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Sou loitered in the empty Relaxation Room, hands shoved in his pockets. Neon signs flickered over corridors leading off to various “attractions.” He needed to enter one, but a second person was necessary, and Kanna had ducked off somewhere without him. Petulance simmered in his chest as he paced aimlessly. This stupid Sub-Game was excavating unsavory memories of always being picked last for schoolyard dodgeball. If only he could collect clear chips himself, he would—but then again, he’d probably just die.
A flurry of footsteps drew near, and Sou paused, tugging up his scarf. He squinted at the sight of Sara emerging from one of the corridors. Gin was bounding in circles around her, swiping his paws in the air as he yipped and yowled. Sou felt suddenly thankful that Kanna never felt compelled to LARP as an animal. Come to think of it, she was the only tolerable kid he’d ever met.
“We did it, big sis Sara!” Gin crowed, bobbing with excitement. His green glare was shining wild. “We hunted ‘em all, meow!”
Sara ruffled his hair and smiled. “You did great, Gin! You’re just like a real cat.”
Upon entering the room, Sara took apparent notice of Sou slouched by the wall, and her face curdled. Gin followed her gaze and hissed; he hunched his shoulders as though to hackle.
“I’ll get that loner too, nya…” Gin’s twee voice was laced with bloodlust. “I’ll hunt him with my claws! I’ll catch him with my pointy fangs! I’ll chew him up and leave his beanie on your pillow, MEOW!”
Sou folded his arms and forced an unpleasant smile. Gin raised his mitts in a gesture of menace, expression feral, and Sara tugged him away.
“Don’t bring Sou’s stuff anywhere near my bed, please,” she said with a sniff. She raised her chin and strode off to the lobby. The door behind them slammed shut, and Sou scowled. As though he’d ever set willing foot near Sara Chidouin’s foul lair…
No sooner had he resumed brooding than the door swung open. Keiji’s peroxide-haired bulk prowled through, and he gave a nod over his shoulder to Sara before promptly scanning the room. His flinty stare set upon the other man; he blinked, and his attention drifted up to the neon sign overhead.
“Fly Swatter, huh?” he drawled. He rubbed his neck and glanced again to Sou. “Need a partner?”
“What, no other options left?” Sou’s arms crossed tighter where he leaned, and his lips pressed together peevishly. Keiji grinned.
“Hey, a partner’s a partner. You can smack a bug, right?”
SMACK! SMACK! SMACK!
“Ow, damn it—”
SMACK! SMACK—
“Ah cripes—”
“Sorry—”
“Never mind, just kill them!”
SMACK!
The infernal buzzing ceased abruptly as the last bug hit the floor by Keiji’s shoes. It was the size of a fist, glass-winged and glowing, and it lay there twitching in a pile of its pestilent brethren. Keiji was pressed against the wall, face still scrunched; the bugs had swarmed him, and without range to brandish his swatter, he’d relied on Sou to defeat them. Sou’s feeble swings left something to be desired, but Keiji’s rock-hard pecs and washboard abs provided sufficient resistance to crush the bugs’ exoskeletons.
“These things are huge,” Keiji muttered. He stamped one beneath his heel with a wet crackle, and Sou wrinkled his nose.
“Why are they so attracted to you?” Sou asked, and Keiji stared at him with lidded irritation. “Were you eating bananas? I heard that attracts, er, mosquitoes. Could be your blood type, too…”
“Dunno.” Keiji’s voice was deadpan. “Better me than you, though.”
Sou shuddered as he envisioned his delicate constitution flocked with mutant flies, beaten within an inch of life by Keiji wielding an oversized spatula. Of all the ignominious ways to perish in this place, that undoubtedly ranked high on the list. His overactive imagination was interrupted by the appearance of another foe across the attraction chamber—it was some sort of wispy white humanoid, and its face was covered by a blood-red mask.
“Heads up,” said Keiji, peeling himself from the wall and raising his swatter. Sou wiped the sweat from his brow and grimaced. A noise like thunder boomed, and the room was instantly bouncing with bizarre creatures. They weren’t flies—they flashed an aposematic shade of scarlet-striped blue, and they resembled many-armed starfish, or oversized toy jacks. Sou’s brain barely had time to process what he was looking at as they squelched off the walls and lunged up from the floor.
“What the hell,” Sou choked out, wide-eyed with terror as he glimpsed ribbed, glistening mouths chattering on their underbellies. He rushed to the exit, adrenaline roaring, only to find the door sealed shut.
“Sou, nine o’ clock!” Keiji barked, and Sou narrowly dodged a monster streaking by his head. Who cared what time it was?! He whirled to find Keiji, and his stomach heaved at the sight of the older man plastered in writhing blue tentacles. Once again, it seemed they had a taste for prime steak, but Sou’s relief was short-lived when he realized that after they’d consume Keiji, Sou would be next on the menu. Bony as he was, he couldn’t count on being spared.
Keiji grunted, eyes squinched and teeth bared. He’d dropped his swatter, and he yanked the creatures off with his bare hands and hurled them to the ground. They trailed ripped clothing shreds as he stomped them to sick splatters of ichor. Countless more were surging at him; they ranged in size from coasters to dinner plates.
“Just gonna watch?” Keiji gritted out. His breathing was labored. “Hit them, they’re slippery but not tough—”
Sou stood frozen in place, fingers trembling around the grip of his swatter. His heart was slamming to explode with panic. These were no flies!
We did it, big sis Sara! We hunted ‘em all, meow!
Sou blinked as Gin’s nasally exclamation echoed in his skull. How did Gin and Sara handle being zerg-rushed by eldritch horrors? For crying out loud…
I’ll hunt him with my claws! I’ll catch him with my pointy fangs! I’ll chew him up and leave his beanie on your pillow, MEOW!
“SOU!” Keiji snarled, and Sou sprang into action.
When Sou emerged from his fugue state, he found himself kneeling in a spattered, oozing mess of ripped blue tentacles. He blinked heavily, disoriented. Greasy fluid dripped from his slick hands and trickled down his chin; when he swallowed, his mouth tasted like artificial raspberry. He wiped his hands and face clean and rose to a stand.
Light from the exit streaked across the silent chamber. Keiji was wobbling to his feet nearby, palms braced against the wall. He looked in bad shape. His trousers were miraculously intact, but he was effectively shirtless. Sou watched as he plucked off the last hanging scrap of his shirt and let it flutter to the ground.
“What did you do?” Keiji groaned, wincing in pain. “You destroyed them all… You were meowing… Jesus…”
Sou stared at Keiji’s muscled torso. His sweaty skin was mottled with deep blue blemishes—they appeared as stains, and dotted puncture marks were visible in the centers. The marks spanned down his exposed biceps as well.
“Your skin,” Sou croaked, and Keiji looked down. His face blanched further, already ashen and contorted, and he pushed stiffly off the wall to limp out the exit.
“Medical office,” he rasped, jerking his head. His breathing rattled and wheezed. “Let’s hurry…”
Sou’s mouth was watering uncontrollably; he spat the excess saliva on the floor and was disturbed to see it flecked with blue. He grabbed the deposited pair of clear chips, tucked them in his jacket pocket, and darted after Keiji.
The door to the medical office yielded to Keiji’s shoulder with a bang, and he stumbled in, reeling. The sofa skidded with a screech when his hefty brawn crashed onto it like a felled tree.
“The doll’s not here,” said Sou behind him, shutting the door and glancing around the room. The cabinets were neatly stacked, and the walls displayed the soothing surf of a holographic beach. “Everyone’s gone. What’s wrong with you? What should we do?” Sou’s tongue was numb, and his words were beginning to slur.
“Sara,” Keiji said hoarsely, shifting laboriously onto his back. His brow was creased and his eyelashes fluttered. “Go find Sara.”
Sou’s mouth twisted. “What’s Sara supposed to do? Kiss it better? Are you dying or something?”
If Keiji was dying, was he going to die? What was this blue crap in his mouth? Was this his 0.0% destiny reaching its dismal fruition? Renewed panic unfurled in Sou’s chest.
“You can trust me,” Sou insisted, moving to hover beside Keiji, who looked halfway to Corpseville. “Th-there’s no time. Tell me what to do.”
Keiji drew a shuddering breath, apparently struggling to compose himself. He set his jaw and nodded. His gray gaze fixed intently on Sou.
“Those bites were venomous. I’m going into paralysis,” Keiji explained, and the cold calm of his voice sent a shiver down Sou’s spine. “Can’t move my limbs. Might die, dunno. Listen closely. There are antidotes here. Check the cabinet wall, bottom row, second one from the left. Read the labels.”
Sou hurried to the cabinet as instructed. He yanked open the spacious bin drawer and began to rummage. Cotton balls, lollipops, a turkey baster, smiley face stickers, steel pliers, saran wrap, isopropyl alcohol, a funnel—his fingers bumped a layer of aluminum cylinders at the bottom, and he pulled them out hastily onto his lap. Heavy liquid sloshed inside them. He lifted one to read, and his heart sank at the sight of an embossed fruit logo.
“Uh… I think these are cans of melon soda…”
“Huh?!”
“Here, catch,” Sou called, tossing one over to the sofa. Keiji grunted when the can struck him in the forehead, and the pull tab broke to spew a fizzing gush over his face. Sou winced. “Ah sorry, I forgot—”
“Yeah, this is soda,” Keiji spluttered, arms limp at his sides. The can rolled off of him to hit the floor in a growing puddle. “Check third from the left. Hurry up.”
Drawer rails squealed as Sou resumed his search. The next bin was stacked with translucent plastic boxes, and various glass bottles and vials rattled within. Sou withdrew the boxes, scanning the handwritten stickers on the rubber lids. “Bar Schnapps”… “Rikuto Giant Scorpion”… “Vending Machine Peanuts”… “Gashu’s Ankle Spur”…“Fly Swatter”—success! Sou tugged out the last one and set it on the floor. He unsealed the lid to reveal a bottle of tablets and a large tub of white unguent. A fluorescent sticky note was attached to the tub’s screw cap, and he peered to read.
To prevent necrosis, apply liberally over affected skin in layers until fully absorbed.
“Necrosis is when your flesh rots off, right?” asked Sou, hands shaking. Behind him from the sofa, he heard Keiji’s breathing hitch.
“Yeah. Why? What are you looking at?”
“Uh, one sec.” Sou set down the unguent and examined the tablet bottle instead. He squinted to read the tiny font printed on the label.
Directions for use: Take one tablet per adult bastard, half a tablet per wee bastard. Do not take more than six tablets in twenty-four hours, or you’ll never piss right again. Antidote may take up to one hour to reverse paralysis.
Side effects may include fasciculation, somnambulism, horripilation, concupiscence, priapism, horking, muscae volitantes, phantosmia, jizzing erythrocytes—
“Sou!” Keiji’s demand was harsh with desperation. “Did you find it?”
“I think so, yeah,” Sou replied, gathering the box and snatching another can of soda from the floor. He knelt beside Keiji and uncapped the tablet bottle. “Er, okay. You have to swallow these antidote tablets. Probably two to be safe, since you’re pretty big…”
“If you kill me, I’ll haunt you.”
Sou flashed a thin smile, tapping out an extra tablet for himself into his palm. “Ahaha. Company isn’t the worst punishment for murder.”
“Show me the label,” Keiji ordered, steely gaze narrowed. Sou held it in front of his nose. Keiji began to read, and his brow only continued to furrow. It seemed that he had no idea what any of that crap meant, either.
“Hoo boy.” In spite of his quaint vocabulary choices, Keiji sounded gravely unamused. “All right. Pop ‘em in for me, doc.”
He parted his lips, staring stonily at the ceiling as Sou poked the tablets onto his tongue. Sou placed the third in his own mouth and cracked open the can of soda; it erupted to soak his jeans, and he grimaced before taking a sip and swallowing. He poured some of the beverage sloppily for Keiji, who gulped and coughed.
“Thanks—now to wait a whole damn—” Keiji broke into another fit of hacking, and Sou felt a cozy sensation of schadenfreude ignite in his stomach. For all of Keiji’s cool mister policeman shtick, he’d been reduced to a mottled slab of defenseless meat, and now he owed his life all to Sou’s magnanimity. Seeing as how Keiji likely had no honor whatsoever, this turn of events wasn’t particularly ripe for strategic leverage, but it always felt nice to be smug. Sou’s lips curved into a smirk.
Keiji cleared his throat. “So, what was that about necrosis?”
“Hm? Oh, yeah.” Sou reached into the box and held up the tub of unguent. “That’s what this stuff is for.” He swept his glinting leer across Keiji’s blemished torso and biceps, and Keiji paled. “You must have worked hard on that, huh? It’s impressive to spend so much time at the gym. Ahaha, it would be a shame if it all fell off…”
“Hey now,” Keiji said with a grin, but Sou could glimpse the panicked fury flaring in his gunmetal eyes. “You’re gonna give your friendly policeman a heart attack with this sort of bedside manner. Play nice with me, Sou.”
“Haha, spare me. Do I look like a nurse? That sounds like a line for Miss Sara.” Sou’s lip curled. “I’m sorry, but I can’t say I’m too keen on rubbing grease into your flank. Maybe I’ll go find her instead…”
“Please, I’d be obliged,” Keiji replied, and Sou was almost scandalized by how eager he looked. Sou brushed back his teal bangs and reached to take another swig of soda. The air felt too warm, and he was suddenly parched.
“It’s too bad.” Sou clinked down the can and shrugged. “She said she was off to do another attraction. Guess we’ll wait.”
If looks could kill, Keiji’s glare would rend Sou in half like a whaler harpoon. “Twenty tokens,” he said through clenched teeth. Sou grinned.
“Give me forty.”
“No. I’ll throw in ten of Q-taro’s, and a clear chip.”
“All right, it’s a deal. And I’ve already got your clear chip,” Sou said cheekily. He fished his fingers into Keiji’s pocket to withdraw his wallet; he sorted out the agreed token quantities, slipped them into his jacket, and returned the wallet. Keiji’s dilated pupils tracked him like black lasers.
“Ahh, don’t give me such a scary look.” Sou’s voice was a sharp lilt. He couldn’t mask his triumphant smile if he tried. He felt like he was taunting a beast behind bars, and heady exhilaration coursed hot through his veins. “You know, I could’ve taken everything, and even left you here to die. I’m just being upfront, and you’re being pretty ungrateful.”
“Mm. Fair point.”
Keiji had reassembled his lazy poker face, but sweat was trickling down his temples and matting his bleached hair. The medical office had grown oddly stifling, and Sou was perspiring as well. He shucked off his jacket, and it suddenly occurred to him that he might have sustained a bite somewhere, too. Seized by alarm, he pulled off his shirt and unbuckled his belt to strip his sticky, soda-soaked jeans. He scanned anxiously over his pale skin, which by now was flushed by the heat; given how underweight he was, Sou had always hated the notion of baring his frame around others, yet his usual self-consciousness had evaporated in the current circumstances. Anyway, he wasn’t the only one in a state of undress.
“Is there anything on my back?” he asked, standing in his boxers. It occurred to him that he should have done this before incurring Keiji’s ill will.
“Nope,” Keiji drawled. “Mind speeding things up? Or are you gonna leave me to lie here and watch my nipples shrivel off?”
Sou snorted. He turned around, knelt on the floor beside Keiji, and unscrewed the unguent tub. He scooped a heaping dollop of the ointment and dropped it on the center of Keiji’s chest with a splat. It immediately began to melt like a pat of coconut-scented butter, and clear oil spread out in a puddle and trickled over to stain the sofa cushions—but Sou didn’t care, because this wasn’t his furniture. Keiji cocked his eyebrows. Sou’s cheeks flamed as he brought both palms to the mess and began to rub it in.
Sou had never touched anyone like this, let alone a man as physically fit as Keiji. The task felt anything but clinical, nearly as though horrid porno flick music would fade in at any moment. Keiji’s body was unexpectedly hard, burning with heat like a furnace, and Sou’s slippery hands glided over the taut grooves of his abdomen to the muscled expanse of his pectorals. By the time he felt Keiji’s nipples stiffen erect beneath his palms, Sou was breathing manually.
“Does it, er…” Speaking was difficult, and Sou swallowed the copious saliva that had been pooling beneath his tongue. The air between them smelled so good that he could practically eat it. “Does it hurt?”
Keiji wet his parted lips. His face was flushed too, and his chest was twitching with the quickened beat of his heart. “Nah,” he said huskily. Sou felt faint; somewhere beyond the fog in his skull, he wondered what the heck was going on. “I can’t feel much at all, which is actually pretty worrisome.”
Sou envied that, because he was feeling too much. Drunken warmth had soaked through him, yet goosebumps stippled up his limbs, and his heart was jumping like a tweaked amphibian. Keiji’s skin had rapidly absorbed the oil, but the blemishes remained. Sou dug another scoop of ointment and smeared it over Keiji’s torso. A shiver rolled through him at the tactile satisfaction, and for a split second, he was consumed by the ludicrous compulsion to fit his tongue into the tight divot of Keiji’s navel.
Are you feeling weird? Sou wanted to ask, but he’d temporarily forgotten the process of speech. He concentrated instead on spreading the thick grease up over Keiji’s broad shoulders and down his rock-hard biceps, squeezing as he stroked. His palms skimmed back to slide over Keiji’s clavicles and curve the hot crook of his neck. Their glazed eyes met, and Sou felt a galvanic thrill sweep down his spine. His pulse wracked him with ceaseless throbs, and without needing to look, he was acutely aware that he’d pitched a raging tent in his boxers. Something slick was beading down his inner thigh.
Keiji’s pupils were a pair of obsidian stones, rimmed with threadlike silver—in less poetic terms, he looked like a bushbaby on a meth bender. Sou wasn’t completely unwitting, and he struggled to recall the antidote’s side effects, but all he could remember was the word horking, which meant absolutely nothing to him. It really didn’t matter, anyway… the future was meaningless, but Keiji’s abs were now. Sou panted heavily. His mouth envied his hands, and the aching desire to drop his face and drag his lips and tongue was too much to bear.
Something was stirring in the corner of his vision, and he turned his attention further south. His jaw hung open at the sight of the rigid bulge outlined below Keiji’s beltline. Life was unfair, as evidenced by the fact that Keiji was huge. A damp spot had darkened the strained fabric, which throbbed with mesmerizing obscenity. The raw yearning that possessed Sou was somewhere between salivating outside a bakery and locker room envy. Sou was suddenly convinced that having something inside of him was the closest he’d ever get to owning it.
“Mind looking at that for me?” Keiji’s murmur was thick and husky. Sou quivered, scarcely able to believe what was happening.
“Y-yeah,” Sou whispered, and his throat dipped in a wet swallow. “Sure…”
Sou’s fingers twitched when he reached over and unbuttoned Keiji’s pants. He pulled the metal zipper, feeling the resistance as it skimmed over the hard, swollen girth underneath, wrapped by black cotton briefs. Keiji lay tame and pliant, and addictive warmth rolled from the region. Sou vibrated with anticipation as he leaned over to hook his grip into Keiji’s waistband. His loins were pounding with mad lust, and the friction of his boxers brushing the leaking head of his hard-on was already going to finish him.
Keiji’s hips hitched up, and Sou gave a swift yank. Oh god—
He froze, greeted by a retina-scorching shade of electric blue. The spectacle that sprang forth between Keiji’s naked thighs was like a kraken twined covetously around a pitchpoled galleon. As if disturbed by the light, tentacles began to slither, and the creature’s glistening underbelly lifted to reveal the corner of a chattering mouth.
“AUGH! NO! AHHH! WHAT THE HELL!”
Sou wasn’t sure if that ragged scream was his, Keiji’s, or both at once, but by the time he came to his senses, he’d already recoiled from the sofa and scrabbled backward several meters across the linoleum. He gulped a lungful of air and wobbled to his feet, wide eyes still fixed in horror.
“Oogh, ugh, hang on—I’m gonna go find Sara—”
“Stop!” Keiji’s command was fractured with hoarse panic. He remained recumbent, and were it not for his heaving chest, straining neck, and brick-shitting expression, he almost appeared fine with the situation. His vertical erection robustly defied the weight of its Lovecraftian passenger. “This is my dick—it’s on my dick!”
Sou lingered at the exit, hand paused halfway to the doorknob. Sweat plastered his bangs and poured down his naked body—right, he was naked. How had this happened?! He glanced down, shocked to discover that he was still tenting his boxers like a dysfunctional clothes hanger. In the background, Keiji was spouting a frantic barrage of pleading orders.
“Forget about everything else, damn it! I need your help, man to man—get this thing the hell off me—NOW!”
Sou drew a shaking breath and turned to face him. No, there was no way…
“Y-you’re a cop…” he trailed off.
“What am I gonna do, arrest it?! I can’t move my hands!”
Sou shut his mouth and nodded. Keiji wasn’t anyone he’d cry a river over, but even he didn’t deserve this torturous fate, and Sou wasn’t that much of a cold-blooded bastard to forsake him. Man to man honor was a joke, but some tacit principles here transcended his cutthroat creed.
“O-okay,” said Sou, mustering his fortitude. “Hoo… g-give me one sec.”
“You killed them before! This is only one!”
Sou didn’t know how to break it to Keiji that spontaneously channeling Gin’s feral energy and biting the beast off just wasn’t an option. His frantic gaze searched about the medical office before alighting upon the strewn hodgepodge by the cabinets. He dashed over and snatched up a handful of lollipops, ripping off the cellophane wrappers. Sou was anything if not resourceful. He took aim and chucked them at the sofa, where they stuck to Keiji’s greased chest and plopped on the cushions.
“What. Are you doing?” Keiji sounded on the brink of a weeping meltdown. Although his abasement may have gratified Sou in another place and time, now it only frayed his nerves further.
“I’m luring it off—”
“The pliers,” Keiji rasped, trembling. “USE. THE. PLIERS.”
Keiji apparently possessed the superior hard candy, as the monster ignored the lollipops entirely. It looked like a starfish, a really jacked up starfish, and Sou wondered if it also fed by everting its stomach and digesting externally.
“SOU. PLIERS. NOW.”
Sou grabbed the steel pliers from the floor and approached Keiji, who was performing stilted breathing exercises between clenched teeth. Sou scrunched his face, desperately wishing he was wielding a pole grabber instead—he struck in a squeamish jab, squeezing his grip blindly, and the creature released a gurgling gibber when the metal squished and crunched through its center. Ichor burst over Keiji’s lap. The tentacles whipped in a violent flex to stick and writhe over Sou’s knuckles—he screamed and flung it like a Frisbee, pliers and all, and it crashed a jagged hole straight through the far glass wall. The beach animation fritzed to a Windows 10 error screen.
Sou collapsed onto the sofa between Keiji’s parted legs, thighs flopped perpendicular over the other man’s knee, panting with adrenaline. His triumphant relief gave way to dismay upon looking down. Not only was he still hard as a nail, he’d somehow ramrodded through the slit in his boxers during the commotion. Sou felt his cheeks incinerating as he hastily tucked it back away, where it resumed being as discreet as a budget ghost Halloween costume. His mind churned. What was going on?! He only hoped that this wasn’t how wires got crossed and unwelcome tentacle porn fetishes were born.
Sou stole a surreptitious peek at Keiji’s status, and his eyes popped. The evil was defeated, but alas, the horrors didn’t end. Keiji looked like he’d done unspeakable things to a blueberry pie—and judging by the sheer turgor, he was equipped to do it again.
“Oh, hell, my dick—” Keiji’s wheeze of disbelief shuddered like a sob. Sou’s gaze slid up, and he only stared, speechless. No more mister “hoo boy” friendly policeman. All that was left was a man stripped down to primal despair.
“Sou. The necrosis ointment.”
“The—huh—what—”
“Please. This is an emergency. I need your help. It bit me there. I’m paralyzed. I can’t afford to wait. Tokens, chips, whatever you want, doesn’t matter, I—oh hell, I—”
Keiji was speaking low and terse, but his voice began to quake with fear. Even someone like Keiji Shinogi had his breaking limit, and in spite of everything, Sou felt pity… alongside a burgeoning, euphoric power trip. Since this game had begun, he’d been the scrawny loner who everyone besides Kanna saw fit to malign. But oh, how the tides had turned today! Sou was Keiji’s laureled savior, and he didn’t see fit to stop now. If they were wounded soldiers in a foxhole, he’d receive a military medal of honor for this exceptional service.
Anyway, he wasn’t some blushing virgin schoolgirl, if only because he wasn’t a girl, and he wasn’t in school anymore. He’d touched dick hundreds of times—granted, it was the same dick, and it was his dick—
“—how blue it is? Can’t let this happen. Really can’t find out. Don’t care how you do it—”
“Shut up,” Sou interrupted, smiling sharply. He bent down to retrieve the unguent tub. Keiji fell mute, and Sou held his gaze as he unscrewed the lid and spooned a dollop with his fingers. “Relax. You think I wouldn’t help you? Ahaha… hurts that you don’t trust me.”
Sou shifted closer. He clapped his palm to the top of Keiji’s afflicted shaft and curled his slender fingers firm, feeling the ointment heat as it welled and oozed. The scent of coconut made him salivate. He squeezed; Keiji was burning hot, thick and impossibly hard, and Sou could feel his heavy pulsations. He observed Keiji’s face—he was staring at Sou’s hand, head propped against the armrest, darkened eyes lidded. Sou gave a short stroke, and Keiji’s intake of breath was a hiss.
“You’re lucky we caught this,” Sou taunted, grinning wider. Keiji was at his mercy, literally in the palm of his hand, and the perverse power had him on a high. “You’re lucky I was around to fix you up.”
“Right.” Keiji’s mouth pressed into a line. He kept blinking as he spoke. “I get it. I’m obliged.”
The melted ointment trickled down his length, pooling around the base and glistening in the hair there. Black and trimmed—carpet didn’t match the drapes. Sou collected the puddled oil with the side of his palm and smeared it up over Keiji’s entire length and girth. It made a slick, seeping mess over his hand, and the vulgar squelching thrilled him as he glided in long strokes.
Keiji’s exhalation hitched to a groan, and his huffs of breath grew fast and constricted amidst Sou’s wet, steady rhythm. His cheeks and ears glowed ruddy. Sou watched keenly as Keiji tossed his head to the side, brow creased and eyes squinched shut. Sou’s own breathing was labored; his body craved attention, tingling with hot goosebumps and wracked by his banging heartbeat. His dripping fist pumped and twisted with a will of its own, and his other hand braced shaking against the bunched pants at Keiji’s thigh as he resisted the depraved urge to rub himself in tandem.
All in the name of emergency medicine…
“Trying to think about someone else, huh?” Sou sneered, breathless. “Nah, it’s me. So look at me.” He clenched his grip tighter, spiteful with frustration, but the pressure only elicited another husky gasp. He snatched his hand away abruptly. Keiji’s erection fell twitching against his toned stomach, and Sou waited with narrowed eyes for him to turn his chin back forward.
“Look at who’s saving you,” Sou whispered. He raised his hand beside his face, turning it on display as beads of ointment snaked down his pale wrist in rivulets.
Keiji looked. His gaze was dilated and glassy, and he panted harshly between bared, parted teeth. His attention slid down to Sou’s lap; the boxers slit had thwarted Sou’s bedside professionalism, and his excitement was jutting out again, flushed pink and drooling a clear strand.
Sou didn’t bother to shove it back in this time before reaching for Keiji and resuming his ministration. It wasn’t often that he ever got to loom over anyone, let alone a man like Keiji, and he savored the shadow he cast as his thumb rubbed greasy circles over a particularly blue spot right under the ridge. Keiji threw his head back over the armrest. His broad chest was heaving, nipples tight, and a growl tore from his throat. Sou licked his lips at the reaction.
“Ahaha, don’t tell me you’re enjoying this… Feels pretty good that Keiji Jr.’s not gonna fall off, huh? Must be such a nice relief…”
“Use more ointment,” Keiji rasped. His hot shaft was straining with feverish throbs; Sou squeezed, and milky fluid wept from the tip. If he shut his eyes, it nearly felt as though he had Keiji’s beating, bleeding heart wrapped in his fist. Something vicious stirred molten in the pit of his stomach.
“Mm.” Sou let go. He smirked, tracing his fingertips along the edge of the blemish. “What’s the magic word?”
Keiji fixed him with such an intense, unexpected look that Sou felt adrenaline splash his veins. He knew with sudden certainty that if Keiji weren’t paralyzed, something horrific would be happening to him right then. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end when Keiji’s lips stretched into a familiarly languorous smile; something in his eyes glinted hungry and monstrous.
“Please.”
Only someone like Keiji could make begging sound like a threat. Not to mention, being a good sport killed all the fun. Sou hated him. He broke their locked gazes and scooped more ointment out of the tub. He held Keiji’s erection in one hand and cupped his other ointment-filled palm down over the swollen head, massaging it in as the excess spilled down his shaft like dessert glaze. Keiji shuddered and groaned.
Sou continued to work in the ointment, rubbing with both hands. Keiji was staring intently at him, and now Sou wished he’d look away, even as the sensation turned his limbs to jelly. The timbre of Keiji’s low moans and huffs had shifted subtly from surrender to approval, and sweat beaded on Sou’s skin as he glared down, nettled. He wasn’t doing this for approval.
Keiji’s legs jerked slightly beneath him, and Sou wondered how much time was left until the antidote would fully kick in. He felt as though he’d been teasing an enormous chained Rottweiler, and the rusted links were beginning to crack. Self-preservation instincts told him to get the hell out of dodge, but the ointment wasn’t absorbed yet; and if he left Keiji’s dick with the sacrifice card, he’d probably wind up dead regardless.
Keiji could move his fingers now. They were convulsing over the sofa cushions, and his hips were flexing to buck up into Sou’s tight, slippery grip. Neither of them spoke, and only the sound of wet, sloppy thrusting and their mismatched panting broke the silence of the medical office.
There was still so much ointment everywhere. Keiji groaned loudly, and Sou couldn’t take it. This was like being a starving derelict pressed to the window of a steakhouse, watching a diner devour filet mignon. He withdrew one of his slicked hands and clasped it around his own aching arousal; the ecstasy of stimulation was overwhelming, and his eyes watered as he worked his greased, heated hand in a milking rhythm.
Masturbation had never felt like this. Sou was melting in carnal rapture. Gasps and pleasured noises spilled from his open lips, and if he was slavering down his chin, he didn’t care. He was coming before he realized it, wracked with warm shivers, insensate with base satisfaction as he spent himself all over his thigh. His orgasm kept rolling through him; he’d never shot so much in his—
A bang slammed, and the room exploded in a shrill commotion. Sou looked over, dazed and bewildered, to see Reko and Nao in the doorway. Why were they—
“WHAT THE SHIT ARE YOU TWO DOING IN HERE?!” Reko shouted, eyes bulging amidst a pound of caked mascara. Sou let go of himself in shock, but his other fist kept pumping Keiji on autopilot as he gaped back at them. “WHAT’S YOUR DAMAGE?! USE YOUR OWN FUCKIN’ ROOMS!”
Sou grabbed his beanie and hung it over his lap. He cast a panicked glance at Keiji, who gripped the sofa and came like a party popper. His release shot high, arcing under the fluorescents, and it rained pearly globs over his heaving chest. Nao was shrieking, arms raised to shield herself from across the room. There was more—it was a prodigious force of nature, and Keiji was merely the mortified conduit. Sou felt wetness splash his cheek as he tried to aim it away. Nao took off running. A glistening streak splattered inches from Reko’s boots, and she gawked at it before flipping them the bird and sprinting after Nao. The door creaked closed.
“Hoo boy,” said Keiji, staring deadpan at the ceiling. He was still hard. “At least the antidote’s kicking in. I can feel my hands and feet again. Phew…”
He tried to pull up his pants and sit; his limbs were working again, only they weren’t, and he tumbled off the sofa with a thump. The ointment tub was sent rolling, and Sou noticed that the fluorescent sticky note from the lid had peeled off and was lying on the linoleum. There was a doodle on it now, and he leaned to pick it up, frowning.
It was a ballpoint cartoon of Ranger with a speech bubble. Sou realized he was looking at the flipside. The blood drained from his face as he read.
“What’s that?” asked Keiji, watching him from the floor. Sou crumpled the note and tossed it over his shoulder.
“Huh? Er, just some trash.” Sou shrugged. “Anyway, how’s your skin? Did the ointment work?”
“Still blue. But sure enough, nothing’s rotting. Guess I should say thanks…”
ᕕ( ʘ ౪ ʘ)╭∩╮ <(JK LOL. Use isopropyl alcohol for the blue dye. This is just coconut oil, jabroni!)