Work Text:
“Ain’t sure this is your kinda place, Kiryu-chan.”
The look he got in response was one of mild confusion, a slight crinkling at the brow. “I’ve been to clubs before.”
“Ain’t a regular club,” Saejima piped up, hands thrust deep into the pockets of his pants. No coat tonight, too warm for it.
From Kiryu’s blind spot, Nishiki shot them a warning look, making a vague slicing motion with his hand.
“Besides,” Kiryu continued, eyes fixed ahead, oblivious to the silent argument going on around him. “I want to support Haruka. I know it took a while to get her confidence back up to go out and perform again.”
Sure, it wasn’t the Tokyo Dome, but a performance at a club was a respectable gig, and he was confident that she would use it as the necessary stepping stone it was. He smiled faintly, that little nod to himself as he stared off into the distance, momentarily lost in his thoughts.
The club itself was by Kamuro Hills, in the extending sprawl of high class establishments that had sprung up in its wake. It was one of the few things that Majima didn’t have his hand in, although he wouldn’t admit to having no influence. Most businesses there made a point of exchanging pleasantries with Kamuro Hills and its admin, whether or not they realized who they actually were. The queue of people waiting to get in were all stylishly dressed and held that vague otherworldly quality that the rich and famous usually had. It made Kiryu glad that he’d let Nishiki dress him tonight.
Majima gestured for them to wait, skirting around the queue to go whisper in the ear of a bouncer.
“So he definitely doesn’t have any influence on this,” Nishiki remarked dryly. Saejima’s mouth curled up in a small, lopsided smirk, blowing air through his nose in a laugh.
Apparently satisfied with whatever answer he got, Majima jerked his chin up in their direction, beckoning them over. The bouncer pulled open the velvet rope and allowed them through, swallowed by the inky darkness of the doorway. Whatever Kiryu had been expecting, it wasn’t this. It reminded him of the big cabaret clubs of the ‘80s, but with more of a dance floor and the lights turned down low. Less of the thumping bass of modern nightclubs, for which he was grateful. Majima led the way to one of the VIP booths, a deep semi-circle of plush seating around a table of ornate pearl detailing. It had screens set into the tabletop, for ordering drinks and food during performances. Nishiki slid into the middle, putting himself between Kiryu and the others.
People had started to filter in now, the VIP booths filling up first. Kiryu ordered them a round of drinks vaguely themed on the Princess League, excited to see that they had customized the menu for the night’s lineup. It was an odd mix of genres, switching easily from a rock band to a comedy group without ever feeling clunky. It helped that none of the performances were so loud as to impede conversation, although Kiryu mostly spoke softly to Nishiki. Opposite, Majima had pressed himself against Saejima’s side, Saejima’s mouth close to his ear, murmuring against it. By the time that Haruka’s performance was announced, Majima had settled himself firmly into Saejima’s lap, Saejima’s thick arms tight around his waist, their hands overlapping.
It was only sheer luck — or maybe planning on their part — that Kiryu’s attention was snatched away by Haruka stepping out onto the stage as Saejima’s mouth latched onto Majima’s neck. The booth was too dark for anyone with human eyes to make out the details of Saejima’s face, the way it shifted into an almost animalistic snarl, or the rise and fall of his throat as he swallowed. Majima’s lips parted for an almost silent moan, the tip of his tongue pressing against the sharpened curve of his own fang.
This was exactly the reason Nishiki didn’t like going out on the town with them. It took a lot of hard work and effort on his part to keep Kiryu oblivious to the vampirism rampant around him. Majima and Saejima were the only two vampires he’d ever encountered that actively and eagerly fed on each other — something considered in bad taste, if not outright disgusting, by everyone else. That they would do it at the drop of a hat made it even harder to hide from Kiryu.
Not to mention the fact that it was pretty damn rude of them to start doing … that while Haruka was performing.
Haruka’s set was over to thunderous applause. Still latched onto Majima’s neck, Saejima applauded around him, slightly out of sync as Majima’s hands fluttered loosely together. Beneath the table, Nishiki kicked them, boot tip colliding with both their shins. He hissed something through gritted teeth and only then did Saejima lift his head, licking his lips like a satisfied cat.
“We’re gonna head on home now,” Nishiki nudged Kiryu lightly with an elbow. “I’m hungry.” He guided Kiryu out of the booth, pointedly ignoring the way Majima laughed at his retreating back.
Humming, Majima nestled back into Saejima’s chest. “Fancy goin’ out for somethin’ to eat?”
“Mm,” Saejima’s mouth dipped against the closing bite on Majima’s neck. “Thought ya’d never ask.”