi joins him, his warm, sweaty body pressed up against Mita’s back, decision made.

“Here, grab my arms—you wanna see my pretty face in the mirror while we do this, right?”

Batting his eyelashes for good measure, Mita’s mischievous laugh trails off into a soft moan as he feels Takumi’s grip tighten around his elbows. Then a throbbing cock slips between his thighs, rubbing up against his perineum, and—oh, that’s so hot.

“You’re buying a new pair for me once we’re done,” Takumi whispers against his ear; in retaliation, Mita squeezes his thighs together, dragging out a sweet sigh from Takumi’s throat.

There’s no more talking after that, just wordless grunts and wet noises as Takumi humps the tight squeeze of Mita’s thighs. It’s a delicious friction, made all the more hotter by how enthusiastically Mita grinds back against Takumi, eager to drain all the cum from his heavy, pent-up balls.

Even though Mita isn’t getting any direct stimulation beyond the the slide of Takumi’s shaft against his taint or the times Takumi thrusts hard enough for the tip of his cock to bump against Mita’s nuts, watching their reflection in the mirror―seeing how greedily his boyfriend uses him, red-faced and panting, makes a burning heat coil up deep in his belly all the same.

He won’t be able to reach the peak from this alone, but it’s a very close thing. With a bratty whine, Mita arches up against Takumi’s hold on him, bending his back and jutting his ass further out.

Takumi’s pace intensifies at the clear provocation, a growl ripping out of his chest as he snaps his hips sharply against the back of Mita’s thighs. The room fills with the smacking sounds of skin against skin and their hot, humid breaths, almost becoming unbearable.

“C’mon baby, look up. Look at us, at me,” Mita breathlessly goads, directing Takumi’s attention to the mirror.

Their reflections show off how debauched they are, skin moist with sweat and strands of hair plastered to their foreheads, eyes half-lidded and feverishly hazy with pleasure.

The sweater hangs loosely off of Mita’s torso, clearly made for a more well-endowed bust, but it still shows off the dips and curves of his muscled arms and sides incredibly well. His pale chest, shaved smooth and flushed a pretty pink, peeks through the heart-shaped boob window, and the cute little bows adorning each side shake back and forth to the rhythm of their bodies.

What a vulgar sight. If he were a little bit more self-absorbed than he already is, Banri might jerk off to his own reflection in the mirror more often. As it is, though, it’s doing wonders for riling up his boyfriend, driving Juza’s arousal through the roof.

Mita feels Takumi’s pace falter, going unsteady. He clamps his legs together as hard as he can, gasping as he feels the dick between them throb a few times before it pulses and deposits its load, ropes of warm cum splattering messily across his skin.

“M-Mita-san… nnh…”

“That’s it, babygirl, there you go. Give it all to me.”

Mita reaches back to press a kiss to Takumi’s cheek, enamoured by the way his jaw is clenched tight, eyes squeezed shut. Juza’s face as he orgasms is one of Banri’s favourite things to watch, how his expression goes from scrunched up tight to loose and sated.

“Mmfh. You painted my thighs all white and sticky, what a good boy.”

Takumi shudders, his eyelids fluttering as one last spurt of cum shoots out of his cock. “You’re, ugh, g-going to be the death of me.”

“And what an amazing way to go, am I right?”

“Mita-san.”

Mita just chuckles at Takumi’s exasperation, before breathing out a sigh as the softening length slips out from between his thighs with a lurid squelch. They take a break for a moment, just lazily groping and fondling each other while trading sloppy kisses, as Takumi comes down from the high, basking in the afterglow.

Eventually, Takumi gently pushes Mita off his lap. He pats the edge of the bed, waiting for Mita to scoot over and swing his legs off the side before shuffling off the bed himself, dragging a pillow down with him to kneel on as he settles between Mita’s legs.

Pressing a kiss to the top of each knee, Takumi slowly licks and mouths his way up Mita’s thighs. Not even the bitter taste of his own spend gives him pause, as he dutifully licks up all the cum messily streaking Mita’s skin.

A shiver runs up Mita’s spine at the sight, before he brushes back Takumi’s bangs and threads fingers through his hair. Mita doesn’t push or pull, just keeps his hand on Takumi’s head, petting and gently grazing his scalp with his nails.

“Oooh, filthy. Bet you’ve wanted to do that for a while now, yeah?”

Takumi’s eyes fall shut at the teasing, the soft, needy noises he makes vibrating against Mita’s skin. It makes Mita want to be even meaner to him, but also treat him like a spoiled princess as he deserves to be.

“You go down on your knees for every pretty guy you meet?”

Takumi pulls back, his mouth leaving Mita’s inner thigh with a lewd pop from where he’d been suckling a hickey into the sensitive skin. He shakes his head, glancing up at Mita through lowered eyelashes.

“Just for you, Mita-san. I’m only… I only get like t-this for you. F-For―”

Stuttering, Takumi sucks in a deep breath and forces himself to push through the last barriers of his shame.

“For your cock.”

Hot damn.

What a killer line. What a killer sight.

An uptight honour student, naked and on his knees between the legs of a prettyboy nightclub host. Glasses tilted slightly askew on his nose, cheeks flushed red to the tips of his ears. Willingly debasing himself with his actions and words, lips slick with spit and his own semen, gazing up adoringly at Mita like a supplicant at the altar of god.

When Mita’s dick gives an eager little twitch, Takumi’s attention is drawn back to it, gooey warm eyes rolling half-shut as he presses forward a little more. Just enough for his lustful, panting breaths to ghost over the weeping slit.

Mita’s heart is going to burst out of his chest.

Takumi might claim that Mita’s going to be the death of him, but in all honesty, Mita feels like Takumi will kill him too. Just as deadly, just as passionate.

Biting his lip, Mita puts a little pressure on the hand at the back of Takumi’s head. His dick is hot and sore and aching, having been neglected for a while now―he needs to nut soon, or else he’ll lose his mind.

A tiny smile curls at the edges of Takumi’s lips before his mouth falls open, tongue lolling out in invitation.

He lets Mita guide his movements, licking up against the underside of the shaft, tracing the veins with the tip of his tongue, as Mita tilts his head to press the tip into the wet, velvet heat of Takumi’s cheeks, watching it bulge out in an obscene display.

“Takumi…” No more cute nicknames or flirty endearments; Mita’s voice quivers as he calls out just Takumi’s name, over and over like it’s the only thing he knows how to say anymore.

He resists the temptation to slam it all in, hyper-aware of how small and tight Takumi’s mouth is and how this has to be his first time giving a blowjob. Mita doesn’t want to risk hurting him or putting him off the experience.

But―fuck, it’s like Takumi’s made for it, like his mouth was shaped for the sole purpose of sucking Mita’s dick. A natural-born living onahole, swirling his tongue around as much of Mita’s length as he can reach, slicking it up with his saliva to ease the press of it deeper into his mouth.

“Fuck, how are you―so good―at this? Pull back a bit, baby, you need to breathe too.”

Tugging Takumi off his cock to let him catch a few breaths, Mita releases his hold on Takumi’s head to lean back, gritting his teeth and clenching his abs so that he doesn’t blow his load too soon.

Yet his concern only makes Takumi work at it harder, digging his fingertips into the meat and muscle of Mita’s thighs so that he can push more of Mita’s dick down his throat, his eyes starting to water at the edges.

He sucks desperately at Mita’s shaft, drawing back to lick at the sensitive frenulum and swallow the copious precum pooling under his tongue. Then his head bobs up and down as he goes back to deepthroating it, using a hand to stroke the rest of the cock that can’t quite fit in his mouth.

“Takumi, slow down. You don’t need to choke on it―hngh, careful there!” Just as Mita says that, Takumi pushes himself a little too far, his throat muscles fluttering and squeezing tight around Mita’s length as his gag reflex finally kicks in.

He pulls off, coughing and sputtering, his glasses knocked even more off-kilter than before. Strings of saliva and pre trail from his lips to Mita’s dick, a sticky wetness that Mita gently wipes off with one thumb, using his other hand to fix Takumi’s glasses back in place.

“Mita-san, Mita-sa-ahh-nnh.”

Takumi moans, his gaze unfocused. He leans forward to slobber messy kisses all over Mita’s dick, fingers reaching up to close around the base of the shaft, pumping it in time with his shallow breaths.

“I want it. I want it, please, pleaseplease finish on my face, hurry up, give me your cum―”

Oh, he’s gone gone. Drunk on cock and just begging to be defiled, marked, claimed.

Banri sucks in a breath, feeling the blood rush to his head. He doesn’t want to draw it out any longer either. When Juza gets like this―unabashedly horny and extremely vocal about it―whether he’s putting on a show for Banri’s sake or genuinely intoxicated on the act, it always, always drives Banri wild.

Cradling Takumi’s face, Mita curls his fingers around Takumi’s ears and presses his thumbs into the hollows of Takumi’s cheeks. He shoves his crotch up against Takumi’s nose, careful not to dislodge the glasses too much as his rutting gets increasingly sloppier with each thrust of his hips.

“Almost there, Takumi.” Panting, Mita’s breaths come out in hoarse, staccato moans as he chases his release. “Just need, hahh—a little bit more—!”

And then Takumi uses his tongue to lick one of Mita’s balls into his mouth, slurping at it between his lips like he’s trying to milk Mita dry.

Shoving his fist against his mouth, Mita bites down hard on his knuckles to muffle the shout that rips out of his chest. His heart beats wildly against his ribcage as he ejaculates, streaking Takumi’s bangs with lines of cloudy white before he pulls back just enough so that some of it splatters onto the glasses as well.

Takumi instinctively squeezes his eyes shut, expecting some of the cum to drip onto his eyelids. He’s almost disappointed when it doesn’t happen, letting out a needy whine before he catches himself, head going hot with a burst of shame as he comes back to his senses.

When he blinks his eyes back open, he finds that he can’t see much of anything regardless; the glasses’ lens have been covered thoroughly in Mita’s spend. Fat globs of semen trickle down his cheeks, dripping off his chin and onto his own naked groin, where his spent, limp cock twitches with a faint echo of pleasure.

Somewhere above him, Mita—or rather, Banri laughs, already back to his usual nasty self. “Okay, yeah, I definitely need to buy you a new pair. There’s no way we’re salvaging that mess.”

Grunting in agreement, Juza leans back on his haunches, head bowed slightly as he tries to get his breathing back in order and dispel the last dregs of Takumi’s submissiveness from his headspace. He slaps blindly at Banri’s thigh with one hand, closing his fingers around Banri’s wrist when Banri reaches out for him.

“C’mon, daikon, we need to get cleaned up. And then we gotta get our shit packed, I don’t wanna be late for the train and have Sakyo-san yellin’ at us for it.”

“Yeah? Then help me up, fox-face,” Juza snorts, taking the glasses off and scrubbing his face with the back of his hand. Ugh, bad idea. That just made the cum smear over his cheeks even more. “I’ve been kneeling for so long, I can’t feel my fuckin’ legs no more.”

“Pussy. I was on my knees just as much as you.”

“You were on the bed, I was on the floor.”

“At least you got a pillow!”

“That I took myself? Stop bein’ a bitch, Settsu, gimme your arm already.”

“Ah, wait fuck Hyodo my legs are stillkindanumbtooH SHIT—”

And off they go, crashing to the floor in a tangle of limbs and squabbling like they always do. Not a single trace of Mita and Takumi’s sweetness lingers in the air between them as they fight over who gets to shower first and who has to deal with the cleanup.

But this suits them just fine. As much as they enjoy fooling around in their play roles as well, it’s still Settsu Banri and Hyodo Juza who fit with and into each other the best.

Chapter Text

Juza does not consider himself a jealous person.

Usually.

He likes sharing things. Sweets, his hobbies, the feeling of satisfaction when he successfully performs a play with his fellow actors. He also likes sharing what other people enjoy, tries to keep a list in his mind of what his family and friends like, so he can buy them treats and trinkets or do things for them every so often.

Sometimes, he gets envious, sure. But to him, envy and jealousy are different things.

He envies those who can speak well when he so often struggles to properly convey his own thoughts. He aspires to have the talent and skill and expertise that others have that he does not. Most importantly, he doesn’t take this feeling out on anyone but himself; uses it as fuel to motivate and better himself rather than covet and resent others.

Juza will admit to being envious sometimes, but he will not call himself a jealous person.

Usually.

Right now, though, he is at a party. Hosted by Banri’s Amabi friends, because apparently art college students will find just about any reason to throw a party, and they’re pretty fun parties too. Plus, it’s a costume party to boot, so everyone’s dressed up in wild, creative outfits.

Juza himself is in a svelte, all-black getup, picked out of his wardrobe by Banri to complement Banri’s own loud, eye-catching attire. They’ve gone as Jack and Fox, or as close to Jack and Fox as they can be without straight up filching their play costumes.

(Sakyo’s wrath is one thing, but being on Yuki’s shit list is something neither of them want to risk. Not after the first time.)

And, like Jack, Juza’s been mostly content to hang back; he’ll talk to anyone who comes to strike up a conversation with him, but being a wallflower is more his comfort zone, so he sticks to that. Sticking to the non-alcoholic drinks as well, since he got them both to the venue on his bike and he isn’t risking a DUI going back home.

But Banri—oh, he is being the life of the party. Like a black hole drawing in the line of sight of all eyes that land on him; it’s clear that he’s thriving on the attention as well, responding to anyone and everyone who comes close.

Juza can’t count the number of times people have approached his boyfriend, to chat him up or push another full cup of cheap booze into his hand or even try to shoot their shot at him.

At first, Juza was fine with it, and Banri also made it clear to him that he’s just playing up his Fox character, so it’s all in good, harmless fun. Now though, watching Banri get increasingly sloshed and increasingly playful with these strangers, he’s not so sure.

The tipping point comes when an entire group of people sidles in close to Banri and starts putting the moves on him.

And Banri, in all his giggly, inebriated wisdom, teases them right back. Beat for beat, shot for shot.

Jealousy simmers hot and heavy in Juza’s gut.

The plastic cup he’s holding crumples under the force of his grip and he has to set it down on a nearby surface before it straight up explodes in his hand. He tries not to let his impatience show too much as he shoulders through the crowd and slings an arm around Banri’s waist, tugging him close.

Banri’s only response to this sudden display of possessiveness is an eloquent, “Hwuh?”

Juaz clears his throat, tries to shape his expression into something less hostile and more… conniving. Devious. Like a proper phantom thief.

“Sorry, ladies and gents,” he smiles, toothy, giving a loose wave with his unoccupied hand, “I’m here to steal away this prized gem from your exhibit.”

That earns him a chorus of giggles and laughter from the people around them. Most of them peacefully back off without much fuss, probably seeing through his words for what they really are.

A few of them, though, still latch on close to Banri. One even dumps the contents of her cup into his, snickering as she does so.

“Aw, why the rush? Party’s still goin’ strong, Jack. And Foxy here’s the star of the show, y’can’t just take our entertainment away from us.”

“Yyyeah, you dun’ need to cut me off jus’ yet.” Banri’s words are slurred, barely not tripping over his own tongue. He looks up at Juza with a hiccupping grin, smooshing his palm against Juza’s face. “I’ll be fiiine, ya big doofus. Why don’tcha grab a drink and chill out?”

Juza sighs, breaking character. “I’m our designated driver, remember? I shouldn’t.”

But Banri doesn’t seem to have heard his reprimand. Instead, he wiggles out of Juza’s grasp, peering up at Juza with a look in his eyes promising nothing but trouble.

“Jus’ a teeny bit won’t hurt! In fact, why don’t y’take a sip right now?”

Before anyone can stop him, Banri shoves his cup at Juza. And, full to the brim as it is, the liquid inside sloshes over the rim.

Splashing Juza right in the face, his head and shoulders soaking through with booze.

For a brief moment, the chatter of everyone surrounding them dies down. Murmurs of shock and surprise and sympathy ripple across the gathered crowd, eyes gathering on Juza, lost for words.

“Ah.” The girl from earlier winces. “Okay, yeah. Maybe he’s a little―”

Banri cackles, loud and hyena-like. “Dumbass, yer s’posed to open your mouth when I do that!” Then he wraps his arms around Juza like a koala, except not nearly as cute. Closer to a particularly stubborn piece of sticky tape more than anything.

Juza grunts, suddenly forced to bear the extra weight. He gives the girl a sidelong glance, both exasperated and pleading. “Help.”

“…Aaalrighty then, I think Juza-kun is right, actually. That’s enough partying for you, Banri-kun!”

She must take pity on Juza, because she immediately changes her tune, clapping her hands once to dispel the awkward mood. Gingerly plucking the now almost-empty cup out of Banri’s hand, she passes it over to someone else while a few others grab napkins from the snack table to help Juza clean himself up a little.

Their efforts are slightly hampered by Banri continuing to do his best impression of the world’s clingiest octopus. At this point, Juza’s just glad Banri’s not openly begging him for kisses. He might be cool with others knowing about their relationship, but PDA is still a little too much.

(Part of him wants to do it, though. Show off to all these people that Banri is, again, his boyfriend.)

Once he’s not so sticky anymore, Juza thanks the girl and the others for their help, along with a sincere apology for having to ditch so early. They laugh and wave it off, with some even cooing at him for being so concerned over Banri’s wellbeing, what a good friend.

Alright then, so they’ve probably figured it out, but these are Amabi students and thus Banri’s headache to deal with later. Not Juza’s problem.

Once they’ve left the venue, it takes a bit more wrangling to get Banri to cooperate. Juza’s concerned that he might be too wasted to ride pillion without falling off, but the way Banri goes right back to hugging him tight once they’re both on the bike alleviates most of his concern.

And then they’re off, tearing down the road.

As Juza weaves around traffic, going slightly faster than his usual speed since he’s eager to get back home and shower off the mess Banri inflicted on him, Banri whoops and hollers behind him, laughing every time Juza cuts it real close on a red light.

When they finally slow to a stop at an intersection, though, a hand sneaking under his damp shirt and creeping up towards his chest makes Juza flinch, almost throwing his passenger off.

“Settsu,” he growls, “Knock that off, you’re gonna get us in trouble.”

“Hm-mm, mhm, hehe.” Banri’s hands stop their mischievous wandering, but instead he pulls Juza into a crushing hug, squeezing tight. “Set-tzu? Who’s that? There’s only you and me here, Jack.”

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Now? Really?

And yet―Juza finds himself indulging Banri’s whims anyway, slipping back into character with a sigh. “Stop being so handsy, Fox. You’re gonna make me crash my bike.”

“You won’t, I know you. Where’re ya takin’ me, oh dashing thief of mine? Gonna lock me up somewhere safe so no one else can lay their eyes on me again? ...Or d’you have a collection of other jewels in your treasure hoard, hmmm?”

Banri punctuates his accusation with an abrupt squeeze of his hand over Juza’s crotch, pulling a strangled grunt out of him. Fuck. If he’s gonna be a menace and keep messing with Juza like that, then―

The light turns green.

Split-second decision made, Juza pulls an illegal U-turn around the divider. The destination he’s heading towards isn’t Veludo anymore, but someplace else they’re both familiar with.

Behind him, Banri chuckles, pleased with his victory. Juza just keeps his eyes on the road, ignoring the sparks of irritation and arousal flaring up in his gut.

He’ll get his revenge later.

They reach the love hotel without getting into any traffic accidents. Which, frankly, is a goddamn miracle.

Juza picks a bog-standard plain, non-themed room and pays for it outta his own pocket―though he fully intends to get Banri to reimburse the expense later. Then he all but throws Banri onto the bed once they’re in, tossing a bottle of water at him while also locking the door in one swift movement.

Alas, Banri catches the bottle with his hands instead of his face, despite his apparent inebriation. Probably a perk of his innate easy mode bullshit or whatever. He twists the cap open and chugs half the contents in one go before Juza swipes it back from him to get a few sips himself.

“Horny bastard,” Juza grumbles, starting to peel off his clothes before stepping toward the bathroom. He pauses at the door, turning to give Banri a heated glare. “If you can’t get it up by the time I’m done washing off, it’s gonna be my dick up your ass for wastin’ my time.”

“Whatever y’say, Jackie,” Banri croons with a shit-eating grin, fluttering his fingers at him.

With a roll of his eyes, Juza grabs one of the provided towels and, after undressing himself completely, enters the shower without any further preamble.

The water that comes blasting out of the pipes is cold as ice, but quickly warms up once Juza fiddles with the knob a bit more.

He sighs, letting his tense muscles loosen up under the soothing spray. If there’s at least one good thing he can get out of this, it’s being allowed to take a hot shower longer than five minutes without the dorm’s patriarch breathing down his neck about the water and electric bills later.

(Bless Sakyo, Juza respects him, but even when they’re not deep in debt he still won’t stop pinching pennies and cutting corners wherever he can.)

Cheap soap is still cheap soap, though; clicking his tongue, Juza pumps a few globs of the provided bath gel onto his palm and winces at the tacky, artificial feel of it.

Kinda gross.

Whatever. He lathers himself up without further complaint, doing his best to rub the lingering grime and stickiness off his skin.

Losing himself to the rhythm of it a little, Juza’s about to rinse the suds off his body when he hears the creak of the door opening up. Unsteady steps, the rustling of fabric and the clink of a belt being unfastened, followed by a guttural groan and—

“For fuck’s sake, Settsu, couldn’t ya have waited a few more minutes?”

Banri doesn’t reply, clearly too caught up in the euphoria of emptying his bladder into the porcelain throne.

Juza tries his best to ignore the sound of piss steadily streaming into the toilet. It’s disgusting. And a little invasive. He feels like he’s hearing something he shouldn’t listen in on, a violation of privacy, and also feels like his senses are the ones being violated.

The distinct sound that the shower’s flow barely drowns out, the brief acrid smell before it’s covered up the clean scent of soap.

Even Banri’s mere presence alone, something so normal if not a regular nuisance that Juza can easily tune out like white noise, has sharpened into something acutely uncomfortable. Something Juza is all-too-aware of, just beyond the frosted glass of the shower door.

It’s disgust that makes a shiver run up his spine. Right? Right. It has to be that.

Disgust. Nothing but.

He holds his breath and holds still, waiting for Banri to finish his business. There’s a satisfied sigh and then the toilet being flushed, followed by some wet scrubbing noises. Good, at least the fucker knows to wash his hands afterwards.

Juza keeps on waiting. But Banri doesn’t seem like he’s going to leave. In fact, there are more sounds of… clothes being taken off?

Before Juza can event begin to process what’s happening, Banri pulls the shower door open—as buck naked as Juza is, and—plasters himself against Juza’s back, hands immediately roaming his body, feeling him up.

“Wh—Settsu!”

“You keep mentioning this Set-tzu guy, you’re gonna make me jealous.”

Banri―no, Fox punctuates his low, breathy murmur with a sharp tug to one of Jack’s nipples, earning him a startled gasp.

“Or is that what you’re aiming for, hm? Riling me up so I pay more attention to you?”

“…You say you’re jealous, Fox, how d’you think I’ve been feelin’ the whole time? Watching you whore it up for everyone else’s attention while I was right there?”

Juza pulls on Jack’s surfacing anger and counters with a snarl, though he doesn’t struggle particularly hard to escape Banri’s grip. He bucks back against Fox, grinning darkly when he feels a familiar hard heat bump up against his hip.

With the shower raining down on both of them, the sensation between their bodies becomes muggy, almost suffocating.

“Get the fuck off me and go wait in bed, shithead.”

“Hmm, no, I don’t think I will.”

Fox refuses to let go no matter how much Jack tries to shake him off, a hand curling around his chest to squeeze the bulging muscle while the other one slips downwards. He takes his sweet time teasing Jack, groping his ass while his thumb presses between his glutes, prodding at his hole.

Jack sucks in a breath between gritted teeth, readjusting his stance so there’s less of a chance that he’ll slip and fall, even though it means he’s giving Fox easier access.

“Are we seriously gonna fuck here,” he groans, only half-complaining.

It’s not as if they haven’t tried weirder positions before, but this is the first time they’re doing it under a shower while the water’s running. There’s an added element of waste to it, decadence, and a bit of a dangerous thrill from the risk of injury.

It turns Juza on more than he’d like to admit.

Fox circles his pucker with the tip of his thumb, humming against Jack’s shoulder before he pulls back to answer. “Why not? You don’t like getting dirty, yeah? Nowhere cleaner than the shower, clean freak.”

Ah, fuck. Are they really gonna bank this scene on that tiny, insignificant bit of Jack’s characterization?

A few firm prods to his twitching hole has Juza biting his lip before he can work up a coherent reply. Banri’s touch is insistent, demanding―but more importantly, dry.

Oh, it’s drenched in water alright, but water alone doesn’t make good lube. Frowning, Jack reaches blindly backward until his palm slaps against some part of Fox’s torso, which he then pinches. Hard.

Banri yelps, jerking away from Juza’s hand. “Th’hell was that for?!”

“We are not doin’ this without prep. Last time we did, my ass got so fuckin’ sore―”

“I got it, man. Chill.”

There’s the pop of a cap being flipped open and the horribly unsexy sound of gel being choked out from a tube.

Juza jumps a little when Banri’s hands return to groping his ass, this time slicked-up and cold―but at least Fox has the courtesy to slather the lube around on the dip of Jack’s back first, warming it up a bit before he spreads it downwards, fingering it into the cleft.

Resting his forehead against the cool bathroom tile, Jack closes his eyes and tries to keep his breathing steady.

It’s different, the mix of sensations. Different than usual.

Water cascading down the back of his head, dripping down his sides. Fox’s heat against his spine, mouthing kisses at his nape, grazing his teeth over the sensitive skin. The slow but steady press of a slim fingertip as it penetrates Jack’s twitching pucker, pushing in, opening him up for something bigger, hotter.

The angle of it is―as he exhales a shuddering breath, Juza becomes overly-conscious of how he’s more tense than usual. The muscles in his thighs quiver as he tries to hold himself upright and steady, trying not to clench up tight and impede Banri’s progress.

Banri seems to realize this too.

His finger pulls out and goes further down, rubbing at his perineum instead, trying to get him to relax. His other hand skitters upward from its loose grip on Juza’s hip, splaying across the expanse of his chest, brushing through the coarse curls of his chest hair as his nails lightly scratch meaningless patterns over the skin.

The change makes Juza sigh, sweet and languid. Not that he’ll ever admit it, but he adores the fact that Banri loves to touch him so much, physical contact that isn’t laced with pain but rather with the intent to pleasure and please him.

Even when they’re not having sex or cuddling, when they’re alone, Banri likes to lean in close and drape his arms over Juza’s shoulders or lay his head on Juza’s lap, or even just lean against his back as they sit together in silence, each doing their own thing while still enjoying each other’s presence.

Drunk as he is, Banri still knows exactly where Juza likes to be touched. He closes his lips around a particularly sensitive spot just behind Juza’s jaw, giving it a few nips before soothing it with a deliberately noisy kiss.

Juza shudders, and Banri huffs a laugh through his nose, heated breaths ghosting against Juza’s earlobe.

Bracing his elbow against the wall, Jack leans his head back, reaching an arm behind him so he can pull Fox’s face closer. The angle’s too wrong for them to properly slot their mouths together, even with Fox meeting him halfway, so Jack settles for planting messy kisses all over Fox’s cheek, sometimes even landing on the corner of his lips when he’s lucky.

All the while, the shower rains down on them both, forcing them to keep their eyes shut as their faces drip with water.

It makes Banri laugh again, less sultry and more playful, and Juza’s heart flutters at the sound. He’ll never tell Banri how much he loves hearing him like that, not so occupied with being full of himself but rather, innocently happy.

Then a wet hand curls around his cock and Jack almost jumps, taken by surprise.

He groans, head tilting back until he’s leaning against Fox’s shoulder, as Fox works his half-hard arousal into a proper erection. The length fills out Fox’s palm nicely as he gives it a few slow, deliberate strokes, rolling the pad of his thumb over the drooling slit at the sensitive tip, spreading the precum around to make the glide of his hand smoother along the throbbing shaft.

“So big. Prob’ly rearrange the guts of anyone you fuck with this thing.” Fox coos with awe, almost reverence. “Yet you rarely ever get to use it. How’s that make you feel, hm?”

Jack snorts; he knows a cheap provocation when he hears one. If this is Banri making fun of him for his preferences, then he knows by now that, for Juza, it’s long past the point of being something to be embarrassed over; he isn’t bothered with it at all.

Besides, it’s not as if Banri’s unaffected by it either. Or else he wouldn’t be so enamoured with Juza’s ass―his bubble butt, as Banri likes to call it sometimes.

Fox must not like his non-answer, because the grip around Jack’s cock squeezes tight, right on the edge of painful. Jack hisses, nails digging into the meat of Fox’s shoulder, but Fox only slides his fist down to the base of Jack’s dick instead.

“Let’s make it a game.”

Fox emphasizes his whisper with a twirling lick into Jack’s ear, making him squirm.

“You don’t get to cum until I do. How’s that sound?”

Jack shoots back with a snide bark of laughter. “Sure you wanna bet your dignity like that, quickshot?”

Then he loses the rest of his retort because finally, finally, Fox has his slick fingers pressing against Jack’s entrance again.

One of them breaches the ring of muscle easily without further preamble. Then Fox quickly works his way up to two, three, laving his tongue up and down the side of Jack’s neck, sharp incisors hovering over the pulse point. Weaving quiet praise and filthy insults together, whispering them into heated skin.

By now, their bodies are practically glued together, sweat and proximity creating a clingy suction between Fox’s chest and Jack’s back.

It’s hot, and kinda gross, and isn’t that the whole theme they’ve got going on with this impulsive tryst? Pleasure intertwined with a slight feeling of disgust.

Jack rocks his hips back and forth, sighing sweetly as he enjoys the alternating pleasure of fucking into Fox’s fist and being fucked into by his fingers, heat building up deep in his core and travelling through every tingling nerve in his body.

Fox has his mouth back on that spot between Jack’s neck and shoulder, biting lightly into the muscle as it flexes with each movement. He sways along with Jack, careful not to hurt him even as he starts pumping his digits harder, faster, curling them right into the place that he knows will make Jack see stars and pull a muffled cry from his throat, which he gets.

“H-Hurry up.” Jack doesn’t quite beg, but it’s close enough that Fox decides to listen to him. For once.

Pulling out his fingers with a nasty squelching noise, Fox uses what’s left of the lube dripping down his palm to slick up his own hard-on, snickering to himself at how eager he already is. He presses the tip against Jack’s pucker, but instead of pushing in, just holds himself there.

A grumbling whine rattles out of Jack’s throat before he can stop it. He glances over his shoulder, scowling, vision slightly hampered by the water getting in his face.

“Wh, hnff, what’s the fuckin’ holdup?”

“Mm, no reason~? If you want it so bad, go ahead and take it. Push yourself back on my cock.”

“F-Fucker, why should I―”

“Longer you draw it out, longer it’ll take for you to cum.”

Biting back a curse, Jack sucks in a shuddering breath, back muscles flexing with the effort to control himself as he spreads his thighs a bit more, upper body sinking down in counterbalance.

Then, slowly, carefully, he rolls his hips backwards. The mounting pressure of Fox’s cockhead against his rim makes him groan, sweat pouring out of every pore in his body.

Until the tight muscle yields and stretches around the intrusion, swallowing an inch or two in one go.

Jack gasps, eyelids fluttering at the suddenness of the intrusion. Behind him, Fox lets out a low moan, similarly taken by surprise.

“Ah… haha,” Fox breathes out a faint chuckle, thumbing at the stretched-out muscle wrapped tight around his shaft. “Look at that. You take me so goo―ah, fuck!”

“Shut, up already.”

Jack cuts him off with a deliberate clench of his ass, smirking when Fox spits a string of incoherent curses at him. Even though it also makes him hyper-aware of how Fox feels inside him, spreading him open, throbbing hot and leaking precum into his guts…

Wait.

“Asshole, you didn’t put on a condom, did you?!”

“Oh. Oops. Nope, forgot.”

Jack swallows the saliva pooling under his tongue, trying to ignore the feeling of Fox’s dick inside him. Not that they haven’t fucked raw before, it’s just―he just took a leak right before this, right? Fuck, that’s nasty. And yet…

And yet. Juza can’t even think of asking Banri to pull out now.

Whatever.

He just has to make Fox cum first, preferably outside, then he’ll be free of this disgusting torture.

That’s easy. He’s taken Fox’s dick so many times already, he knows exactly what to do. What buttons to push to rile him up and rush him to climax.

Huffing through his nose, Jack pushes himself back until he feels Fox’s crotch pressed flush against his ass. The curly pubes are almost ticklish against his skin. He pauses for a moment to let himself adjust, then slowly drags himself off, making sure to squeeze tight as he goes.

Fox bites out another emphatic “fffuck!”, jerking slightly when it seems like he might slip out of that tight, welcoming heat completely. Both of them shiver at the sensation of Fox forcing himself back in, a few lurching thrusts that drive Jack up the wall. Figuratively and literally, with how he slides against the slippery tiles, grunting as he’s pushed up by each shove.

With that, they start fucking in earnest.

Jack eagerly grinds back against every swing of Fox’s hips, their skin smacking wetly between them and reverberating off the bathroom walls. His head hangs limp, shielding his face from the shower’s flow. He lets his mouth drop open, his breath coming out in harsh pants.

Every particularly forceful thrust punches the air out of his lungs, and every slow outward drag against his prostate makes him whine.

It’s not long before drool starts to escape his lips, sticky frothy strings of saliva dripping down, aided by gravity, to mix with the water swirling into the drain.

“Ah, a-ahn, nnf―hahh… fuh, Fox… h-hurry, up―nghh!”

He loses track of things, the steamy heat of the shower fogging up in his brain. All his limbs are trembling, his abs are rapidly becoming sore with how much he’s tensing up and twitching, and his back is starting to strain. Not to mention the pleasure rampaging through his body, demanding to be set loose.

His insides feels molten, thoroughly ravaged by the cock pistoning in and out of him at a dizzying pace, and his dick is so damn hard. He wants to cum. He needs to cum.

Fox still hasn’t cum yet, so neither can he.

Confusion and irritation tangles up the outline of Juza’s thoughts.

Why is it taking so long? Normally it doesn’t take much at all to finish Banri off. What’s different? Is it the shower? The position? Did the alcohol dull his sensitivity that badly?

Fox’s thrusts become rougher, sloppy and uncoordinated. He uses the hand that isn’t keeping a tight grip on Jack’s dick to grope his pecs, pinching and teasing the peaks of his chest. A few times his touch slides upwards until it catches on Jack’s throat, squeezing the delicate muscles. Not enough to choke him, but Jack’s gasping gets louder anyway.

It’s hard to breathe. The air is hot and humid, most of the clean soapy smell replaced by sweat.

An unbearable heat flares across Jack’s face, building up behind his eyes and nostrils. His nose is starting to run, dribbling snot over his lips and down his chin. His throat hurts, voice hoarse and crackly. His fingers are getting wrinkly and prune-y from all the moisture being absorbed into his skin.

It feels like he’s being hollowed out, his guts and organs compressing and making way, shaping him into the perfect sheath for Fox’s dick.

He’s a mess and it’s disgusting and he doesn’t care because it feels so, so good.

“M’almost there,” Fox heaves, rutting into him merciless and sharp, “C-Close, ah―fuck, you feel so good, Jack. You’re sucking me in, so greedy, fuck, fuck.”

Jack can only whimper in response, before biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself from making any more pathetic noises.

“Can I finish inside you? Jack? Please, please, I don’t wanna pull out―wanna mark you up, fill you up ‘til you can, fhngh, fff-feel it in your throat, pleeeaaase?”

Oh.

Neither of them are in control anymore.

Something else wells up in Juza’s belly, different from the desire to ejaculate. A heavy, insistent, burgeoning pressure damming up behind the tight grip of Banri’s fist around the base of his red, swollen cock.

Shit. He might not be drunk like Banri is, but Juza’s had a bunch of juice and soda over the course of the party as well. His bladder feels like it’s going to burst, and Banri might just fuck the piss out of him, with the way he’s jackhammering into Juza’s guts, clearly on the brink.

Along with Fox’s pleas in his ear, it feels like they’re both locked in mutual torment, burning up from hellish pleasure.

Licking his lips, tasting his own mucus and spit, Jack pulls hinself together just enough to rear back and twist an arm around Fox’s head. His fingers tangle carelessly in the wet mop of hair as he tugs Fox close, earning him a desperate whine.

Brushing his lips against a bright-red ear, Jack squeezes out through his quivering lips, “Mine.”

The noise that tears out of Fox’s throat is almost a growl, low and guttural and utterly possessed. He lets go of Jack’s dick to claw at his waist and snaps his hips roughly, once, twice, and then he’s spilling messily into Jack’s ass, throbbing tip bullying against the deepest parts it can reach.

Salivating through gritted teeth, he gives a few more stuttering thrusts, grinding his hips in lazy circles as he works his way through his orgasm. Thick ropes of spend streaks the spasming muscles of Jack’s inner walls, staking Fox’s claim. 

And then.

Like a chaser after a shot of hard liquor, another warmth surges into Jack, hotter and wetter than cum.

Oh, Juza distantly thinks to himself, light-headed, as he feels himself being filled up even more, something something, alcohol, diuretic.

Fox practically sobs with relief, his bladder relaxing and emptying itself, the pungent smell of urine wafting into the air and drowning out any other scent, overpowering and foul.

Triggered by all the intense stimulation, the pressure in his rectum heightening to the point of almost-pain, Jack pisses himself too. His own long-awaited release quickly gives way to incontinence, adding to the absolute mess they’re both making of themselves.

With bleary, half-open eyes, Juza dazedly watches as the liquid spurting from his penis changes from thick, viscous off-white to thin, watery yellow. The fumes make his eyes and nose water even more and his mouth go uncomfortably dry. With the overflow of Banri’s own vile mix of bodily fluids leaking out from Juza’s clenching hole and dripping down his inner thighs, all of it staining the bright blue bathroom floor tiles before getting washed away by the shower and sucked into the drain, Juza feels utterly, completely defiled. Both inside and out.

Unable to hold himself up any longer, his knees buckle and fold underneath him as he slowly collapses, twitching and trembling almost violently.

Banri follows him down, arms looped around his waist, holding on tight and softening the blow of the landing.

“Jack…”

With a final, listless moan of his name, Fox rubs Jack’s belly with both hands, putting pressure on his stomach like he’s trying to wring the last dregs from a sponge. Jack echoes his moan, his insides convulsing and squeezing tight.

A horribly unsexy sound, much like gel being choked out from a tube, fills their ears as Juza’s ass, still stuffed with Banri’s dick, pushes out globs of semen and piss around the softening shaft.

Fucking disgusting.

Juza can’t help it―softly, a little deliriously, he laughs.

Consciousness emerges from the murky depths of sleep. Juza wakes up to the sound of rustling plastic, blinking his crusty eyelids open, his unfocused gaze wandering around in the dim indirect lighting until he registers the cozy warmth radiating from the body next to him.

He rolls onto his side from where he had been stretched out on the bed.

There’s his boyfriend, bottle of something transparent and cold pressed to his forehead, condensation dripping down his face. Probably nursing a mild-to-severe hangover.

They’re both still naked, but not naked naked, got their undies on to cover up the important bits at least.

“Hey.” Banri’s voice is rough and hoarse, and his eyes are squintier than usual, ringed with a bit of red. “How ya feelin’.”

Juza just makes a rumbly noise in his throat in response. Hopefully it’ll get across that he really, really can’t be assed to say anything coherent out loud right now.

“Yeah? That’s fair.”

Nodding, Banri reaches over to the nightstand and drags a plastic bag onto his lap, marked with the logo of a nearby conbini. He clears his throat as he pinches a corner and upends the bag’s contents onto the bed.

A veritable waterfall of candies and chocolate bars, etcetera etcetera, comes tumbling out.

“I went out and got you some, uhhh,” vague wiggly hand gesture, “Some everything. Buncha stuff you like. Snacks and shit.”

Now it’s Juza’s turn to squint. Suspicious. Banri only gets him that volume of sweet treats when he’s trying to bribe Juza or to make up for wronging him somehow.

Banri’s face scrunches as he pulls the cold bottle away from his head.

“Sorry. Shouldn’t’ve pushed you too hard.” He strokes Juza’s head, brushing aside the hair falling over his eyes. “And you were the one to do most of the washing up too. I think? I dunno, all I remember was feeling fuckin’ amazing and then passing the fuck out.”

Was Juza the one who cleaned them both up after they finished? He doesn’t remember either. All he knows is that he somehow managed to crawl into bed and then, poof. Blank. Nothing.

“Well, don’t worry too much ‘bout it, I guess.” Leaning down to press a kiss right under Juza’s left eye, Banri then groans as his body aches in protest. “Never gonna get blackout drunk like that again. Promise. ‘Least, not unless we got Omi or Sakyo-san or any of the other adults around to pace us.”

Juza continues to stare at him.

“What,” Banri snaps, unnerved.

“Settsu, you don’t… remember? What you did to me?”

“Whaddya mean, what I did to―we had sex, right? You hauled my ass outta the party and we went to a love hotel and then I…”

The blood drains away from Banri’s already-pale face, his expression twisting with horror and regret.

“Shit! I didn’t force myself on you, did I!? Swear to fuck, I thought you were down for it but if you weren’t―did I ignore the safeword? Hyodo, I'm so goddamn sorry, I―”

“Settsu. I didn’t mean it like that. Settsu, Settsu―Banri!”

Juza pulls his panicking boyfriend into a hug, a little awkward given their prior position and unfortunately squishing the snacks between them.

Banri smushes his face into Juza’s chest, right between his tits, and Juza sighs but lets him, rubbing a hand up and down Banri’s back.

“I didn’t say no, I wasn’t refusing, it’s okay. If anything, I took advantage. You were drunk, and I wasn’t. I still made you fuck me anyway.”

“But I wanted to,” Banri whines, like a petulant brat trying to win an argument.

“Yeah, trust me, I knew.” Juza chuckles. “Still. I was totally into it, up until you…”

He mumbles the rest of his words, too indistinct to make out.

Extracting his face from the plush heaven of Juza’s pecs, Banri looks up at his boyfriend’s averted gaze with a worried frown. “Until I what,” he prods, gentle but cautious.

Juza flushes red, the heat crawling up from his chest all the way to the tips of his ears.

“Hyodo. What did I do to you.”

“…in me.”

“Huh? You gotta speak up, man. I can’t―”

“You fucked me for who knows how long, raw, gave me a creampie, and then pissed in me.”

Banri’s jaw audibly clicks shut, a myriad emotions flickering across his face before it smooths out into forced neutrality.

“…Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.” Juza turns away again, heaving a sigh. “Said you wanted to mark me up, like some fuckin’ goddamn feral animal going ‘round claiming territory by pissin’ on things.”

“That. Yeah. Okay. Probably shouldn’t’ve done that.”

Another beat of silence.

Banri swallows around the lump in his throat, his tongue leathery and dry all of a sudden. “Whyyy does it sound like you maybe kinda sorta liked it anyway…?”

Instead of answering his question, Juza snatches the water bottle out of his hand, twists the cap open, and chugs it all in one go. Banri doesn’t even have time to blink before he crumples the empty plastic and tosses it at Banri’s chest.

“Get me another one o’ those.”

“Uh, sure, no problem. I guess you must be feelin’ pretty dehydrated after all that shit I put you through, yeah.”

God, what a fucking idiot. Does Juza have to spell everything out for him, one by one?

“I’m gonna drink it, and then we’re gonna go back to the bathroom for round two,” Juza declares with a glint in his eye. “You asked, so let’s really figure out whether I’ve got a piss kink or not. And this time it’s my turn to give you a golden shower, mark you up as mine.”

He doesn’t miss the shiver that travels up Banri’s spine. Good.

It’s time to get his revenge.

Chapter Text

Between the two of them, Banri’s the one more sensitive to changes in temperature. It’s not that Juza is completely immune to the sweltering summer heat or the chilly winter cold, but his naturally high body temperature means that he can shrug it off more easily than most.

In comparison, what Banri considers to be a comfortable temperature is an almost comically narrow range. One degree too hot or too cold for his liking and he’ll be complaining about it to anyone who’ll listen, and even to those who would rather not.

Before he got over his emotional constipation and added the label of ‘boyfriend’ to the list of things Juza would consider him as, this mainly manifested in Banri being basically completely useless and unmoving if the AC wasn’t at full blast during the summer or if the heating wasn’t switched on during the winter.

Which, due to Sakyo’s continued tight grip on the dorm’s utility usage despite the reveal that Syu is the one footing the bill, still occurs sometimes.

Now? Now he has a human furnace to leech heat from when it gets cold.

It sucks that he’ll constantly whine on and on about Juza being wayyy too warm and sweaty, you overcooked daikon to cuddle with during the more hot and humid nights, but sharing a bed and wrapping themselves around each other on the colder nights is one of the more pleasant experiences that comes with it.

Sure, Banri’s internal temperature regulation is still an absolute crapshoot. He won’t stop poking Juza with the fucking icicles he calls his fingers and toes when all Juza wants to do is to drift off into dreamland, either.

The affectionate physical contact and the way Banri gets all spoiled and cuddly more than makes up for it, though.

So.

In conclusion, to reiterate: Juza has never met anyone more sensitive to hot and cold than Banri.

…And somehow that’s led to him scrolling through articles and how-to guides about a certain something to try out in the bedroom, wondering if his boyfriend will love it or hate it.

This winter hasn’t been kind to Banri. Or to anyone who can’t handle the cold, really.

Despite the record lows, Banri’s new responsibilities as the director’s assistant, as well as his ever-increasing passion for theater, results in him being busier than Juza’s ever seen him. Not that Juza doesn’t have his own obligations to fulfill, but he certainly doesn’t need to juggle as many spinning plates as Banri does.

Their room becomes little more than a pit stop for Banri to take short breaks between his duties, scant free time spent mostly on naps to rest and recharge. Juza does what he can to support Banri as much as possible, but Banri seems most pleased just from being able to curl up on Juza’s lap and let himself be hugged like an oversized teddy bear.

It could be his pride stopping him from asking for more help. But it could just as likely be that Juza’s mere presence alone is a balm for his fatigue, enough that he doesn’t need much else.

Indeed, Banri doesn’t seek out praise or compensation for his efforts. He’s grown into a person who gets fulfillment from helping others improve and succeed under his guidance instead. Very much like their beloved director.

He can be a harsh teacher at times, and he can get frustrated when his innate dexterity impedes his ability to sympathize with those who can’t immediately grasp the lessons he’s trying to impart. Very rarely, however, does he actually ridicule them for not being able to understand or follow his instructions. Not like he used to be, not anymore. He changes his methods to suit their strengths and weaknesses, challenging them to test their limits.

Except for Juza.

Because with Juza, the core of the way they interact and inspire each other hasn’t changed since the very beginning. A rivalry both on and off the stage, competing in every which way they can think of. Which, yes, continues to include some amount of mockery and derision.

But it’s not just empty criticism―Banri points out Juza’s flaws and shortcomings for the purpose of forcing him to be aware of and overcome them.

And it’s not like Juza keeps his head down and mouth shut, taking it all without complaint. He’s learned to give his own opinions and stick to his guns too. He might follow Banri’s advice sometimes, and just as often he might prove to Banri that the way he was doing things was the right one all along.

The choreography and flow of a fight scene, the subtleties of facial expression and body language; they have different approaches for everything and their opinions often clash because of it, sometimes to the point of raised voices and bruised egos.

That just means exchanging different perspectives of the same view. Pushing and pulling each other to the top, and further on to ever-increasing new heights.

…There’s just one thing Juza will never admit to. Not out loud, at least, and certainly not to Banri himself.

But those rare times when Banri listens to him―reluctantly admits defeat and does things Juza’s way―there’s a… he won’t say dark, but certainly strange satisfaction he gets out of it. Not a malicious one, but it curls up heavy in his gut all the same.

Maybe it’s the gratification of finally being listened to, of having his voice heard and his opinions respected after a long and lonely childhood of being feared and shunned and ignored. Maybe it’s the joy of being able to tell someone what to do without resorting to abject physical violence. Maybe he actually has gotten his wires crossed and does derive some inappropriate pleasure from bossing people around.

He can’t say for sure.

But what he can do is put it to (questionably) good use, along with some newly-acquired knowledge of Fun Stuff he wants to try out.

His opportunity comes when Banri’s workload winds down to a close. Taking advantage of the very last job being a request from a theater company in another prefecture to guest star in the final show of their production, Juza forcefully tags along as an extra helping hand. He sneaks in a reservation for an overnight stay at a nearby hotel and gets Izumi to play it off as a reward for all of Banri’s hard work, which isn’t entirely wrong, to be fair.

(In return for her eager cooperation, Juza promises to buy a selection of local specialty retort curries for her to taste test once he gets back.

Bless the director, she’s such a wonderful person, but she’s also so very predictable and so very easy to bribe.)

The performance goes off without a hitch.

Banri’s role is, as expected, more of a fanservice-y bit part than anything majorly important to the overall plot, but he puts his all into it nonetheless. The audience cheers for him when curtain call rolls around, and he gets plenty of good-natured ribbing and slaps on the back from the rest of the cast at the afterparty.

Juza watches him from the sidelines, proud and envious of his easygoing charisma in equal measure. There’s a barely-noticeable stagger to his steps, though. He must be tired after all.

Putting on the face of a concerned friend, Juza manages to pull Banri out of the crowd, making excuses for their early retreat. Banri doesn’t put up a fight, leaning a bit more of his weight into Juza’s grip to sell the façade of drunkenness.

Before long, Juza’s herding Banri to the hotel room he booked for them. The moment he gets the door open, Banri beelines for the bed without even bothering to take off his coat or socks and drops himself face-first onto it, groaning long and loud and low, like all the life in his body is being expelled through his breath.

Juza flicks on the lights and the air conditioner, then settles their luggage and takes their toiletries to the bathroom. There, he starts up the water to get a warm bath running, dropping in some of the provided bath salts and watching the water fizz up in the western-style tub for a moment before stepping back out. He finishes up the last few odds and ends he needs to prepare before standing over the bed, where Banri hasn’t budged an inch from where Juza left him.

After a minute or two of utter silence, Banri rolls onto his side. He’s got an arm thrown over his eyes, and his hair is sticking to his cheek, lips drawn into a pout.

“…What. Quit starin’ at me like that, ya creep.”

Oh, so he still has enough energy to be a dick? That’s good. It won’t be nearly as much fun without him fighting back at least a little.

Juza shrugs, clears his throat. “Fuck me for bein’ worried ‘bout ya, then.”

He then tries to change his tone into something rougher, but also more appreciative. The voice of a right-hand man speaking to the one who commands him.

“…Y’did great out there, Cap’n. Tough few weeks but ya stood at the helm an’ steered clear through the storm like it was nothin’.”

For a long moment, he doesn’t get any response. Worried that he might’ve misjudged Banri’s willingness to play along, Juza still doesn’t back down anyway, even as the quietness stretches on into awkward territory.

Then he hears a huff. Banri uncovers the rest of his face, something like exasperated but fond amusement peeking through in the slight upward curl of his lips.

“Never thought I’d hear such high praise from the Deputy’s own mouth,” Doug sneers, eyes aglitter in the dim, warm light. “Yer planning somethin’, ain’tcha?”

“Only if yer feelin’ up to it.”

Tig allows himself a rare full smile, wide and toothy. It feels strange without his mask to hide it. There’s no need to cover himself up here, though. Not when it’s just the two of them, who know each other too well for something as small as that to make a difference.

Both as the captain and the deputy of the pirate crew ANIMS they are now, and as the childhood friends they once were and continue to be behind their codenames, chasing each other through the endless expanse of space.

Enough sentimentality, though. Tig can reminisce more on their bond once he’s done getting what he wants out of Doug.

“First things first is a bath. And I’m comin’ with; this place has a tub big enough fer us both.”

“Yeah? Gonna get handsy with me while we’re in it?”

Here’s where Tig’s supposed to lay out the conceit of the game he intends to play. Except, suddenly, Juza is struck by the concern that he might be asking too much out of Banri. Especially since he’s bound to be tired.

Propping one knee up on the bed, Juza leans forward to stroke Banri’s flank. Warmth meets his palm through the fabric of Banri’s pants. If just his skin is that hot already, then his body might be overheated. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea after all.

He starts to move away, an apology ready behind his teeth, but Doug tugs him down before he can back out. Careful not to crush Doug under his bulk, Tig lets himself be pulled into a chaste meeting of their lips before Doug bites his mouth open and urges him to reciprocate. The noise that Doug sucks out of Tig as they tangle their tongues together is louder and more desperate than he’d like to admit.

It stings his ego a lot less when he manages to make Doug whine just as pathetically by pinching and rolling his earlobe between his fingertips.

Then, a familiar signal: a fingertip tracing the back of Juza’s hand, from knuckle to wrist.

Well then.

Since Banri’s giving him the go-ahead…

Before their kisses can get too spit-slick and sloppy, Tig pushes himself up and away, straddling Doug’s thighs. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand and swallows the rest of the saliva pooling under his tongue.

Beneath him, Doug looks almost―can a person be described as decadent? As he lies loose and lax against the pillows, with half-lidded eyes, mussed hair, and a red flush settled high on his cheeks. His jacket is halfway off his shoulders and the collar of his shirt is stretched out, revealing a tasteful peek of his clavicle.

“Ain’t like ya to hesitate, Tig. Don’tcha wanna play?”

He crooks his finger in sultry invitation.

Tig swallows again, a gulp that’s almost loud enough to be audible in the silence. Steeling his restraint, he returns Doug’s lopsided smirk with his own impish grin.

“Aye, we’re playin’ alright,” he purrs, circling his fingers around one of Doug’s thighs and giving it a squeeze. He supposes he’s lucky Doug only jolts in place a bit and doesn’t outright kick him off, knowing his tendencies. “But we’re playin’ a game on my terms tonight. Let’s see if the trusty Cap’n can take an order just as good as he gives ‘em. Think you can handle that? Lettin’ yerself be bossed around by your subordinate?”

Doug barks out a single laugh, sharp and bright and challenging. “Depends! What’s in it for me? Deal seems a teeny li’l too one-sided, if ya catch my drift.”

His swaggering cuts out with a muffled yelp when Tig abruptly comes down on him, caging him in between his elbows. His eyes go wide and his breath hitches in his throat as Tig leans closer, enough for his baritone voice to be a low, pleasant vibration against his ear.

“S’all up to you. Be a good boy for me and I’ll give you a very nice reward for your efforts. Got that?”

Then he rears back onto his knees, still wearing that expression of daring mischief. Doug stares at him, open-mouthed, rendered speechless with both awe and dread. Tig can see the stars in his eyes, a rush of adoration rising within those twin galaxies, and tries to keep down the gooey affection welling up in his own heart before it threatens to burst out of his chest.

He holds out a hand for Doug to take. “That a ‘yes’, or…?”

“I―fuck, yes! Y-Yeah, shit, mmhm. Whatever you say, Tig.”

Tig’s grin gains a pointed edge to it. “My codename? Oh, no, no, we can’t have that.” His voice drips with condescension, the words rolling off his tongue like honey and venom. “Surely you can think of a better, more appropriate way to address me, Captain.”

Some spark of defiance flickers to life in the depths of Doug’s gaze; both Banri and his character instinctively fighting back against the authorial tone Juza commands in Tig’s speech. Even so, he struggles with himself for only a brief moment before reluctantly biting out, “Yes… sir.”

“Hmph. Good enough, I suppose.”

There’s a delicate thread of tension hanging in the balance between the two of them, a tug-of-war of boundaries―Tig testing the strength of his hold over Doug’s obedience. With an arm slung around Doug’s waist, firm but not unyielding, Tig leads him to the bathroom, where the water has filled the tub to an adequate level, right on time.

Tig slips away from Doug, twisting the faucet to shut off the flow. He dips a hand in the bubbly, rose-and-vanilla-scented water and swirls it around, a pleased hum vibrating out of his chest.

“Nice an’ warm, all for you,” he coos, flicking his gaze back to Doug in the corner. “Well? Don’t jus’ stand there. Strip.”

“…Yes, sir.”

Scowling, Doug grabs the lapels of his coat and starts to shuck it off, but is stopped by a stern click of Tig’s tongue. He bites his lip before he can snap a rude comment, looking to Tig for further instruction.

“No need to rush, Captain. Put on a li’l show for me. We have all the time in the world.”

“Fuck you,” Doug spits back with some heat, but he proceeds to do as he’s told anyway.

Instead of the usual careless haste with which he undresses himself during trysts like these, his pace is unhurried and his movements much more deliberate. Exaggerated. He draws Tig’s attention to the way he lets his jacket slip off his shoulders, down his upper arms, gathering in the bend of his elbows.

Turning halfway, he tugs one arm through the sleeve, letting gravity do the rest of the work for the other side. The heavy coat drops to the floor, pooled around his feet like a shed skin.

The shirt goes off next. Grabbing the hem with both hands, Doug twists himself out of it with a dancer’s grace, careful not to catch his chin or his hair on the collar. He then turns around so Tig can have a view of his back muscles flexing as he repeats the same with his innerwear, black matte fabric a sharp contrast to his pale body.

Judging from the rumbling, throaty noise he hears, the display is very much appreciated.

Lastly, his pants. Leaning back against the wall, Doug hooks his thumbs behind the waistband, going as slow as humanly possible. Like every inch of skin revealed is something to be savoured, one bite at a time. He sways his hips as he does so, and Tig cannot help but follow the motion with his eyes, narrowed and cat-like with amused satisfaction.

For as reluctant as he had been at the start, seems like Doug’s having his own fun with it as well. He cups a hand over the beginnings of an erection bulging out his briefs, locking eyes with Tig from under a half-lidded gaze.

“This what you want, sir?” With a snicker, he juts out his hips, thrusting against his palm. “Just say the word, and I’ll fuck you as hard as you want.”

Tig smiles thinly at him. “Cute offer. But no thanks.”

He gets up from where he had been sitting on the edge of the bathtub; in one, two steps, he’s an arm’s length away, devouring Doug whole with his eyes. Doug suppresses a shiver under the heavy weight of that hungry gaze, hand falling away from his crotch to brace himself against the wall behind him.

Tig glances at his underwear, at the wet spot spreading over the front of it, stained with the proof of his excitement. “Oh? Not gonna take that off?”

“Damn, you that desperate for my dick?” Doug snarks back, though it sounds more shaky than he’d like. “C’mon, just call this whole thing off already. We both know how much you’d rather―”

“Captain.”

Doug’s mouth snaps shut, so suddenly that his teeth clack together. A fresh burst of rosy red spills under the canvas of his skin, crawling down his neck and spreading over his chest and shoulders like ink through water. His pupils practically shrink to pinpricks, animal fear and desire swirling within them in a confusing mess.

And Tig can see it. All of it.

A weapon learns to read the emotions and subtleties of its wielder like an open book, after all.

“Just one more, Captain. You can do it.”

In any other situation, he might come off as patronizing. Disingenuous. But here, Tig’s tone is soft and entirely sincere. Right on the edge of praise.

Biting his lip, Doug peels himself out of his underwear, stepping out of it one leg at a time. Now there’s nothing left to hide, all of him laid bare. He starts to curl in on himself with shame, but a light touch on his hip stops him in his tracks.

In lieu of saying anything, Tig leans forward. Slowly, carefully, so that Doug can reject him if he wants to.

He doesn’t.

With both hands settled comfortably around Doug’s waist, Tig presses a gentle kiss to Doug’s forehead, another to the tip of his nose. Two more, one under each eye. Then he seals their lips together, sweet, tender. Reassuring.

Doug chases after him with a quiet whine when he pulls away, shushed by the touch of Tig’s thumb to his lower lip.

“There you go. See? Wasn’t that hard, was it?” Tig tucks a stray lock of Doug’s hair back behind his ear, the simple gesture exuding his fondness. “Now it’s my turn.”

He takes a step back, exhaling a laugh through his nose when Doug meets him with a questioning gaze.

“Sir…?”

“I’m sure you can figure out what I mean.”

It takes him a minute, but he does. Lighting up with an almost childish excitement, Doug reaches for Tig’s clothes. Hurriedly at first, before he catches himself and draws his hands back, clenching them into fists before trying again, slower this time.

Tig stands still, lets himself be undressed, adjusting his body as required. The feeling isn’t new, but the difference is―the sense of subtle control, not forced, but freely given, is heady. Addictive.

Doug’s hands crawling over his skin, Doug’s focus entirely on him, the layers of fabric easing off of his body, taken off in such a conscious, purposeful way. Coat, shirt, belt, jeans. Doug dips his head down to Tig’s exposed chest but stops an inch away, breath ghosting against the skin, making goosebumps break out across Tig’s arms.

He’s been told to take Tig’s clothes off, but not anything else. He flicks his eyes up, a silent request for permission.

One that Tig does not grant. “Only your hands,” he directs, chuckling at the obvious pout he gets as a reply. “Ah, and no touchin’ my privates. Tonight ain’t about me.”

Doug sticks out his tongue, but obliges. He lowers himself down to a crouch, then tugs the elastic of Tig’s boxers away from his body first, so that it doesn’t get caught on his half-hard arousal when he pulls it down his thighs. Stroking his calf, Doug prompts him to lift one leg, then the other, divesting him of his underwear completely.

“Done.”

It’s cute how pleased he seems with himself for following such a simple order. Tig allows him the small triumph and rewards him by leaning down to plant another kiss to the top of his head. Then he hauls him up to give him a proper smooch on the mouth, once again breaking it off before it can get too messy, and nudges him over to the tub.

As he lowers himself into the frothy waters, Doug breathes out a long, satisfied groan, sinking down until his shoulders are submerged beneath the foam. Tig follows suit right after, dipping into the bath on the opposite side.

It’s juuust about big enough to fit the two of them with their legs curled up. When Tig gestures at him to come closer, though, Doug easily complies, shifting himself around until he’s leaned against Tig’s chest, upper bodies pressed flush together.

“This is... really nice,” he admits, settling his head in the crook of Tig’s shoulder. Then, quieter, almost a whisper, like he doesn’t want it to be heard: “Thanks.”

Tig buries his face in Doug’s hair to hide his smile. You’re welcome sits on the tip of his tongue, but he can’t say it yet. They’ve barely even gotten started with the main course.

Instead, he decides to be a little mean and rests his palms on Doug’s belly, slowly stroking upwards, dancing the pads of his thumbs over the ribs and rubbing the sensitive nubs of his chest with his fingertips.

Doug twitches at the sudden sensation, water sloshing about as he tries to escape from the touch. But then Tig tangles their legs together, locking him in place.

Mouthing at his nape, Tig gives it a little bite, then sucks at it hard enough to leave a mark before lapping at it with his tongue. In his arms, Doug trembles and goes still, squeezing his eyes shut. Tig can hear his breaths becoming shallow and ragged, adding to the hot and humid air fogging up the bathroom.

“That’s no good.”

Giving one of his nipples a harsh tug, the sound that wrenches out of Doug’s throat, raw and debauched, sends a bolt of molten heat straight through Tig’s gut.

He growls, grabbing Doug’s jaw with his other hand and jerking it downwards. “You gotta keep yer eyes on the prize, Captain. Look.”

Hooking his chin over Doug’s shoulder, Tig makes sure he has his eyes open before he reaches down, down―following the fine trail of hair underneath Doug’s navel until his soaped-up hand is buried in the coarse pubes below.

A sharp exhale punches out of Doug’s lungs as Tig wraps his fingers around his dick, just barely giving it a squeeze. He then chokes on his next breath when Tig slowly, languidly tugs along the length. Thumbing over the frenulum while a fingertip strokes the very tip, teasing at the slit.

Shuddering violently, Doug has to be held in place with an arm pulling him back against Tig’s chest. His thighs quiver as that devilish hand slides down to the base of his cock, briefly loosening its grip on the shaft to grope and fondle his balls.

And when Tig goes back up and over his throbbing dick, working up into a pace that’s steady and relentless, Doug twitches and bucks against the bruising grip Tig has on his waist, trying his best to stay still without much success.

He muffles his shuddery moans against the back of his hand, eyes involuntarily fluttering shut. Until he reaches a fever peak, thrusting into the tight ring of Tig’s hand with a cry of pleasure―

That cuts off into a strangled cry when Juza chokes off his release, squeezing to the point of pain.

“Ah, fffuck, godDAMNit what the fuck are you doing!?”

“Makin’ sure the fun don’t end too early, s’what,” Juza leers, easing off of Banri’s erection once he’s sure the heat in his hand threatening to burst has gone back down to an unsatisfying simmer. “We both know your stamina’s jackshit compared to mine, and ‘sides, getting jizz in the bathwater is gross as hell, dude.”

Even as the words leave his mouth, Juza isn’t sure that Banri can even hear a single thing he says. No thanks to the litany of "fuck you, fuck you, fuckin’ daikon tease I hate you” he’s muttering under his breath like a mantra and all.

They’re just empty words, anyway; Juza knows, and he knows that Banri knows it, too.

He presses a soothing kiss to the side of Banri’s neck, just to prove it. See? Now the yapping fox has gone quiet again, the stream of insults and expletives tapered off into a defeated sigh.

Dragging his lips up Banri’s jawline, leaving a hickey right below his ear, Juza takes the time provided by his boyfriend’s momentary sulking to properly wash his body. He presses both thumbs into Banri’s nape and works down from there, making sure to knead out every tense knot of muscle he comes across while being careful not to linger too long on his sensitive spots.

This time, the noises that rattle out of Banri’s chest are much more appreciative. He slowly unwinds under Juza’s attentive efforts, going loose and pliant as the sharp tingles left over in his body from the denied orgasm fades away into the background, a more subtle, whole-body pleasantness taking its place.

Though the foam and the fizz have long since subsided, leaving only slightly soapy water, the density infused by the bath salts leaves them both feeling more buoyant, lighter in both body and mind.

Once he deems that he’s given Banri enough of a massage, Juza nudges him off his lap and quickly scrubs himself down, not bothering to give himself the same special treatment that he gave Banri. The warmth of the bath is almost completely gone, so he reaches up for the showerhead and, after testing it on his own back first to make sure it’s the right temperature, pulls out the drain plug and rinses them both down with the spray as the tub empties out.

“My legs are kinda numb,” Banri complains. “You gotta help me up. Might as well carry me to bed, too.”

Juza rolls his eyes. He’s pretty sure that Banri is lying, just to be a brat, but just in case… he climbs out of the tub first, then holds out both arms for Banri to latch onto, hauling him up and away from the bath, towards the sink. He grabs the towels off the countertop, wraps one around his waist and throws the other at Banri, who barely manages to catch it before it thwaps against his face.

“Dry yourself off an’ put a bathrobe on,” Juza orders with a sneer, taking a bathrobe for himself as well. “Then go lie back down on the bed. I got some other things to take care of first.”

He’s already out the door before Banri can say anything, but not too quick that he misses the way Banri’s mouth twists, more with confusion than displeasure. He laughs into his fist before quickly going about setting things up. Once he steps back into the bedroom, Banri’s already there, sitting on the edge of the bed and staring at the two bottles on the nightstand: one familiar and half-empty, the other not.

“New lube? Never seen that kind before,” he comments, almost idly.

Juza can see the line of tension running across his shoulders, making him come off stiff and wound-up tight as a coiled spring. Like prey that caught sight of a predator, ready to flee at a moment’s notice. Then he turns to face Juza, gaze sliding down to the small bucket in his arms, and squints.

“The hell s’that for. Thought I told ya I don’t like not bein’ told what’s gonna happen.”

Setting the bucket aside, Juza plops himself down next to Banri and rests a hand on his thigh. His skin still feels slightly damp and pleasantly warm from the bath. He looks at Banri and smiles, tries to come off as non-threatening as possible.

“What I wanna do to ya… might feel weird,” he admits, watching Banri’s expression closely for any sign of unease, “But it ain’t dangerous. Won’t hurt. An’ if it ever feels like too much, you know the safeword’s always an option.”

“Don’t treat me like I’m made of glass,” Banri snaps at him, mostly out of ingrained habit. He winces, then scratches the back of his head. “Sorry. You know how I… Okay. I’m―” He falters, swallows, nods. “I know. Yeah. Let’s do this.”

Juza mirrors his nod. “I’ll make ya feel real good, promise.”

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and when he opens them again it’s Tig back in place, all traces of tenderness wiped away and replaced with that cocky, commanding smirk. He lays a hand on Doug’s shoulder and all but shoves him onto the bed.

“Ow!” Breath knocked out of his lungs from the sudden impact, Doug scowls. “You could’a just used yer words instead of pushin’ me around, y’know.”

“I could, but you like bein’ pushed around here ‘nd there, don’tcha?”

The sullen silence he gets is enough of an answer. Fighting back a laugh, Tig crawls over Doug and sits back on his haunches, straddling Doug’s knees. He reaches for the bucket on the side table and pulls out―

A popsicle.

“You’re eatin’ that now?!”

Banri’s disbelief shining through Doug’s glower is a sight to behold. The laugh unfortunately escapes through Juza’s nose, which has his boyfriend’s frown curling harsher at him, but Tig splays one hand on the bit of his chest that’s exposed between the fluffy bathrobe, keeping him pinned down without too much force.

In his other hand, he waves the popsicle around like a magic wand before taking a corner of the plastic wrapper between his teeth. With a jerk of his head, he expertly tears it open―reminiscent of the way he sometimes rips a condom foil open with just one hand, when he wants to be a tease.

And, yup. The flush rising anew to Doug’s face means that he thought about it, too.

Closing his lips around the icy treat, Tig removes the rest of the wrapper before pressing two fingers to the popsicle itself. Then, he reaches down, towards one of Doug’s hands resting on either side of his head.

Doug flinches when Tig’s cold, slightly sticky fingertips touch his wrist. But he doesn’t pull away.

Knowing him, that’s as much of an ‘okay’ signal as Tig’s gonna get.

Tig takes his sweet time, licking up the drops melting down the side of the popsicle first, pushes the whole thing past his lips before drawing it back out, sucking on it as it leaves.

Creamy white stains the corners of his mouth. He can feel it, and wonders what he looks like in Doug’s eyes.

He keeps going like that, back and forth until he’s sure that Doug is fixated on his mouth. Then he brings the popsicle down and, pulling Doug’s bathrobe open, drags it over his chest, right down his sternum. Burning cold against his heated skin.

A hiss and a tiny shudder is the prize he gets.

More than that, though, is the way Doug bites his lip, trying to not move and stay still. To be a good boy.

Let’s see how much self-restraint he has, Tig thinks to himself. Dipping down, his warm breath ghosts over Doug’s skin before he follows the trail that the popsicle left behind with his mouth. Sudden heat to contrast the lingering cold.

Another shudder, stronger this time.

Again. The icy touch of the melting popsicle, then Tig’s mouth. Tongue and teeth and lips working in concert, chasing after the faint sweetness left on Doug’s skin.

Sometimes he lets the ice cream melt a bit more before upending it above Doug’s torso, letting the drops fall and splatter. Sometimes he traces long, meaningless patterns; swirling circles and zigzag lines around the dips and contours of Doug’s twitching, trembling muscles.

Occasionally he even twirls the stick around the peaks of his heaving chest, nipples pebbling into pert nubs from the chilly sensation before being engulfed in the wet heat of Tig’s mouth.

By now Doug has his own mouth hanging half-open, panting breaths interspersed with the occasional gasp or grunt. His arms are quivering, jittery fingers curling into fists and then unclenching again. Tig’s sitting on his thighs, so he can’t move them much, but it feels like he’s trying to refrain from clamping them together, a desperate attempt to stave off the growing pleasure.

And his dick. Poor thing, drooling precum all over Doug’s belly. One single touch might just set it off at this point.

But where’s the fun in that? They can still keep going, surely.

Doug is taking it well, better than Tig expected for sure; his eyes remain held open, remembering the demand made of him earlier in the bath. Though it’s obvious how much he wants to scrunch them shut, block out the sight so he has one less sense to be aware of.

“How ya doin’, Captain?” Tig rumbles without pausing in his ministrations. “Looks like you’re enjoyin’ it.”

“Ain’t it o-ob-vious,” Doug stutters at him with a grin, still putting up a cheeky front. As if Tig can’t see the sweat beading down his forehead, his neck―his desperation.

“Mm, but I want’cha to use yer words. Tell me.”

There’s less hesitation this time, and no words of defiance. Doug bites his lip, eyes flicking away for a second before he casts his gaze back to Tig’s hands, to the shining trails of spit all over his own upper body.

“F-Feels good,” he pants out, gasping when Tig dips what little remains of the popsicle into his navel. “Ff-fuh-ck!” Tig bends down and sucks up all the melted ice cream, before giving his belly button a thorough licking. Doug’s hips jerk up almost violently, lower back arching off the bed. “Sir, if you keep that up, I’m gonna―”

He throws his head back into the pillows with a frustrated cry as Tig’s popsicle-chilled mouth engulfs his throbbing heat at the same time he wraps a hand around the root and squeezes tight, once more driving him to orgasm only to cut it off.

Humming around the cock down his throat, Tig curls a hand around one of the thighs sandwiching his head, using it as leverage. He can feel his cool tongue warming up as he licks and swirls it around the turgid rod, the faint vanilla taste giving way to salty sweat and musky pre.

Somewhere above, Doug is babbling something. It doesn’t sound incoherent, so Tig should probably hear what he has to say at least.

Sinking down until he can kiss the ring of his fingers around the base of Doug’s dick, Tig makes a swallowing motion, tearing another sob out of Doug before he takes pity and draws back. He keeps his lips pressed against the tip, stroking the shaft with his other hand, and makes a questioning noise.

“Sir, I want―I don’t wa-ahn-nt, ghk! To c-cum-mnph, hhf, nnh…”

Oh? That’s interesting. Tig gives the glans a parting kiss before pulling away to speak. “Why not?”

He then lifts himself up to get a better look at Doug’s face. His eyes are covered by his arms, alas, but he’s gritting his teeth, jaw tensed, lips puffy and bitten-red.

“Captain?”

Was it a bit too much? Slowing and eventually stopping his strokes, Tig leans down over Doug. He rests a hand on his biceps, rubbing it with his thumb.

Still nothing. Troubled, he reaches for the clenched fist by Doug’s head, trying to slip his fingers between them.

“Doug…”

Silence.

Then, a quiet, wry chortle.

Doug lifts his arm, revealing his moist gaze, eyes narrowed to upturned crescent moons. He loosens his hand and allows Tig to lace their fingers together, giving it an affectionate squeeze.

“Yer too soft on me, sir,” he murmurs, pulling Tig’s hand close to give the back of it a kiss. “Shouldn’t just drop everythin’ the moment I look upset or whatever. Safeword’s there for a reason.”

Relief fills in the cracks of unease that had unknowingly opened up in Tig’s chest. He heaves a sigh, mildly peeved at both Doug and himself. Because Doug’s right, really.

“You want me to keep at it ‘til you’re cryin’ or what,” Tig huffs. Might as well try to gauge how far he’s allowed to go.

Doug shrugs at him, or the closest thing to a shrug since he’s flat on his back. “If you can make me.”

Them’s fighting words, but there’s not a single hint of challenge laced in his tone. Only straightforward invitation, and maybe some honest curiosity.

Tig gives himself a few seconds to let it sink in. How funny. That he, the supposed dom of this scene, is being encouraged by his sub to continue. Permission. He’s being given permission, but more than that, he’s only now realizing that he’s also been subconsciously waiting for permission, in a way.

Wanting to be told that it’s okay to want what he wants, because Doug will give it to him.

Banri will let him take it.

Beneath him, Banri wriggles. Not enough to knock Juza off, but enough to bring him out of his thoughts. “Y’kay there? Kinda spacin’ out. We can stop if ya want, consent goes both ways ‘nd all.”

Juza shakes his head, willing himself to get back in character. “Nah, I’m still good to go. ‘Preciate the check-in, though.”

“No prob.”

Doug’s smile remains bright and airy, up until Tig swipes the unfamiliar bottle from the nightstand and squirts out a viscous glob onto his palm. Then a little bit of trepidation sneaks into his expression, culminating in a shaky exhale when Tig dabs some of the gel onto his flank, testing it out.

It doesn’t really feel all that different from their regular lube, Tig notes. Is something supposed to happen? Or…

“―Hh!” Mouth falling open, Doug’s attention darts down to his leg. “Wha-uhh? It’s so…!” He glances back to Tig, an unvoiced question in his eyes.

Tig nods. “Warming lube. Too much?”

Doug must be much more sensitive than he is, or maybe it’s the sharp contrast to the cold sensation of before, because only after a few moments does Tig feel heat starting to spread from his hand and fingertips, a gentle but unrelenting wave.

“N-No, it’s just… sir, if you put that right on my…”

Doug trails off with a hoarse groan, evidently turned on by whatever image his mind conjured up. His erection, having flagged somewhat during their heart-to-heart, throbs with regained excitement.

“I’ll go real slow,” Tig assures him.

And go slow he does. He works the lube between his palms first, spreading it over both his hands, and… oh, that is some potent stuff. He can’t imagine having his own delicate spots subjected to that rolling intensity.

So he starts with his fingertips. Presses feather-light dots to Doug’s hips and skitters them upwards, gradually letting more and more of his fingers come into contact with Doug’s skin. A red flush follows the trail of his touch, spreading across Doug’s torso.

Following the motion with his eyes, Doug huffs and grunts; needy, quiet noises that Tig savors like a delicacy. He’s starting to sweat, too, which makes the glide of Tig’s hands along his body even smoother.

Eventually, Tig presses the full width of his hands into Doug’s muscles, giving him a full massage experience plus extra. Over the ridges of his ribs, thumbing between the valley of his pectorals and groping his tits, dipping into the divot of his collarbone and across his shoulders, down his arms and back up again.

Crucially, he doesn’t even consider going below the waistline until Doug is well and truly writhing under his touch. Have him all worked up and wordlessly begging for more with the way his body jerks and shudders, unable to escape Tig’s hands or his weight holding him down, voice escaping his lips in sharp, staccato moans.

There aren’t any tears in his eyes, but it’s a close thing; his squinty glare is wet and wanting, dark with lust. He looks up at Tig from under half-closed eyelids and mouths out a silent, babbling plea.

Touch my dick. Please, pleasepleaseplease sir I want it I need it I―

The first graze of Tig’s hand over his groin has him whimpering. A thumb brushing up against his balls, dragging down towards his perineum, tears a hiccuping sob from his chest.

But when Tig pauses there without getting to the main event, Doug makes a disgruntled, questioning sound in the back of his throat. He squints up at Tig, fingers curling with restless anticipation. Still so, so obedient, with seemingly no intent to touch himself for any relief at all.

Adorable. His precious, darling captain. Red-faced and wet with sweat and drool and precum. All for Tig.

“You’ve been such a good boy for me.”

What Tig really wants to do is to reach for Doug’s face and cradle his cheeks, but considering the dregs of the lube still sticking to his hands, that probably isn’t such a good idea. Instead, he strains downward, careful not to topple over and crush Doug beneath him, to give a playful bite to the tip of his nose before soothing it with a kiss.

After a few calming breaths, Doug laughs at his affection, warm and indulgent. He braces himself on his elbows and pushes himself up, surprising Tig when he catches his lower lip between his teeth, guiding him into a kiss. Then he lies back down, reaching around Tig’s thighs straddling him to give his ass a squeeze, earning him a sharp inhale.

“Yes, I have,” he grins, letting Tig bat away his groping hands with a chuckle. “So won’t you give this very good boy a reward, sir? I think I deserve it, after all the edging.”

“Patience,” Tig chides, even though his own composure is slowly but surely crumbling.

The desire that’s been building up inside him, tempted by the sight of Doug’s slick, pulsing cock, is almost unbearable. If he could just sink down on it, satisfy the craving deep in his belly and ride it to completion…

But, no. He has one more toy he wants to bring into play first.

“You can take a bit more, right?”

Doug’s eyes gleam with provocative thrill. “Bring it on. Whatever you’ve got, whatever you wanna do to me.”

Even with that spark of defiance, he eagerly obliges when Tig shuffles himself off Doug’s legs and nudges a pillow to his hip. Lifting his back off the bed, Doug settles back down on the pillow once Tig shoves it underneath him, lifting his waist up to a more exposed position.

He bites his lip, following Tig with his eyes as he reaches over to the bucket on the nightstand and pulls out a dildo, setting it on the bed. Again, something he hasn’t seen before, sleek and metal-shiny unlike their other sex toys, most of them silicone.

“Don’t hold your breath,” Tig reminds him, prompting his lungs to start working properly again, if a little ragged.

Wedging himself between Doug’s legs to keep them open, Tig adjusts them onto his shoulders so he can get better access to his ass. Circling the rim with his thumb, he gives Doug a moment to get used to the warming lube on such a sensitive area, watching his face closely for any sign of distress.

Then, after getting a quick nod, he slowly presses in, sinking the tip past the clenching ring of muscle. He doesn’t stop or pause to give respite, knowing that Doug has an averse reaction to suddenly halted progress. He works the lube into the inner walls, pulling out his thumb to push in a finger instead, feeling Doug’s insides flutter around his probing digit.

“Oh,” Doug gasps out, stomach muscles flexing, “Oh, that feels so weird. Fuck.”

Tig curls his finger, trying to find his prostate. “Bad weird, or?” He’s not as skilled as Doug when it comes to this, but he manages to graze against a spongy lump that has Doug jerking in place. Jackpot.

“N-No, it’s kinda―fuck, I can’t think if you keep doing that!” Translation: keep going or else I’ll kill you. “It’s kinda like, like,” Doug babbles, trying to keep a coherent train of thought, “Y’know the hentai bullshit where the bottom gets creampied and goes, ohh, mmh,” here his voice pitches obnoxiously high, making Tig snort, “I can feel your cum gushing inside me, it’s so hot. Yeah, kinda how that feels like.”

“Wow. Stellar performance there. If the whole space pirate thing doesn’t work out for us, maybe we can go into the pornstar business,” Tig deadpans, twisting in another finger just before Doug can say something snide back at him.

Not that it stops him, once he’s done choking on a strangled whine. “Yeah, y-you-ooh! Hnf, would like that, wouldn’t you,” Doug teases, wiggling his hips to swallow more of Tig’s fingers inside him. Three now. “Ah, but you’ll only beg like a whore for my dick, right, sir?”

“Just your dick? Don’t sell yourself short, Captain, your ass is a pretty damn fine piece of meat too. Case in point.”

He pulls his hand away, strings of lube trailing from his fingers with a lewd squelch as he keeps Doug’s ass pried apart with his other hand. His pucker is all puffy and pink, inviting; Tig wants to bury his face in there, lick it open until it’s gaping. But the lube probably tastes gross and chemical-y, so he refrains.

He grabs the dildo he set off to the side earlier, not wasting any time before pushing it in. It’s much smaller compared to their usual toys, so it slips in with ease.

But what’s special about this one is that it’s metal. And, considering that it’s been in a bucket full of ice this whole time…

“Whuh, wh-aa-haanh?! Why the FUCKisitsocoldholyshit!”

Doug’s entire body seizes up tight, limbs locked and trembling as the shock of the temperature difference between the warming lube and the chilled dildo sears through his brain, lighting up every nerve in his system with vivid sensation. His eyelids flutter, eyes rolling around underneath as his back arches fully off the bed, hips thrusting into the air in a futile attempt to escape from the burst of pleasure.

He cries out, helpless and pathetic, rapidly brought to the brink of ejaculation only to be denied once again by Tig’s hand keeping a grip around his cock. His balls churn and draw up tight, desperate to release their payload, but only a piddly stream of pre escapes from his weeping cumslit, dripping down over Tig’s hand and further down to his taint.

Without an outlet, the pleasure just builds and builds up in his core, dammed up behind the base of his dick. Until it has no choice but to let itself out a different way, coursing through his veins like liquid fire. His muffled scream tapers off into guttural noises behind gritted teeth, throat exposed and bobbing with each sound that escapes him.

Tig says nothing, just keeps one hand wrapped around Doug’s cock, tracing the veiny underside with his thumb, while his other hand strokes Doug’s hip, easing him through his dry orgasm. He’s intimately familiar with how intense it can be, having been on the receiving side of it far more than Doug has―at Doug’s mercy, even―and so takes care not to give him any extra stimulation that might tip the scales over towards the painful side instead.

Eventually, Doug’s body stops convulsing and he flops bonelessly back onto the bed, sucking in great gulps of air as his lungs start working again. His vice grip on the sheets beneath slackens, arms splaying wide.

A shiver runs down his spine as the cool air wicks the sweat off his overheated body. Before he can get too cold, Tig pulls him up and lets Doug lean into him, soaking up his body heat. He buries his face in Tig’s chest like he wants to burrow into his ribcage and never come back out.

“Fucking fffuck,” he bites out, inadvertently mouthing at Tig’s nipple and making him groan, “Shit whatthefuck I need to cum so bad, my dick fucking hurts. Please let me cum, sir, please pleasepleaseplease.”

“Just a bit more, Captain. I’ve got you.”

He sounds deliriously agonized; Tig wants to take pity on him and finish him off gently. But his own needs, having been neglected thus far in favor of playing with Doug’s body, finally demands his attention, becoming an unbearable ache.

Swiping the regular lube from the bedside table, Tig splashes a generous helping of it onto his hand. Which he then uses to stretch himself open, hissing as he forces himself to take the prep more hastily than usual. He distracts himself from the sting by grabbing the scruff of Doug’s bathrobe with his other hand, forcing their lips together. Doug’s whining turns into a different sort of neediness as he tilts their heads to get a better angle, curling his tongue into Tig’s mouth with a frantic recklessness that Tig struggles to match.

Just before he gets light-headed from lack of air, Tig roughly yanks Doug’s face away from him, pushing him back down against the pillows. Doug turns his head slightly to nip at his wrist, eyes glazed over and unfocused.

“Doug.”

The mention of his name makes his clouded gaze clear up a bit. He looks up at Tig, a dopey grin on his face as Tig reaches for one of his hands to lock their fingers together. His legs jerk a little when he feels Tig take his cock in his other hand, holding it steady, lining up the dripping tip with his eager entrance.

“Mhm?”

Tig smiles at him, eyes crinkling at the edges.

“Good boy. Here’s your reward.”

And then he finally, finally lowers himself down and fucks himself on Doug’s stiff, swollen erection, toes curling as he feels himself opening up bit by bit, accepting Doug into his twitching hole. Then the lube works its magic, a ripple of heat radiating outwards from where they’re joined together, suffusing Tig’s senses with tingly warmth.

Both of them let out matching groans, basking in the sensation of finally connecting their bodies. Tig rocks his hips back and forth a few times before starting to bounce on Doug’s lap in earnest, setting a frantic pace. Below him, Doug tenses his abs and thrusts up to meet Tig on every downstroke, trying his best to pleasure Tig despite his own hazy, blissed-out mind.

“Tig," he pants, “I don’t thi-hngk―! I can ho-oold out for much l-longer!”

“That’s, hahh, okay.” Gasping, Tig guides Doug’s hands to his waist, giving him a better grip to force Tig down onto every upward slam of his hips. “You can, cum, as hard as you want…!”

Doug’s fingernails dig into Tig’s skin, raising angry red welts. He exhales sharply through his nose, his expression twisting into a ferocious glare. Tig’s heart pumps hard with excitement, blood rushing loudly in his ears as Doug throws his all into fucking him.

Even with their positions, Tig feels the sense of control rapidly slip from him. His mouth starts to water, saliva pooling under his tongue because he’s gasping too much to swallow it, and spots flicker behind his fluttering eyelids. Sweat pours out of every pore of his body, falling from the tips of his disheveled hair to splatter on Doug's chest. He’s reduced to low, breathy moans as each thrust punches the air out of his lungs.

Not that Doug is faring any better in that regard, only strained grunts escaping his clenched jaw and gritted teeth.

“Come on, come on, cum in me, fill me up until I can feel it dripping out of me,” Tig breathlessly eggs him on with a nasty laugh.

Then he grinds himself down as hard as he can, a satisfied noise rumbling out from deep in his chest. Doug’s pace stutters, a few last sloppy thrusts as he reaches an explosive peak and empties his backed-up load into Tig’s spasming depths, streaking the inner walls with his spend.

Tig keeps riding him through his climax, slowly coming to a stop as Doug’s short, heaving breaths even out. He beams down at Doug, splaying both hands on his chest so he can feel his heart trying to beat right out of his ribcage.

“How’s that?” Purring, Tig dips down to brush his lips against Doug’s cheek. He wants to slot their mouths together in a kiss, but he’s also worried that Doug hasn’t quite caught his breath yet, so he politely refrains. “Best orgasm you ever had?”

“Hhhaaaeugh.”

“Damn. I think your brain left your body through your dick.”

Doug lazily flips him off with both hands before letting them flop onto his belly. Chuckling, Tig pulls himself back up and looks down at his own cock fisted in his palm, still rock hard.

Now, he could just jerk himself off and be done with it, but…

(“You want me to keep at it ‘til you’re cryin’ or what.”

“If you can make me.”)

A yelp erupts out of Doug’s mouth when Tig pinches his nipple between a thumb and a finger before giving it a teasing tug, followed by a whimper as Tig does the opposite of pulling himself off. He grinds his ass against Doug’s crotch in sluggish, self-indulgent circles, reigniting a spark from the cooling embers of Doug’s spent excitement.

“H-Huh?”

Licking his lips, Tig works his muscles tight around the dick slowly regaining hardness inside him. The sensation is as unfamiliar as it is delectable, growing in girth and rigidity while he’s already penetrated by it rather than having it shoved into him at full mast. And he’s still wet enough that he doesn’t have to reapply lube, though that might change the longer they go on.

“I haven’t cum yet. Yer not just gonna leave me hangin’, are ya?”

“I ain’t a rude bastard like that! Lemme just―” Doug lets out a plaintive whine when Tig slaps away his reaching hands, pinning them both down by the wrists on either side of his head. “Tig?”

“Not what yer s’posed to call me.”

“Wha―fuck you! Sir. I mean, nnh, we still ain’t d-done?!”

Oh, now that’s genuine fear shining overbright in Doug’s diluted pupils. But he’s not just scared, or else his cheeks would’ve gone ghastly pale; instead, they’re a vivid, rosy red. He’s more turned on by this than he’ll admit.

And, crucially, he’s not putting up any resistance. Some complaints, sure, but Tig still hasn’t heard a definitive no from his mouth yet.

“I wonder…” Tig drawls, long and drawn-out, his hips swaying back and forth as Doug squeals underneath him, “How many climaxes can I wring outta you before I literally milk you dry.” He cocks his head, humming to himself like he’s earnestly pondering the question, before letting the corners of his lips curl up into a wicked smirk. “Let’s find out together, shall we? Captain.”

To his utter delight, Doug’s eyes actually start to water at the edges. He bites his lip in a valiant attempt to stop himself from making any more pathetic noises, but the second Tig starts working up into a pace that’s just as deep and punishing as before, his resolve breaks.

Ah, he’s whimpering and blubbering so much, all coherent thought fucked out of his skull as Tig drives him to yet another delirious peak. Thighs shaking, legs thrashing, strings of drool spilling from his mouth as his eyes roll back into his head.

Adorable. His darling, precious captain. All for Tig.

And he wants nothing more than to completely take Doug apart.

So.

Final verdict?

Four.

Four ejaculatory orgasms in the span of a single fuck session without taking any breaks in between is Banri’s absolute limit; by the third one, he wasn’t so much cumming as just leaking jizz from his overworked cock. Juza himself managed to fire off two shots and two blanks, and was on the brink of another one before Banri blurted out the safeword and brought their play to an end.

Then―after a little bit of basking in the afterglow, during which Banri’s limp cock slipped out of Juza and he got to experience what it felt like to have four loads of cum and lube gush out of him; a truly obscene, filthy sensation that sent sweet aftershocks rippling through his entire body―there was quite a bit of fumbling and petting and uncoordinated lip-locking as they both cooled down and rode out the crash after the rollercoaster highs.

With how long Juza sat on top of him, there was no way Banri could muster up the strength to stand up and move about anytime soon. So it fell to Juza to deal with cleanup and aftercare, tossing Banri a chilled bottle of water to replenish all the lost fluids as he stripped off their bathrobes and towels and wiped them both down as best he could, given his own fatigue.

Now he’s leaning against the headboard, Banri all cuddled up in his arms and thick, fluffy blankets wrapped around them both. He should be satisfied, but there’s a stubborn sense of disconnect creeping up from his gut and wrapping around his heart like a suffocating chokehold, filling him with a vague sense of unease.

He buries his face in Banri’s hair, trying to push down the feeling. He knows what this probably is, seen it crop up in Banri a few times, enough to memorize what to do to pull him out of his funk.

Knowing it rationally and dealing with it emotionally are two different beasts, though.

Banri must’ve noticed his silent distress, because he cranes his head back and pulls Juza in for a noisy smooch on his cheek. “Stop thinkin’ so loud. I can hear your brain whirring like PC fans,” he jokes, pressing himself even closer against Juza’s chest. “Y’did pretty good, daikon. That was a lotta fun, and it felt amazin’ the whole time.”

Juza tries to match his smile. He’s not sure if he manages to pull it off, however, steering his lips back into a thin, pursed line before it can warp into a grimace.

“…Sorry.”

Banri snorts, twisting around so he can flick Juza’s nose without accidentally jabbing out one of his eyes or something. “Don’t recall ya doin’ anything worth apologizin’ for.”

It’s true. Juza hasn’t done anything wrong. They both enjoyed themselves. It was consensual the whole way through.

…He did make Banri cry, though. And he did kinda spring the temperature play stuff on Banri completely unannounced, even though he knows Banri hates being caught off guard. And―

He’s snapped out of his spiralling thoughts by two hands cradling his face, thumbs pressed to the jut of his cheekbones. Banri stares deeply at him, and he doesn’t let Juza look away.

“Hey,” he murmurs, quiet, soft. “I’m here. I had fun. Wouldn’t mind if we do it again some other time.” He scratches the back of his head in frustration and clicks his tongue before leaning in to press their foreheads together. “Not usually on this side of a drop sitch. You always take care of me so good, so tell me what you need so I can do the same? Cuddles, a snack, you name it.”

Nothing. Juza opens his mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. His head’s all fuzzy with static. All he knows is that he’s upset and doesn’t know how to stop being upset.

He wishes he could just get it across without having to say anything, because even thinking of something to say is making his head hurt right now. But he doesn’t want to take this senseless irritation out on Banri either.

Banri’s hands slip from Juza’s cheeks to his shoulders. He gives them a little squeeze before letting them fall away.

“…Need some quiet space to yourself? I can go sit in the bathroom.”

That cuts through the brainfog, sharp as a hot knife through butter. Juza chokes on a breath, one hand shooting out to grab Banri by the elbow. “No.”

The forceful burst of his own voice rings in his ears, making him wince from the grating harshness of it. He tries to curl in on himself, but Banri holds him open, twining their hands together.

Juza’s gaze falls to his chest. “…Switch around? I want… I wanna be hugged.”

“Sure thing, Hyodo. C’mere.”

There’s no trace of judgement or teasing in Banri’s tone at all. Just pure caring tenderness. They shuffle about until Juza’s the one curled up in Banri’s warmth this time, sitting sideways between his legs so he can press his ear up to Banri’s chest. Thump-thump-thump, the steady rhythm beats at him like a metronome. Proof of Banri’s calmness, a grounding pulse that Juza clings to.

“Settsu.”

“Hm?” Banri noses at the side of his head, just behind his ear. The ticklish gesture makes Juza laugh a bit, the twinging knot in his chest finally starting to untangle itself.

“Stay like this? Least until I fall asleep.”

“‘Course. Anythin’ else?”

Juza yawns into his palm, lethargy threatening to pull him under the waves. He starts to shake his head, but recalls something and pauses.

“―Still got more popsicles in the mini-fridge…”

That makes Banri chortle, a pleasant sound to Juza’s ears that clears up the last of the muted buzzing. “We can have those when we wake up, dummy. G’night. Sweet dreams.”

The last thing Juza remembers before drifting unconscious is Banri’s hand in his own, warming up to match his body heat.

How funny. That such a complex, fundamental force of the universe as thermal equilibrium can be such a simple, reassuring comfort.

Chapter Text

The trigger was a drunken bet, apparently.

Well, no, not drunken. If they were really drunk, most of their competitive animosity for each other would’ve made way less malicious, more mortifying drunk idiot behaviour.

Like Juza subjecting everyone in the general vicinity to his rapidfire praise, or Banri’s standards for what constitutes as humour nosediving into the negative braincells level.

So, no, not quite drunken. Maybe just tipsy enough for their inhibitions to be lowered a smidge.

Still.

Clearly enough for neither of them to be in their right minds, because for some reason, Juza keeps insisting that he’s won the bet, one that Banri doesn’t even remember making. Let alone remember the stakes of what they bet on.

Even though Banri fucking Settsu does not simply lose a bet.

…The thing is, everyone knows that he has this stick up his ass about losing, right. Especially to Juza fucking Hyodo, boyfriend and rival and pain in the ass extraordinaire.

And maybe Banri’s mood has been pretty sour lately, on account of a string of unrelated mishaps and misfortunes that plagued him along the week he had, Easy Mode be damned.

For all that he’s stupidly susceptible to getting pissed at Juza over the littlest things, the smallest nitpicks of his habits and whatnot… it’s not Juza’s fault in the slightest that Banri’s crankiness level hits some arbitrary maximum limit.

Sure, maybe his incessant needling was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

But the reason why Banri suddenly finds himself shouting, a vein throbbing on his forehead and his eyes seeing red, is just his ugly ol’ ego rearing its nasty big head again, fucking everything up. Plain and simple.

See, the thing is, the moment whatever hateful drivel leaves his mouth, Banri knows that, ah, he’s fucked up.

Because Juza isn’t immediately sniping back with a sarcastic quip or a deadpan retort. His golden eyes are wide and he looks startled, and a little―well, not cowed, but maybe contrite is the better word. A little bit of that, and a little bit hurt as well.

Banri knows he’s fucked up, but the knowing and the follow-up to the knowing doesn’t default to apologizing.

At least, not for him, and especially not to his roommate.

So maybe he blows up a little more, takes Juza’s sudden silence as a challenge. He does so love to often give Banri the silent treatment, after all.

And Banri’s bad temper just keeps building and building upon itself, a perpetual motion machine feeding off its own livid energy, until he’s screamed himself hoarse, shoulders heaving with breaths too big and heavy for his lungs to take in properly.

He doesn’t remember half the words he’s said, only the volume of and venom with which he’d said it.

Throughout it all, Juza’s expression just gets sadder and softer and quieter with each hateful word ejected from his machinegun mouth. And Banri doesn’t know why, but it just pisses him off even more.

The ensuing silence rings as loud as a gunshot, noisy reaper’s hailstorm of verbal bullets leaving a trail of cold blood in his wake.

It’s not either of them that breaks the frigid stalemate, too; a third party decides to butt themselves in and break up the fight―hah! Calling it a fight when Juza hadn’t even lifted his gun, kept it holstered, safety on. Just took the one-sided spew of bullshit headfirst without even doing anything to defend himself.

But Omi comes bustling, and Taichi, and Azami, and Sakyo as well. They all take one single look at the situation, and Banri already knows they can tell that he’s in the wrong this time.

The weight of their stares stab through him like knives, wavering between pity and judgement.

“Settsu.”

Sakyo’s voice is stern, firm, just like his hand on Banri’s shoulder, heavier than usual. Banri roughly shrugs it off, muttering incoherent curses under his breath as he storms out of the room and slams the door behind him.

Nobody follows, because why would they? Everyone’s more concerned for Juza, and they’re right to do so.

The fury drains out of Banri’s veins like clogged sinuses after a plate of the director’s super-spicy hot curry. It’s almost immediately replaced by a torrent of self-loathing so incredibly bitter that he almost gags from the bile rising up his throat.

Banri stomps his way across the courtyard, keenly aware of what a little pissbaby he’s being about this, and holes himself up in one of the storerooms that they keep stage props in. He waits a few more moments to let his temper truly whip itself into a raging frenzy before letting out one final wretched shriek.

The last dregs of his fury drags itself out along with his anguished howl, an exorcism of the demon called anger that keeps possessing him time and time again.

Then he wobbles and sways and leans heavily against one of the shelves, head buried deeply in his hands. His whole entire being quakes with the aftermath of his emotions running wild and the cold splash of regret dousing the last embers of it.

Banri can taste blood in the back of his throat, thick with tears and an apology that refuses to leave his lips no matter what.

…So.

How does one go about making up for one’s asshole-ish behaviour towards one’s boyfriend?

It’s a situation Banri has considered and encountered many times. So much so that he’d consider himself an expert on the topic, if not for the fact that it’s a rather pathetic thing to be an expert about.

Making up with Juza should be a piece of cake.

Literally―Banri would buy him a sweet treat, usually something a little bit more fancy than the usual candy or chocolate Juza keeps squirreled away in his stash. Like a premium ice cream cup or a small bag of freshly-baked cookies or whatnot, hell, maybe even a wagashi or two from a proper traditional confectionary shop.

Anything at all, and Juza would easily forgive him. Because the daikon bastard’s got a heart too big and soft for his own good.

That’s not all. Besides the usual sugar bribery, a big part of how and why they’ve managed to keep their relationship chugging along despite its emotional ups and downs is because of a few rules they’ve set between themselves:

1. Don’t let resentment drag on or linger.
   
   
2. Fight it out if violence must be resorted to, but make sure to properly resolve the conflict before too long.
   
   
3. Never go to bed angry―the last few minutes before sleep is the perfect time to air out any grievances and speak from the heart.

…And therein is where Banri’s current problem lies.

After his explosion the other day, he’d expected the atmosphere between Juza and himself to be awkward and-or strained. At least until he finally manages to get the fuck over himself and say sorry like a big boy.

But their interactions since then had, to his bewilderment, been relatively fine, and even acting practice sessions and general day-to-day conversations took place without any further screaming matches.

Juza had even been giving him the usual goodnight kiss, his lips warm against Banri’s cheek before turning in for the day.

That leaves Banri lying in his own bed late one night, staring at the ceiling, wide awake and stewing in his own confused misery. Listening to Juza’s deep breaths as it slowly transitions into the usual loud foghorn snoring.

Juza hadn’t seemed mad at all. Not one bit.

And that just makes Banri feel worse.

Let’s rephrase the rhetorical question: how does one go about making up with one’s boyfriend, when it seems like said boyfriend isn’t even expecting an apology?

Lying awake in bed, wide awake and frantic thoughts running a mile a minute, Banri uses that genius brain of his to think, and think, and think.

Maybe he can browse the web for some ideas, too.

Finally, after a lot of thinking, enough that he’s apparently stayed awake through the whole night and his first alarm’s about to go off in―Banri squints at the screen of his phone―fuck, fifteen minutes?―that genius, sleep-deprived brain of his finally comes up with a brilliant idea.

Checking his calendar and schedule, he finds that there’s a perfectly good chunk of free time today, after both of them have finished their classes at Amabi and Yosei respectively.

Normally they’d use those hours to go out somewhere together. A weekly outing that they’d promised to stick to as much as possible, when they first started seeing each other as something in addition to roommates, comrades, and rivals. When they could drop all pretenses of hostility and just indulge in doting on each other, sharing tender affection and quiet words of love they’d never say otherwise.

It’s a bit of a shame to use that precious, tender time to mend the rift in their relationship instead, but it is what it is.

Banri will spare no expense on making sure this plan of his goes right.

Because the thought of a mild quarrel like this, ballooning into something permanently unfixable? It’s enough to send him into a mental trainwreck of fullblown panic.

Even though Juza has given no indicator at all that he’s upset with Banri in any way.

But he has to be, right? Banri would be rightly unhappy if their situations were reversed, even if it pains him to admit it, so he genuinely doesn’t get why Juza isn’t mad at him.

―Whatever.

Whatever!

If they can’t fight it out like they usually do, then…

The first half of the day passes by in a haze.

Banri doesn’t skip his classes or seminars, but he’s definitely not mentally present for any of them. The lecturer’s droning voice goes in one ear and out the other as he discreetly taps away at his phone under the table.

Not for the first time, he thanks his natural dexterity letting him cruise on by with minimal effort.

He’ll just skim his textbooks later and pick up on anything he missed out on from there, and if he really does need the help, then he’ll ask one of his classmates for their notes or something. Doubtful that it’ll ever truly come to that, but it’s nice that the security net is there.

Within an hour, Banri’s already gotten what he needs, online orders made and random favours cashed in on, to be instant-delivered to a certain location. A familiar hotel, one that he and Juza have gone to a few times already, when they want to have a proper overnight stay somewhere nice instead of having a quick fuck at some love hotel the next few towns over.

(Gotta make sure nobody’s around to blow their relationship up into a public scandal and all.)

Maybe it’s a little pricey for something a regular college student’s budget should be splurged on, but fuck it, money’s nothing compared to his boyfriend.

Juza’s already so low-maintenance and easy to please, spoiling him with expensive gifts is more for Banri’s benefit and peace of mind than anything.

Next comes the hard part.

He’s already got the address copy-pasted into his personal LIME chat with Juza, but now Banri’s stuck trying to figure what else to say. His thumb flicks over the keyboard but everything his brain comes up with sounds so asinine and pathetically needy.

Banri’s not above grovelling if push comes to shove, but he doubts even Juza would be okay with that. He’ll just give Banri one of those sad, quiet looks of his, and that would honestly devastate Banri even more than how miserable he already feels.

Okay. Deep breaths.

There’s always the ol’ reliable he can fall back on, since he’s so insistent on being deathly allergic to speaking from the heart.

› hey mister big bad bossman ik youve been busy recently

› with the uhhhh job and whatnot

› but can u make some time for the dirty lil secret in ur closet 😘

› naughty kitty feels pretty lonely and needs daddy to play with him

Banri hits the send button for the last message. And waits.

And waits.

And waits.

He reaches the three-minute mark and is honestly starting to contemplate killing himself out of either shame or suffering, when his phone, placed face-down on his lap, buzzes with an incoming message.

Heart pumping, Banri keeps his thumb over the top edge of the screen so he can’t see the message preview in the notification bar. He swipes idly between his home screen and his app list a few times before finally steeling his nerves and tapping open the LIME chat.

‹ don’t distract me while i’m at work

Which… isn’t exactly a reply to what Banri is putting down but it is a response nonetheless. And a vaguely in-character one, too.

Juza could've just left him on read if he doesn’t want to play along, so Banri’s taking this as a ‘yes’, or maybe a slightly less-enthusiastic ‘whatever’. Which, hey, is still kind of a statement of agreement!

He pumps his fist under the table in victory, earning him weird glances from his buddies sitting on either side of his seat.

The rest of his classes truly fly by then, and soon enough Banri’s hoofing it out past the campus gates, catching a train out of town and towards his destination.

He checks into the hotel with all the restless haste of a man on a mission, knowing that he doesn’t have much time to prepare. Juza’s last class ended at the same period but Juza is also someone who doesn’t rush without good reason, not to mention that he’s riding his motorcycle and he’s always a conscientious driver, so Banri knows he has a bit of leeway for preparations.

Not a lot, though!

The outfit that he pulls out of the parcel on the dresser makes him cringe at first sight. It’s garishly pink and incredibly obvious that it isn’t meant to be worn as regular clothes so much as something you only wear in the bedroom or some fetish-focused sex dungeon.

Not that Banri can complain, since he expressly bought it for that exact purpose.

He hops into the shower to rinse off the sweat he’d worked up in his rush, roughly rubbing himself dry with a towel, then begins the arduous process of getting himself into the costume. Which is much easier said than done.

It takes some effort, but eventually Banri’s gotten himself all dolled up and has just put his hair up in a messy half updo when he hears a knock on the door. He clears his throat, cycling through the voices in his repertoire of roles before he finds the memory of the character and slips into it like a second skin.

A husky crooning voice, lips curled in what seems like a permanent smirk, and a neck wrapped tight with bandages along with a snake’s split tongue. A devilish young man who escaped from a life in prison by following three steps behind in the shadow of a haunted criminal.

Banri takes one last glance in the mirror and sees David reflected back at him, his cobalt blue eyes narrowed in upturned crescents.

Perfect.

Towards the entryway, he calls out, “Ain’t locked, come on in.”

The door creaks open and Juza steps inside, his expression a little disgruntled but otherwise neutral, furrowed brows and all. But that all changes the moment his eyes flick over to Banri.

He stops in his tracks, hand frozen on the doorknob, jaw dropping to hang half-open.

Banri can practically see the question marks floating around Juza’s head, and it makes him want to break out in cackling laughter. He smothers the amusement in his chest, however, strutting over to stand a few paces in front of Juza, slow and deliberate.

Accompanied by the swish of the pleated miniskirt that barely even covers his crotch, the latex of the thigh highs he’s squeezed himself into squeaks with every exaggerated sway of his hips. The sheer fabric of the tight mesh top he’s wearing does nothing to hide his chest, his nipples perking in the cold air-conditioned atmosphere of the room. He’s also got a leather collar on with a leash attached, the length of it coiled around a fist that he holds out in offering.

And last but not least, a deep red shade of lipstick, which he draws attention to by puckering his lips and blowing Juza a kiss and a wink.

“Welcome back, Shaw,” David purrs, drinking in the momentary flash of hunger that crosses Juza’s glare.

Jaw tensed, Juza takes a deep breath. He looks like he’s either on the verge of collapsing from a bad headache or about to throttle Banri by the throat.

“What… the fuck is this.”

“Aw, you don’t like it? You’ve been so busy recently, I figured you’d be all pent up from sitting in your stuffy office all day. So i got you a present―me!”

Treading closer, David traces the underside of Shaw’s chin with the end of the leash, giggling at the low growl he gets in return.

“C’mon. All work and no play makes a dull boy outta a man. Your pet’s been begging for your attention for a while now, boss. Better play with him before he turns back into a feral stray.”

If Juza is in any way turned on by his teasing, he’s doing a mighty fine job at not showing it, besides the slight dilation of his pupils. He huffs out an irritated sigh and sheds his bag and coat before moving to a corner of the room, where there’s a desk and an office chair.

Juza―or rather, Shaw grabs the back of the chair and swivels it around before sitting down in it with a hefty grunt.

“A pet’s also gotta learn when to sit quiet and not bother its owner so much, y’know.” Gesturing at the bag he’d callously tossed to the side, Shaw demands, “Bring that here. I still have some documents I need to read through and sign.”

Wait, really?

David blinks, confused, and totters over to retrieve the bag, dropping the leash and letting it trail behind him like a tail. Shaw takes it from him and rewards him with a disarmingly soft smile, then rolls the chair away from the desk, just a bit.

“Why don’tcha grab a pillow and make yourself comfortable while you wait? I won’t be too long.”

But why would David need to―oh.

Ohhh.

So that’s the game Juza wants to play?

The space under the table looks a bit too cramped to comfortably fit someone of Banri’s stature, but he won’t back down from a challenge once he sees one. He yoinks a cushion from the nearby armchair and throws it under the desk. Then, he drops down to his knees and crawls into the tiny space, settling himself on his haunches before looking up at Shaw with a grin.

“Take all the time you need, boss.”

Rolling his eyes, Shaw kicks his chair back into place, firmly caging David between his knees and blocking out most of the light. After a bit of adjusting to the darkness, David wraps his palms around Shaw’s calves, feeling up the muscle behind the fabric of his pants.

Juza’s fist might be what had sent Banri to the hospital with an injury that took two weeks to heal, but he’s also no slouch in the leg department either.

Though Banri might never be able to match him in pure strength, he won’t lie; getting to admire Juza’s body like this, all the little twitches and tremors in response to Banri’s teasing touches―it’s a perk of Juza’s solid physique that Banri didn’t think he’d come to enjoy this much.

But he does, and it feels like such a privilege. Nobody else knows Juza as intimately as he does.

David lets both his hands crawl upwards until they’re digging into Shaw’s thighs, squeezing down on the supple flesh. He gropes and fondles the muscular legs until Shaw rumbles a warning growl in the back of his throat and nudges David with a bare foot.

“Stop scratching at me with those claws, you animal, ‘less you wanna get clipped,” Shaw grouses, his voice sounding muffled to David’s ears because of the table. “You painted those fuckdoll lips for me, so use ‘em.”

“What a demanding owner I have, but… if you insist,” David mock-laments, stifling a chuckle.

And he won’t deny that he is more than a little intrigued by the idea of it; what would Shaw's dick look like, with lipstick marks left all over it?

A vision of raw sexuality.

Just imagining it is enough to make David feel all hot and bothered. He deftly loosens Shaw’s belt and undoes the front of his pants, careful not to snag the zipper on the growing tent in his underwear. Then he tugs down the waistband to free the cock trapped within.

The erection springs out with an almost comical throb, smacking wetly against the side of David’s face.

A puff of laughter escapes him before he coos at the eager member, curling his fingers around the tip and stroking downwards towards the base, nestled within the rough curls of pubic hair. He doesn’t miss the way Shaw’s leg jerks at the sudden stimulation, either.

“Looks like someone’s real happy to see me.”

“Shut it.”

Then David’s ears pick up on the faint sound of a zipper and rustling, followed by the scribble-scratch of pen on paper.

Amusement filters through Banri’s veins as he realizes what Juza’s doing. Does he actually have assignments or reports to work on? Or is he just making busywork, writing random shit on some piece of paper, to further immerse himself as Shaw in this situation?

Regardless, Banri-as-David will do his best to be a menace and a distraction.

Pressing the pad of his thumb to the tip, he spreads the wetness starting to leak from the slit all over the head. Then he spits into his palm and uses that to properly slick up the shaft, stroking it nice and slow.

Around him, Shaw’s thick thighs tense up and quiver; he’s clearly trying his best not to crush David between them.

A shame, really. There’s nothing quite like the heady feeling Banri gets when Juza wraps his legs around his waist. Or even the weight of them hooked on his arms as he leans down over Juza, folding him damn near in half to kiss him until they’re both breathless.

Thank fuck they both do workouts regularly. Banri can’t imagine doing half the stupid shit they do without the limberness constant stretching provides.

A knee none-too-gently nudging the side of his head takes him out of his wandering thoughts. David snorts at Shaw’s clear impatience. He gives the cock in his hand a bit of a warning squeeze, earning himself a sharp inhale and a hiss, before relenting.

Gripping it by the base, he lifts up the shaft so he can get at the veiny underside, pressing his lips to the frenulum before planting wet little smooches along the length, all the way to Shaw’s balls. There, David licks one of them into his mouth and gives it a suckle, taking a whiff of the musky scent.

Besides the obvious smell of arousal, there’s also Juza’s natural body odor, a bit of sweat, and a faint hint of soap. How polite of him to wash up beforehand.

From up above, David can hear Shaw groan, low and throaty.

“Good t’know that mouth of yours is useful for somethin’ other than yowlin’ yer head off,” Shaw sneers, only to choke on a yelp when David carefully but deliberately scrapes his teeth along the side of Shaw’s shaft. “Don’t bite my goddamn dick, ya fuckin’ animal!”

“Just keep signing those documents, boss.”

Snickering, David pulls his mouth away from the side of Shaw’s dick and smacks his lips, then goes back to jerking off the hardening shaft with his fist.

He’s not big on actually deepthroating Juza’s dick―owing to how fuckhuge it is and how it strains Banri’s jaw to unhinge wide enough to fit it in―but playing with and teasing it like this?

Oh, Banri could go on for hours and hours.

And with Juza’s libido and stamina… it’s an intriguing idea, but one that they’ll have to save for some other time. Maybe they should go all out and set aside an entire day just for a marathon session of sex, wouldn’t that be fun.

Returning his attention back to the literal matter at hand, David leans forward and wraps his lips around the fat head of Shaw’s cock, this time careful not to graze the sensitive head with his teeth. He alternates between pressing against the slit with the flat of his tongue and poking at it with the tip.

He knows just how maddening the two different sensations can be, and the sudden muffled curse from above only fuels his lust even more.

The tight, enclosed space rapidly heats up from the close proximity of their bodies. The desperate noises Shaw can’t stop himself from making echoes the lustful excitement David feels.

Letting his mouth fall open, he pushes past his own mild discomfort to swallow as much of Shaw’s cock as deeply he can, flexing his throat muscles around the swollen length, licking at what he can reach with his tongue.

“Fuck!”

There’s a loud clatter and suddenly, Shaw’s hand is fisted in his hair, neither pushing nor pulling but a definite presence and pressure regardless. His hips are making aborted little thrusts, trying to hold himself back from fucking into the plush, wet heat of David’s mouth.

Which is both a delectable thought and really considerate of him, enough to make David’s chest go warm with some measure of affectionate fondness.

He purses his lips and hollows his cheeks, slowly drawing his head back. The tight ring of suction creates a vulgar slurping noise as he drags himself off of Shaw’s dick, until it leaves David’s mouth completely and he switches to jerking it off with one hand, using the other to fondle and massage Shaw’s balls.

Shaw exhales a harsh breath, legs circling around David’s back, heels digging into the base of his spine. But he doesn’t pull or force David to choke on his cock, even though the tremor in his thighs show that he clearly wants to.

That show of restraint deserves a reward, David thinks with a coy smile.

Just like that, he’s got his lips sealed around the head of Shaw’s cock again, teasing at the flared ridge with his tongue. Turning his head slightly, David rubs the sensitive glans against the soft, velvet inside of his cheeks and the roof of his mouth, using both hands to stroke the rest of the shaft that won’t fit down his throat.

Another loud grunt, and then Shaw is biting out a muffled cry, declaring his release. He ejaculates with a shudder, the milky, bitter fluid of his spend spreading over David’s tongue.

With a constant hum, stimulating Shaw with the vibration of his throat, David dutifully squeezes out the rest of Shaw’s load. He works the pulsing dick over with his hands, base to tip, until Shaw lets out a low whine from the overstimulation.

“Enough, ah―that’s enough, nnh, hff, n-no more.”

Pulling off with a lewd pop of his lips, David gives the glistening shaft one last thorough polishing, sucking up the remnants of the cum still inside the softening dick. Then he lets it flop onto Shaw’s thigh before patting Shaw’s knee a few times until the other man gets the hint, rolling his chair back so David can crawl out from under the desk.

He holds onto Shaw’s hips for leverage as he hefts himself upwards, wordlessly begging for a kiss.

Shaw makes a disgusted face, probably aware of David’s intentions. But he still allows himself to be tugged down, bending over slightly as David presses their lips together. He doesn’t hide his grimace as David uses his tongue to push the cum into his mouth.

Some of it escapes their locked lips and drips down their chins, but most of the gross mix of spit and semen continues to snowball, going back and forth between their mouths.

Until at last, Shaw finally gives in and swallows it in a few messy gulps. He has to take a breather after that, panting heavily with his eyes squeezed shut.

David settles himself more comfortably on Shaw’s lap, peppering the other man’s face with kisses and caresses and the occasional mischievous nip or lick. He knows Juza doesn’t usually mind that sort of cum play, and in fact usually enjoy it while Banri’s the reluctant one, but seeing Shaw silently express his displeasure gives it an exciting, fresh new feeling.

“How’s it, boss? Didja manage to get all your work done?”

With a simpering giggle, David tweaks Shaw’s nose, relishing the wry glare he gets in return.

Shaw gusts out a snort, nostrils flaring. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hands and has to clear his throat a few times before he finds his voice again.

“You my pet or my damn secretary?”

“Ooh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

David pitches his voice high and feminine, deliberately grinding his ass against Shaw’s groin. He groans at the friction, matched by a harsh grunt from Shaw.

“Turn me into one o’ those sexy secretaries like in a cheesy porno. Have me drop down to my knees and ready to service you every time you come into the office. Pretty hot, ain’t it?”

Shaw brushes off David’s suggestion with a huff, grabbing the leash in the middle and twining it around his fist.

“Sure, sure. But we both know you’re too much of a wildcat for that kinda treatment. Tryin’ to keep ya caged is just askin’ for trouble.”

As if to demonstrate, he yanks on the leash, forcing David to press his body flush against Shaw. Their combined weight makes the chair beneath them creak in weary resentment, made to be an unwilling voyeur and participant in their tryst.

Stifling a yelp, David throws his arms around Shaw’s shoulders for balance, leaving his chest at just the perfect height for Shaw to lean forward and kiss, then bite, sucking a mark onto his collarbone.

David hugs Shaw’s head to his pecs, cradling his nape with one hand while poking and pinching at the soft bits of his ear with the other. The trail of love bites Shaw is leaving through his mesh top, coupled with the fact that the sheer fabric rubs against his skin, has him gasping at even the briefest, lightest touches.

A particularly rough suck on one of his nipples makes him let out a hoarse moan, followed by more needy noises as Shaw tugs and pinches the other one, rolling the sensitive nub between his thumb and fingertip.

David jerks against Shaw’s lower abdomen, skirt riding up to his belly and exposing his panty-clad dick. A wet spot appears in the lacy fabric as precum starts to ooze out from the tip.

Glancing downwards at the reveal, Shaw whistles in appreciation at the obscene display.

“Goddamn. You really dressed up for me.”

David grins, gyrating his hips and rutting his erection against Shaw’s belly, staining his button-up with the mess as well.

“Figured you’d appreciate it. It’s every bigshot mafia boss’s wet dream to have a sexy lady beggin’ for his attention, ain’t it?”

“Don’t think most bigshots dream of a gal packin’ a li’l extra down there, though.”

Reaching down, Shaw cups the bulge of David’s arousal with his palm, giving it a playful squeeze.

David groans, head falling limp against Shaw’s shoulder, heavy breaths ghosting against his ear. He makes another embarrassingly whiny noise as Shaw continues to tease his dick.

The tip of it peeks out from the top of the panties, practically ready to burst free from its meager confines.

Unfortunately, Shaw retracts his hand before the pleasure has any time to build. He makes a show of licking up the fluids coating his hand, pursing his lips around his fingers and exaggeratedly sucking off the tips.

David watches him through squinty eyes, barely able to keep himself upright when Shaw carefully nudges him off his lap. He’s a little bit confused, though, when Shaw stands up, dropping his pants and peeling himself out of his underwear, before sitting back down in the chair.

But David’s attention quickly snaps back to Shaw’s dick, already beginning to stiffen again―with smudges and rings of red lipstick all over it, making for an unbearably lewd sight.

David can’t help it; he unconsciously licks his lips, saliva pooling under his tongue. Arousal coils hot and heavy in his belly, demanding that he do something about his own erection trying to escape its panty prison.

Fuck.

“Poor puppy can’t get enough of his master’s bone, can he?”

Shaw leers at him, his own golden gaze dark with want. Blindly fumbling at the side of the chair, he grabs the lever that reclines the backrest and pulls it, slamming his feet up on the table and making David jolt in surprise when he suddenly finds himself trapped between Shaw’s legs once more.

“Wha…?”

“Get to it. I want you balls-deep in me, fuckin’ me ‘til I can’t think straight, but you don’t get to cum until I do, capische?”

Due to the imperious tone of his order, the way Shaw wiggles and slides down in his seat until he can stick his ass out in invitation does nothing to diminish the veneer of his arrogance.

“Shit, don’t gotta tell me twice.”

That’s what he says out loud, at least, but inside, David’s head is spinning, all the blood in his brain rushing down south.

It turns him on so goddamn much to see Shaw like that, leaning back in the reclined chair, disheveled but still so domineering; lips glossy and with a hint of red transferred from David’s lipstick, cheeks and forehead flushed; shirt rumpled and damp with sweat and other bodily fluids.

The imbalance of his obvious masculinity underlined by all these little hints of submission, the semblance of control he has in his grip, when David knows Shaw is on the verge of losing his composure as well―

It drives him wild.

Swiping the bottle of lube from the desk, David doesn’t even bother with the courtesy of warming it up before he’s got his fingers slicked up and pawing at the fleshy globes of Shaw’s ass. He prods at the twitching rim, touching and teasing, but never quite enough to penetrate it.

Shaw hisses at the coldness, shoulders jumping every time David’s fingertip passes over his hole, and that just makes David want to draw out the foreplay even more.

But his dick is hot and hard and aching to be inside that tight, wet heat already, and the impatient look Shaw’s giving him is like throwing gasoline onto the flames of his feverish excitement.

After making sure that Shaw seems worked up enough, the demand clear in his eyes even if he refuses to voice it, David twists a finger into the furl of his anus. His mouth quirks into a wide, crooked grin as Shaw’s breath stutters and his body immediately clamps down on the intrusion.

“You’re so eager for it, boss, but you gotta let me loosen you up properly if you wanna get railed.”

David’s loose bangs fall over his face as he leans over Shaw to peer at his scrunched-up expression.

Shaw exhales a harsh breath, one arm gripping the chair’s backrest for balance as the other reaches up to loop around David’s neck. He pulls David in for a kiss, rough and biting. There’s nothing sweet about it as their teeth clack together hard enough to echo in their skulls.

The faint taste of copper mixes with the lingering bitterness of Shaw’s cum. But neither of those unpleasant flavours is enough to deter them from tangling their tongues together, open-mouthed and sloppy, sharing breaths and swallowing spit.

The kiss keeps going, broken only by brief moments of parting for air and tilting their heads to slot their mouths together from different angles, until Shaw throws his head back with a sweet, rough sigh. He grinds his ass against the two fingers David now has inside him, taking them in even deeper until they’re nudging against the sensitive spot that has his eyelids fluttering.

“There―fuck! Unh.”

Grunting, Shaw presses the side of his face into his arm, sweat beading on his furrowed brow as he struggles to keep his breaths steady.

A third finger twisting into his ass and spreading his inner walls apart has Shaw gasping like the air’s punched out of his lungs. His eyes blink wide open, thin film of tears coating his glassy gaze. Like twin full moons, reflected within the deep blue skies peering down at him.

David’s mouth goes dry, prompting him to wet his lips with his tongue again.

He curls his fingers just right and Shaw keens, shoving his face into the crook of his elbow, trying to stave off the building pleasure. The desperate, muffled noise that Shaw makes when David finally pulls his hand away, sticky strings of lube stretching between his fingers and Shaw’s ass, is the final straw that breaks David’s self-control.

With a grunt, he flips up his skirt, all but tearing his soaked panties in half as he pulls out his cock. He gives it a few quick strokes before holding it steady and aligns the tip with Shaw’s twitching entrance.

In one smooth motion, David shoves himself in as far as he can go before Shaw’s body starts to bear down on the intrusion, squeezing tight, trying to push him back out.

Gritting his teeth, David can feel saliva dripping out the corners of his mouth, muscles burning with the strain of keeping himself still to give Shaw a few seconds to adjust to being penetrated so roughly. He glances up to check, going light-headed with sheer excitement when he sees that Shaw’s eyes have gone blank and unfocused, staring dazedly at the ceiling.

Shaw’s mouth hangs half-open on a high-pitched, wanton moan, punctuated by sharp gasps when David moves his hips in a little circular motion, lube squishing wetly between them where they’re joined.

“Damn. That good, huh.”

David chuckles hoarsely, savouring the feeling of Shaw’s insides slowly adjusting to his girth, clamping down on his dick in a way that feels good as he starts up a lazy, languid pace.

“Come back to me, baby? Much as I love to see you fucked stupid, I don’t really wanna bust a nut in a dead fish.”

It takes a few more jerky little thrusts, but eventually Shaw lets out a loud gasp, like he’s just come up for air after being submerged underwater for so long. Eyelids fluttering, he blinks rapidly as he tries to regain some control over his trembling body.

“Ah, hnn… oh, f-ffuck…”

Grasping weakly at David’s arm, Shaw’s trembling fingers can’t get a good grip on his sweaty skin, slipping down towards his wrist. His thighs quiver around David’s waist, shoulders shuddering every time David slowly presses deep inside him.

Whenever the ridge of that throbbing cockhead catches on his prostrate with each outstroke, a whimper vibrates out from Shaw’s throat, sweaty hair falling over his half-lidded eyes.

He looks the dictionary definition of debauched―

And all of it is David’s doing.

A familiar molten heat starts to well up in the pit of his gut.

Breathing just as heavily, David loosens his bruising hold on Shaw’s waist and grabs the chair’s armrests instead. The wheels squeak horribly against the carpeted flooring as he finds a rhythm to pull Shaw into each thrust, taking advantage of the leverage provided by the office chair to plow into him harder and faster than he usually can on a bed or against the wall.

Neglected, Shaw’s lipstick-stained dick bounces against his flexing belly. Drops of pre drool from the tip, splattering on his abs with every slam of David’s hips against his ass.

Huffing and puffing like a steam engine pulling into a station, David groans, biting his lower lip hard enough to almost draw blood. He’s close, so close, but the memory of Shaw’s order rings loud and clear in his ears; he’s not allowed to cum until Shaw does.

He chokes out a desperate plea.

“Boss, can ya touch yourself? I’d do it, but―”

Both his hands are occupied, not to mention all his limbs feeling like jelly from all the effort he’s putting into pounding Shaw senseless.

Lost in a haze of bliss, Shaw’s melted gaze slightly sharpen back into focus, a cruel gleam in the honey-gold eyes.

“And what if, I say, no?”

Shaw grunts out a dismissal, even if the force behind his words is diminished from how breathless he is.

David whines.

“But boss…!”

“Sorry, kittycat,” Shaw purrs, not sounding sorry at all, “Only way you’re gonna, get what you want, is―h-hah, mmph, nn! If you can make me cum, untouched.”

And that’s that.

Banri knows Juza well enough that the ultimatum comes off as a real ‘take it or leave it’ kinda deal, no ifs, ands, or buts about it.

Even if he does manage the precarious balance of using one hand to hold the chair steady while he reaches for Juza’s cock with the other, he’ll probably just get his palm slapped away and another round of snide mockery heaped on him for trying to cheat.

The problem is that too much of his brain’s already leaked out of his ears, rendering him incapable of holding a thought.

David genuinely can’t come up with any solution besides fucking Shaw so good until he climaxes from a prostate orgasm. He’s also all too aware of how close he is to his own limit; the frustrated sounds he’s making are about the same as the noises falling from Shaw’s lips, or maybe even needier and more pathetic than that.

In a last-ditch effort to stave off his own peak, David tenses his abs, jaw clenched hard enough that his molars grind together, making his ears ring. He abandons his grip on the armrests and claws at the underside of Shaw’s knees, pushing his meaty thighs back until his ankles are hooked over David’s shoulders.

He doesn’t even have the composure to make fun of Shaw when his eyes stretch open, going moist with anticipation and a hint of fear.

Pulling out completely, David messily frots their cocks together, both of them gasping at the hot, sloppy friction. He lets his dick slip lower, the shaft sliding up against Shaw’s perineum, and slaps his balls against the fluttering pucker underneath.

“Remember, you wanted this. Last chance to back out.”

David growls, grinding the whole length of his arousal against Shaw’s rear. Sweat drips down from the tips of his hair to mix with the fluids pooled in Shaw’s navel.

Seconds tick by.

Then Shaw nods, a tiny barely-there dip of his head that David almost misses between one blink and another. Using his legs, he pulls himself flush against David’s crotch, deliberately tensing his ass and clenching his pucker shut.

A wet squelch cuts through the heated silence as the pressure makes lube shoot out of Shaw’s hole, oozing out against David’s cock, dribbling down to his balls.

Something snaps inside David’s head, the string of his rationality pulled too taut and finally unraveled by pure desire.

He giggles like a maniac, digging his fingernails into Shaw’s skin and leaving red welts, as he shifts around for a better grip. Angling his hips, David pushes the head of his dick back into that welcoming heat, groaning as he forces Shaw’s sphincter to stretch open to accept him.

“Ahh, you really have the best asspussy a gal could ever wanna fuck.”

Eyes gleaming darkly with vulgar desire, David slowly, torturously sinks his cock into Shaw’s twitching inner walls, letting his weight and gravity do most of the work. Once the thickest part pushes through the tight ring of muscle, he slams the rest of himself in, gliding in smoothly with barely any resistance, all the way to the back.

“Guh, hhkngh―!”

Shaw chokes on his spit, neck muscles bulging, mouth wide open and drooling as he struggles to catch a breath.

His back arches away from the backrest, chest pushed out and pecs heaving, legs tense and toes curling tight. A wave of white-hot pleasure crashes through his body, rolling upwards from the base of his spine all the way to his extremities, making him writhe and squirm.

It’s almost too intense for him to handle.

Watching Shaw shudder uncontrollably in agonizing bliss, David feels like his own brain is on the verge of frying, the electrical fire of arousal in his head too hot to think through.

It’s not quite a piledriver position they’re in, but it’s something close enough; the angle of penetration allows for David to pound into Shaw like he wants to impale Shaw all the way through. Penetrate all his internal organs, fuck a hole through his guts, diaphragm, heart, and come out his mouth on the other end. Have Shaw cough and splutter and gag and suffocate on David’s cock, until his body falls limp and goes pliant, submitting to David completely.

That grotesque, impossible fantasy lights up a primal part of David’s brain. The conquest and the claiming, so visceral in his mind’s eye.

“That’s it, babe, you’re taking my cock so good, y’know that? Perfect fit.”

David can barely hear himself over the blood rushing in his ears, but that doesn’t stop him from voicing every incoherent thought that bubbles up in his mind. He keeps on babbling as he picks up the pace, muscles burning with the effort of drilling his cock into Shaw’s ass over and over again.

“Tightest hole I ever fucked in my life. Don’t even wanna imagine stickin’ my dick in anything else, just wanna breed this sloppy cunt of yours full of my cum ‘til I knock you up, Shaw, fuck, fuck!”

Whether he’s heard David or not, Shaw unwittingly responds to the barrage of his filthy praise with a shuddery, hiccuping cry of pure bliss. Both his arms are wrapped around the backrest like he’s clinging on for dear life, afraid of being swept away by the waves of sensation and drowning in ecstasy.

David makes sure to pull back and thrust a little shallower a few times, working over Shaw’s swollen, needy little bitch button in a way that has him throwing his head back and sobbing with pleasure.

But mostly, David focuses on railing Shaw so hard that, if he closes his eyes, he can practically imagine Shaw’s stomach distending in the shape of his dick. Skin stretched tight over the slight bump protruding just under his belly button. Ruining him for any other cock or toy that ever dares to fuck his ass, marking Shaw thoroughly as belonging to David and David alone.

‘Cause that’s the thing, ain’t it? That’s what really gets him going, beneath all the pretenses.

If David’s a leashed and collared pet who now only exists to amuse and entertain Shaw, the mafia boss, his owner and master, then the mark of ownership goes both ways. Shaw can use him as a living sex toy all he wants, but David will burn it into his whole being that it’s his dick that Shaw is getting off to, that he’s being wrecked by. Shaw might be the one who calls the shots, both in and out of bed, but David’s the one fucking him into a mindless, moaning slut, flushed red and begging for more, more, more.

Shaw can try to keep it hidden under all those stuffy layers and sneering stoicism of his―in the end, David will always manage to draw out the eroticism carved into his body through this twisted, mutual give-and-take relationship of theirs.

“David, David, ahn, shit, you’re so deep, I can feel you in the back of my throat, ngh…”

Shaw cries out his name, egging him on. Near-delirious and delicious-looking, with all the sweat, saliva, and precum making his skin glisten under the light. So much so that a thought briefly crosses David’s mind of devouring him whole, piece by piece, until there’s nothing of him left.

“Dav-id, ah, David, I’m gonna, Davi―mmh!”

Hunching over him, David seals their mouths together, swallowing the rest of Shaw’s listless, cracking voice. He twists their tongues together, sucking and nibbling on the quivering muscle with his lips and teeth.

Sacrificing the intensity of his thrusts, David just grinds his hips as deep into Shaw as he can, feeling the inner walls milk his cock for all the cum his churning nutsack can provide.

A shivering exhale gusts out from Shaw’s nostrils as he throws his arms around David’s neck, body seizing up tight. The long-awaited orgasm swells deep in his loins, growing and growing, until it finally bursts.

Sandwiched between their bellies pressed close together, Shaw’s dick pulses heavily as cum spurts out from the tip. The milky warmth splashes against David’s heated, sweaty skin, which acts as the signal to finally let himself relax and allow his own climax to overtake him.

Burying himself in Shaw’s silken insides as deeply as he can go, the feeling of semen surging up through his urethra and releasing in bursts makes David moan, high and whiny, drool spilling from his lips in frothy strings.

Shaw continues to squeeze tight around him, both his ass and his entire body. His legs wrap around David’s waist, ankles locking together behind his back. His arms also sling around David’s shoulders, hugging him close. Like he doesn’t want to let go.

With every jerk of David’s hips, Shaw breathes out a sweet, ragged sigh, feeling the heat spread deep inside him.

Still high with all the feel-good chemicals flooding his sex addict brain, David draws back, just enough so he can press a light kiss to Shaw’s lips. Then his nose, both cheeks, and his forehead, cherishing all the little gasps he gets with each fluttering touch.

…I should probably pull out soon, David thinks, slowly putting his scattered mind back together, vaguely troubled by how long they’ve stuck together in that position.

Better clean up the mess they’ve made of themselves, before it dries up and gets all tacky and uncomfortable.

But the warmth of Shaw’s clenching cum-and-lube-filled insides just feels too good. Even though his dick’s gone soft―and with how hard he ejaculated, he doubts he’ll be able to get it up again anytime soon―David rubs his hips back and forth a few times, like he’s making sure to thoroughly paint Shaw’s insides with his semen.

Anything to prolong the bone-deep afterglow he’s basking in for as long as possible.

He also tries not to press up against Shaw’s surely aching and overworked sweet spot, because extra stimulation to the prostate after ejaculation can be quite nasty. But evidently, even that faint movement is a bit too much.

Shaw groans, expression twisting with obvious discomfort. Before he can get to expressing his soreness in a louder, more violent means of protest, David shakily leans back and eases Shaw’s legs open, letting his own flaccid dick slip out to dangle limply between his thighs.

Without anything to keep it in, the slimy mix of cum and lube in Shaw’s ass leaks out in globs, trickling from his gaping hole and painting the skin of his inner thighs white.

Groaning again, Shaw slowly lowers his legs to the floor, wincing as his stretched joints finally make their complaints known. Gently, David strokes his flank, careful not to brush against the parts that he knows must still be tingling and sensitive.

Just like that, they huddled together in tender silence, savouring the moment.

After a few minutes, David leans more of his weight back against the desk, trying not to strain Shaw’s body any further as he cards a hand through sweat-matted purple hair, twisting strands of it between his fingers. He waits for Shaw’s breathing and his own rapid heartbeat to settle down, caressing the contours of Shaw’s belly with a gentle touch that isn’t very characteristic of David at all, the role slowly fading away and Banri’s regular thoughts, albeit a little sweeter than usual, coming back into control.

Shaw huffs a soft laugh, already halfway back to Juza himself, exasperated mirth twinkling in the depths of his fatigued but satisfied gaze.

“…Really now. ‘Asspussy’? ‘Breed this sloppy cunt ‘til I knock you up’? That’s some fuckin’ depraved shit, foxface. More kinks to add to the list of weird stuff you’re into.”

“Shut uuup.”

Banri childishly grumbles, embarrassed. He tips forward to bury his face against Juza’s shoulder and hide the heat crawling up from his neck, spreading across his cheeks.

“You know my brain-to-mouth filter doesn’t work well when I get too horny like that.”

Chuckling, Juza boops Banri on the nose, making him go cross-eyed as he tries to follow Juza’s waggling fingertip.

“Not just when you’re horny, either. Lemme guess, this was your attempt at an apology for blowing up at me the other day?”

The reminder makes Banri droop even more, like a withered plant. So much so that Juza can practically feel the guilt radiating off of him.

Despondent, Banri sighs.

“Yeah. Bitch-ass pride of mine wouldn’t let me say sorry the normal way, so I had to cook up a convoluted scheme instead. And I still feel bad about it, damnit!”

“Dumbass. I ain’t even mad, don’t get mad at yourself on my behalf.”

Mirroring Banri’s earlier gesture, Juza turns his head slightly, brushing up the bangs of Banri’s hair to press a kiss to his sweaty forehead. He breaks out in a small, if slightly lopsided, smile after that.

“You don’t gotta worry about the bet ‘nymore, either. This was kinda what I was gonna ask you t’do anyway.”

“What, you wanted me to dress up like a whore and have roleplay sex? Shit, dude, you coulda asked me to put on some lingerie and full stage makeup and I woulda done it, no questions asked.”

Banri blows a raspberry against Juza’s neck, grinning at the ticklish laughter it elicits from him. Exhaling a fond sigh, he plants his feet flat on the floor and heaves himself up, reluctantly parting from Juza’s body heat.

Ow, he’s aching everywhere, even in places he didn’t think could get sore. And if he’s aching this much, Banri can pretty much imagine that Juza will also be completely wiped out, sooner or later. Sprawled on the bed and fighting off the temptation of a good post-coital nap.

Holding out a hand, Banri hauls Juza up and leans him against his shoulder as they both hobble over towards the bathroom.

First things first, cleanup and a bath. Then they can get to cuddling in bed, or maybe order some room service if they’re feeling peckish. They did just do some vigorous ‘exercise’ after all.

After that, well, who knows? …Maybe a round two is still on the table, if they’re in the mood for more.

“Hey. What was the context of the bet anyway?”

“Nothin’ big. Us and the adults all got drunk at Journey, then someone brought up our genderbend etude and things just got derailed to shit from there.”

“Huh.”

“Everyone pretty much agreed that Juko’s much cuter than Bambi anyway, s’why I won by default.”

“Wh―fuck you. I don’t―I can’t even be mad about that. Juko is cuter than Bambi.”

“…Sounds gross when you say it.”

“Just take the damn compliment, daikon.”