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Keiji doesn’t have time for a relationship.
He knows with a small amount of effort and a healthy shift of his priorities, he could certainly make time for one—
At least, that’s what his mother says when he informs her no, he isn’t seeing anyone.
Her opinion slips right through his ears with the bitter reminder that she’s probably hoping he’ll settle down with some nice Kanto girl. One from a well-off family with good manners and parents who love to nag their child just as much as his own do.
She’ll never admit to any of that, but he’s sure it lurks somewhere beneath the question. Right between getting out there and being nicer to people.
He bites his tongue. Doesn’t let himself argue that he is out there. He is polite. That there are plenty of people who would surely jump at the chance to take him out. But not only does he not have the time for a relationship, he also doesn’t have the desire for one.
Not really.
It’s easier not getting involved. Less of a headache. He wants someone when he wants them for as long as he wants them. However much. However little. For an hour or two. For a whole evening. Maybe, if they’re lucky and not too irritating, for a morning as well.
He likes it like this. Casual fun isolated in the occasions when he’s burnt out at the end of a long week and just needs a little unwinding.
It might be easier, but that in no way means it isn’t frustrating when he’s wasted his time on a man who doesn’t even bother to let him know they aren’t coming. Bafflingly rude considering they convinced him not to meet at his preferred bar only a short walk from his apartment but instead, one nearly on the other side of town. Some hole in the wall. The drinks are good but the atmosphere is lacking. All dark, dingy wood, dim lighting and a thin veil of smoke filling the air.
That last part doesn’t bother him much. Just makes him wish he’d shoved his half-empty pack in his pocket before leaving home.
Sure, being alone is nothing foreign to him; but when alone is also accompanied by pissed off, buzzed, and craving a smoke, he is a far cry from content.
He usually gives these men twenty minutes of leeway.
This time, he told himself he’d wait an extra ten after coming so far.
But this time, sticking around turns out to be an even bigger mistake than putting any ounce of trust in the type of stranger who’d talk him into coming an hour across the city just for a hookup.
“Ya know, people usually look like they’re havin’ more fun here.” The words come from a man with a lofty sigh as they slip themselves between Keiji’s bar stool and the next.
A flick of his eyes over tells Keiji this is not at all the person he’s supposed to be meeting. Instead, he’s been subjected to this rehearsed opening.
A grating, bothersome one at that.
Keiji should ignore him. They’ll leave him alone as long as he doesn’t participate—
But something about that line carried the particular kind of hauter that always makes him bite back. He knows even before he’s done it that he shouldn’t say a thing. But he’s not exactly in the mood to entertain or ignore. A scathing refusal to anyone who would assume he’s open to being so poorly wooed sounds much more cathartic.
“Might I suggest that your next comment include something about how I should be smiling more?”
Spoken harshly toward his folded arms over the bar top, Keiji turns his head in the trailing silence. He finds the high, thick brows of a man far too startled given what he’d said in the first place. Unassuming, too friendly eyes stare back at him. All cool grey and the gleam of curious surprise.
“Sorry, I—” The rushed beginning of an excuse is cut off by the interjection of the bartender and both their heads shift forward. “Yeah,” He starts with a flustered clear of the throat. “Another whiskey highball— no lemon— thanks.”
Keiji waits for a credit card to pass through his vision, then back, then he starts,
“No, you’re right.” Keiji can feel the weight of eyes on him but he keeps his gaze locked on the dark glass of his beer. He’d already been a cocktail deep when he gave up on the evening and opted for a quick woe-is-me beer before heading out. Quick was the intention. And now, he’s trapped. “I should be enjoying myself more considering there’s nothing more fun than getting stood up.”
“Well shit,” It’s really the only expected response for such a statement. Aside from another empty apology. Still would’ve been better than what follows. “Hard to imagine someone would pass up on the opportunity of meetin’ you.”
A tall glass meets the bar, filled nearly to the brim with fizzy gold. It sits there no longer than a second before being swiped up.
A broad hand. Nice watch. Rolled sleeves.
The remnants of the response sit like sludge in Keiji’s ear. He resists the urge to scowl just a bit longer.
“I got stood up too. If that helps any. Well, kinda— by my brother, so it’s not really the same thing, but—”
“I’m sorry.” Patience. Restraint. Decorum. They all snap at once. Rearing back on the bar stool, Keiji curves himself until he’s staring up at wide eyes once more. He steels himself beneath the way they’re trying to take in every bit of him. Parse him apart. Figure him out. “If you’re looking for idle conversation until you finish your drink and inevitably wander back to wherever it is you came from, I’m not really the one to engage in that sort of thing.”
To Keiji’s surprise, a smile breaks out across the man’s face. It’s soon hidden behind a glass, but the evidence of it lies in the crinkle of skin beside his eyes. Still there once he sets the glass back on the bar and tips his head just slightly.
If it weren’t for the ire bubbling away in Keiji’s throat, he might just have thought this man was handsome.
“I thought that’s what yer here for?” A warm tone to his complexion. “Subpar first date.” Glossy grey subtly weaving its way through the deep brown of his hair. “Probably awkward and fulla plenty a’ small talk.” Tightly buttoned shirt and a full chest perfect for many things promptly shoved into the very back of Keiji’s mind.
It’s a shame he’s too annoyed to drop his eyes and stare.
Keiji only narrows his gaze. “I never said date.”
“No? Why are ya here then?”
“This counts as conversation.”
“Yeah. It does.”
Keiji nearly thought it wasn’t possible for that smile to get any wider. There’s an edge to it now. Something cocksure and defiant.
“To get my mind off things.” He isn’t entirely sure why he answers. Or keeps going. “I’ve had a long week.”
“Workin’ sucks sometimes.”
“What a novel declaration.”
Nothing from Keiji’s flat tone to his withdrawn posture seems to phase him. Shifting to lean his hip against the bar, it’s almost as if this unwelcome guest is settling in.
“Don’t like yer job I’m guessin’?”
“It’s fine.” Keiji’s watched the entire time it takes to finish off his beer and scoot the bottle across waxy wood. The silence feels polite. Like he’s being given the room to continue despite his better judgement. He doesn’t want to. But he does. Again. “It’s not what I thought I’d be doing.”
“Butcha did think a date with someone rude enough to be a no-show was gonna cheer ya up?”
“I said it wasn’t a date. I held no confidence that he was well-mannered or respectful. That’s not exactly what I take into consideration when I’m looking for something to do other than fretting over how grossly mundane my life is becoming.”
More silence.
Nagging quiet as if there isn’t an entire world making noise just behind their backs.
Keiji looks over, attempting to sneak a glance, but it’s pointless when he’s being stared at. Now, in place of a smile there’s the smallest purse of lips and a twitch to his brows.
“What?”
“Nothin’. You just don’t really seem like someone who’d give potentially shit guys the chance to even get near ya like that, ‘specially not if they’re gonna mess up this bad.”
“I haven’t walked away from you yet, have I?”
“Yer implyin’ I come off as a shit guy?”
Keiji offers nothing more than a small shrug at the notion. “I haven’t been given any evidence to believe otherwise.”
Moving abruptly beside him, the crack of an elbow hitting the bar top comes just before the man offers his hand out.
“I’m Miya Osamu— just Samu to pretty much everyone— I have a twin brother who’s the real asshole outta the two of us and apparently cares more about spendin’ time with the boyfriend he lives with than followin’ through on plans with me. Grew up in Amagasaki, but I live here now workin’ as head chef of one a’ four restaurants I’ve opened. I’ve got two dogs, no kids, and my Ma’s really concerned about that last fact.”
While the words fall hurried and rather serious out of his mouth, the hand stays unmet in the air.
Keiji’s never been one for handshakes. He’d much rather give the slight bow of his head and stay a respectful distance away than take hold of a stranger's hand so awkwardly thrust up between them.
He stares at it until Osamu seems to be finished. Only then does Keiji lift his focus and fully disregard the offer.
“Well Miya-san, thank you for the unsolicited, and rather unwarranted, autobiography; but that tells me absolutely nothing about your character.”
“I’m nice enough that I’d tell ya if I wasn’t gonna show up.”
“How gallant of you.”
Osamu shrugs off the bite in Keiji’s words. Bringing his drink up, he pauses just as the rim meets his mouth. “Wouldn’t pass on the opportunity at all; but you’ve made it clear ya wouldn’t have given me the chance to begin with.” He follows through on that drink, muttering around the glass between swallows. “M’just not yer type, I guess. Which is fine.”
In truth, Keiji doesn’t believe he really has a type. He could probably come up with one if he thought long enough. One that Osamu would most likely fall right into. This thought alone keeps him from saying a single thing about it.
“Apparently, I’m yours. Or do you bother everyone this incessantly?”
“Bit of both.”
“Mm, here I was expecting some remark about how you just couldn’t let a pretty thing like me sit alone any longer.”
Resting on the elbow he has placed atop the bar, Osamu drops himself a little closer. His voice, a little quieter. His smile, a little less sincere. “Is that whatcha want me to say?”
Keiji leans away as much as he can. It isn’t far, but he hopes the displeased curl of his mouth adds some emphasis to the gesture. “No.”
“No? ‘Cause I can come up with somethin’ similar pretty damn fast. But yer a lot more than just some pretty thing, aren’tcha?”
They’re still too close. He can smell the whiskey on those words— The tinge of smoke that sneaks beneath along with a dripping confidence that’s slowly— obstinately— eating away at Keiji like acid at the back of his throat— down through his chest— all the way until it’s festering and oozing in his gut.
“Miya-san, you should go.”
“Yeah,” With a knock of his knuckles against the counter, Osamu stands fully. “I’ll head out— But, y’know, you could always come with me.” Keiji’s sneer must be horribly apparent considering how fast Osamu calls him out. “Why not?”
“Why should I?”
“It’ll be fun.”
“You think so?” Crossing one leg over the other, Keiji props his arm up on his knee and rests his chin in an open palm. “Tell me, does your idea of fun look like a mediocre fuck that I probably won’t enjoy followed by you falling asleep after one round because you just can’t keep up with a spry youngster like me?”
“I can keep up.”
“I suggest conserving your energy for someone else.”
“Does it not look like I can? Maybe I should add that to my autobiography—” Osamu backs off a bit but continues to smile like he isn’t being glared at. Like he’s enjoying this. The snide looks. The vitriol. “How about this? Since I get the feelin’ you’d prefer people be direct with ya— besides bein’ fun, I can promise it’ll be better than all the times you’ve let some lousy guy take ya home.”
“You promise?” It’s an absurd claim. Keiji wishes he had enough sense to laugh at him and walk away instead of merely turning his nose up.
“I’ve been around a bit. Learned some things.”
“I don’t find blind arrogance attractive.”
“Ya sure about that?”
“I can’t tell if you think being this persistent is amusing or if you’re simply an idiot.”
“Ain’t that just part of the fun?” There’s a horrid wink thrown in that Keiji swears does absolutely nothing for him. His jaw tenses as he watches Osamu throw back the rest of his drink before sliding the glass along the bar and stepping away. “But I’ll go now. Sorry for botherin’ ya for so long. Hope yer night gets better from here.”
Osamu leaves him after a final nod and the garnish of that winsome simper.
The second he’s alone, Keiji lets out a long sigh as his rigid posture deflates.
He should feel relieved, but being left miffed— in an utter fit of pique with nowhere to expel any of it— he’s feeling far worse than he was to start with.
Keiji isn’t sure what exactly breaks him. Before taking the time to think about it, his foot’s hitting the floor with a painful smack and a harsh curse,
“Fuck it.”
Sliding off the stool, he trudges towards the door.
He’s surely going to regret this.
He only hopes this man can keep his promise.
✷
Apparently, Osamu lives nearby. And even though he’d been arguably eager to get Keiji out of there, something in him had made it rather pertinent to clarify that he wasn’t really one to hang around bars very often.
“Got a few beers in my fridge, but that’s about as far as my drinkin’ goes unless someone invites me out.” He’d said it around the end of an unlit cigarette. Hand cupped in front of his mouth. Brows knit together. Lighter glowing in the corner of Keiji’s vision as he spared a glance to the side. “Either workin’ early mornin’s and late nights. Doesn’t leave time for much of anythin’, let alone a night out.”
Keiji hadn’t responded, but that didn’t stop Osamu from continuing to talk like Keiji had offered some hint that he wanted him to. At least he’d been nice enough to spare Keiji his own smoke on the walk. It’d given him something to distract himself with. An excuse not to answer more than necessary.
Nearly a half hour later, the taste is still sticking to his tongue.
Now bare, laying on his stomach across the dark sheets of Osamu’s bed, Keiji contemplates which tasted better; the first slide of smoke into his throat, or the lingering richness of whiskey licked over his teeth while being pressed into Osamu’s front door.
Maybe it’s the combination of both that’s kept him from asking for something to wash it down.
This place, not too big, not too clean, feels lived in. Keiji’s eyes hadn’t strayed much on the fumble from entry to bedroom, but of the long shadows and dimly lit furnishing he saw while walking, it was a comfortable place for one. Well-kept, but cluttered. An inadvertent accumulation over years.
Keiji had taken to laying over the bed on his own; but the moment his chest hit the mattress, there came Osamu’s weight behind him, pressing him down further. He’d spent some time at Keiji’s neck, nuzzling and kissing at his nape before slipping lower and settling somewhere at the foot of the bed.
“I never got yer name.” Osamu’s lips touch the base of his spine, muttering words across the knobs there.
Keiji breathes in slowly and fully, stretching the skin between his ribs and Osamu’s fingers. “Okay.” He sighs back out, scowling aimlessly at the pillows pushed up against the headboard.
“Don’t wanna tell me?”
“You didn’t ask.”
The quick rush of air over his back feels like a laugh. The fingers on his sides squeeze just enough to relay some sense of a hollow warning before Osamu concedes.
“What’s yer name, angel?”
“Not angel.”
“Coulda fooled me.”
Keiji’s knee twitches with the urge to pull his leg up and kick Osamu right in the gut. With a sigh to ease his irritation, he finds himself replying quietly like it’s the harbored secret Osamu’s made it out to be, “Keiji.”
There’s a pause before Osamu mumbles and continues the wanderings of his mouth over Keiji’s back. “S’fitting.”
“Is it? It’s a rather common name.” With a push up onto his hands and a twist, Keiji looks over his shoulder. “Or is there something I’m unaware of etched into my lower back that makes it a name worth fitting me?”
Tilting his head back, Osamu finds his eyes and traps them in some sort of staredown. It’s held for too long. Too long being merely a few seconds, but they drag on and on and Keiji doesn’t want to risk breaking from his position even with the faintest sound. Like air leaving the flare of his nostrils. Or sheets rustling if he were to shift. The pop of a joint, the crack of his spine. He’s immovable, resolute.
Osamu yields first and, thankfully, their dynamic is set in Keiji’s favor.
“Yer kinda scary.” It should wedge discomfort between them, but Osamu says it with a sudden smile. He drops his head, breathing another soft chuckle where his fingers dig into the soft squish of Keiji’s ass. “Can I?”
Keiji drops onto his elbows when he turns to focus on the frayed stitching of Osamu’s pillows once more. His settling may not be subtle with the way he brings a bent knee up to spread his legs and practically offer himself up for the taking; but it’s clearly not an issue considering he can’t even speak before Osamu begins to mouth at the spot where those fingers had left their mark.
Yet, Keiji tries— however weakly— to get the last word in.“What else am I here for?”
Osamu hums as if the question warranted an answer.
Maybe it hadn’t been so much a request for permission as it was a warning. Despite knowing, despite Keiji’s lungs filling with anticipation, the spread of his ass litters goosebumps up his back. The warm run of Osamu’s tongue over his hole makes him shudder and push all his air out in one heavy puff.
Keiji drops his head with the first nudge of that tongue inside him. Teeth digging into his lip, he resides himself to being purposefully still and quiet. It’s pure stubbornness at this point. Obstinate desperation trying to prove this man wrong instead of just letting himself give in and enjoy it.
Osamu has a firm grip on his thigh, squeezing at it with every lap between his cheeks. Keiji had barely noticed it before, hadn’t put more than a thought towards it, but now the prickle of stubble is scratching against sensitive skin with constant, overwhelming friction and it shouldn’t make him want to squirm as much as it does.
He forces himself to wait, refusing to be seen as something other than a begrudgingly willing participant at best. When the right moment comes, he draws his hips back quick enough that it can be hidden under the way Osamu pulls him onto his mouth. Fighting anything that could be taken as eager enjoyment, any sound that would encourage Osamu to keep up his confident act, Keiji folds his arms under his head and tucks his face into the space there. It’s hot with his breath being trapped in the bit of darkness between his open mouth and the sheets, but it keeps every hitch and gasp stifled.
He still wants to arch into it, curve himself into an even better position once Osamu takes to sucking lightly before pushing his tongue back in. He’s got some incomprehensible rhythm going but maybe it’s just to prevent Keiji from knowing what to do with himself. So he stays tense and far too alert— and when he feels the press of fingers alongside Osamu’s tongue, he can’t stop from biting into his forearm just to keep from moaning at the stretch.
But then they’re both gone and Keiji’s so close to blindly wiggling himself back to try and find them. The light smack to his hip feels like a taunt, one that’s all but confirmed as one once he feels the cool air of Osamu’s laugh.
“Keep yerself quiet all ya want— Doesn’t mean I can’t tell how much yer enjoyin’ this.” Osamu’s teeth scrape, bite down, pull at the skin of his ass only to leave him alone with a wet kiss against the mark and final squeeze to the back of his thigh. “Don’t got nothin’ to say now? What a shame that is.” Osamu’s leaning back, pushing instead of pulling but still talking in that low, smooth tone. “Turn over for me, princess.”
Keiji’s on the edge of refusing, but the hands on him are insistently trying to flip him. Jostled and urged by the broad grasp around his waist, he rolls until he’s on his back, willing a blank stare at the ceiling. “Are you the hopeless kind of man that likes to look people in the eyes every time you fuck?”
“There’s the spite I was missin’. Glad yer back.” Climbing up the bed, Osamu’s soon hovering over his face, grin and all. “And sure, when those eyes are as gorgeous as yers.” Keiji isn’t sure why Osamu tried another line on him when the others had all failed so miserably. Is even less sure why, for a split second, he considers rewarding that behavior with a kiss. His jaw flexes to keep from saying anything at all, but it must also morph his expression into something sour. Something amusing to the fool vying for his praise. “That one worked on ya a little bit. Ya gotta admit it.”
“You haven’t earned my admission of anything.”
“Gotta work harder then.”
Keiji truly doesn’t care for the proud way Osamu’s grinning over him, hooking arms under his legs, pulling him close. Like he’s winning and rubbing it in. But Keiji isn’t something to be won or conquered. He is control. He is a force. Braced for, not overcome.
Albeit composed and clearly pleased with himself, Osamu is still careul to move slowly when he first nudges his cock inside. But a moment later, he’s sinking in more. He’s exhaling through it, being overbearing with his shadow and his weight in the way they always do.
This time, if he really is to enjoy himself, Keiji doesn’t want to let himself be smothered.
“Wait.” Whispered in a rush, the urgency of his tone startles something in Osamu.
Osamu’s pulling out a second later— too fast, uncomfortably so— suddenly alert. He rears up, bringing his hands away and looking back and forth over Keiji’s face as his brow pinches. “Changed yer mind?”
“No.”
“Want me to stop?”
“No.” Osamu’s touch on his side returns, softer, no longer grabbing, just sitting there like he’s not sure where else to put his hands. “Just don’t be so smug.”
“M’not smug.”
“You are.”
“Okay, well how do ya want me to be?”
There doesn’t seem to be any offense or irritation to the way Osamu’s looking at him now, even as he leans closer and runs his hands down to the back of Keij’s thighs. Wandering hands. Ticklish hands. Possessive hands. It takes restraint not to slap them away. Or hold them down. Keep them trapped against the sheets until Osamu’s begging to touch him again.
He won’t.
At least not yet.
“I want you to be something that’s worth my time.” It’s a gamble. “If you think I’m some naive thing that will gladly give you whatever, however you please just because I’m younger than you and I’ve had a bad day, you’ve made a mistake. Understand?”
Osamu’s staring at him again, red—cheeked and hot enough over him that he must be on the verge of sweating. The smugness is gone, sure— but now he’s just dumbfounded. Face tightening like he isn’t sure of a single word Keiji said.
Maybe Keiji should give up and resign himself to playing through another just fine evening before hightailing it home the minute they’re done.
One last shot and then he’ll accept the mistake of letting this man smooth-talk his way to being this close.
“I expect an answer.”
“Yeah- yeah, I getcha.”
At least Osamu’s response is fast. He nods without much thought, eyes flicking between Keiji’s as if searching for approval in his compliance.
“We’re doing this my way. You promised it would be better than anyone else, remember?” Osamu nods again, readjusting his sticky hold on Keiji’s legs. They go slipping into the crook of Osamu’s elbows, fingertips digging into the underside of his thighs. “Listen to me.” Head back, arms curving up to rest on the pillow, Keiji catches Osamu’s gaze drifting over him before snapping back up as soon as he starts, louder, firmer, “Pay attention and do as I say so you won’t have to go back on your word. Can you do that?”
“Yeah.”
“Don’t underestimate me.”
“Never meant to.”
At least Keiji’s chancy guess that Osamu would be just as willing to play along as he was getting Keiji here in the first place wasn’t entirely wrong.
“Keep going then.”
Osamu’s slower to respond to that one. Like the words are skipping around in his head, Osamu just peers down at him. It takes the knock of Keiji’s knee into his side to get him to move.
All at once— shocked back into it— Osamu drops his chin, anchors his grip on one thigh and guides Keiji’s legs wider. Whether it’s truly to watch, or just because he’s too wary to look up again, Osamu keeps his eyes low. Tracks over the squished up part of Keiji’s stomach as he’s curled and bent. Definitely lingers on the sight of Keiji’s dick, hard and flushed and equally as trapped between them while Osamu has his hips lifted off the bed.
“Keep going, Samu.”
Maybe the familiarity in his choice of names was a mistake. He knows for sure it wasn’t the safe bet. But it captures Osamu’s attention with a quick jerk of his head so he can stare wide-eyed at Keiji as if he’d just said something truly absurd.
Possibly, remarkable.
But maybe Keiji isn’t giving him enough credit.
Osamu looks back down just as fast, squashing a leg against his chest to reach for his cock and line himself up again.
If Keiji were nicer, he’d give Osamu a break. If he were as easy as people believe he is, he wouldn’t say another word until Osamu was finished and rolled away from him with a predictable groan.
But he’s never been known for being nice. And despite the countless notches on his mental bedpost, he isn’t easy. Not even in the simplest of senses.
It’s more fun this way, letting Osamu work the tip of his cock in before tightening up and breathing out a quiet, hurried, “Stop.”
Osamu freezes. He doesn't move away, only mutters, but not without a spiteful huff. “Ya said—”
“I know what I said.” The hand that rises quickly to catch Osamu by the chin and tip his head back is more daring, more forceful, than Keiji usually allows himself to be. But the wide eyes on him are a treat, the quick breath that whisps over his lips makes him inhale deep and talk calm but pointed. “And you agreed to listen, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, but—”
“But?”
He can feel Osamu’s jaw clench under his fingers. It opens, his mouth parting and moving without saying a word. Eventually, finally, he wets his lips with a swipe of his tongue. “Yer confusin’. Wait— don’t stop— keep goin’— stop— I can’t tell if ya want this or if yer just playin’ with me.”
“Have you considered the possibility that it could be both? Right now, I want you to keep still.” The brush of his knuckles over Osamu’s cheek runs the risk of being too patronizing. But when Osamu’s eyes fall back into a low flutter, Keiji knows he’s not going anywhere. He’ll be wherever Keiji wants him, looking like he’d do or say just about anything. “Stay put and don’t move your hands.”
Osamu’s surprise has fully weakened into a small frown, distressed, almost beseeching. Pouting isn’t enough to make Keiji even begin to think he should back off. Certainly not when Osamu’s holding him so tightly, as if breaking apart now would be the end of him.
“Yer kiddin’ me—”
“Am I?”
Turning just slightly into the touch on his cheek, Osamu puffs a warm, obstinate breath over Keiji’s fingers. “Maybe killin’s a better word.”
“Is that right? I’m killing you?”
“Feels like I’m dyin’.”
“Then don’t make things any harder for yourself.”
Ravening eyes open once more when Keiji’s hands leave him. Getting up to his elbows, Keiji operates with both caution and unwavering focus the first time he shifts his hips. He slips down Osamu’s cock no more than an inch before stopping again and watching the harsh lines on Osamu’s face melt into a pitiful surrender.
The moment Osamu realizes how torturous this could be for him is a beautiful thing. His lids droop further down, fingers tightening but not enough to jostle Keiji at all. Surprisingly obedient. Worthy of some mercy if he keeps it up.
Delicately, Keiji starts to roll his hips. Shallow little circles, barely moving, but it’s enough to ease the head of Osamu’s cock in before he’s shifting again and making it catch against his hole. They’re both keyed up, shivering through swallowed sounds with every involuntary clench trying to bring Osamu in deeper. Watching Osamu’s taken, enamored expression is making it unfairly difficult for Keiji not to drop back to the sheets and demand to be fucked like they both want.
Closing his eyes gains him a meager taste of focus. Tipping his head back and feeling the tickle of hair at his shoulders adds a bit to the clarity. His movements become bolder, his mindless rocking wriggles him lower each time. Just how far he’s gone gets no more than a brief thought before he’s carrying himself back up and humming at the easy way Osamu’s cock glides in and out.
A quiet, nasally whine is what catches his attention first. But then, his brain’s clicking back into place and the ache in his hips, the burn of his stretched out thighs, becomes impossible to ignore.
“Hold me up.” He says, mouth tacky, elbows ready to give out beneath him.
The words barely leave before Osamu’s hands slide from the back of his thighs to his ass. The nails on his cheeks sting, clutching at the soft skin and pulling him forward until his arms have no choice but to buckle. His back hits the bed, air knocked out by the impact and the heady rush of Osamu bottoming out inside him.
“I said—”
“M’tryin—” Osamu’s slurring is just above a rumble that quickly breaks into a wobbly moan once Keiji settles flush against him, startled, tightening up.
For a moment, all they can manage is breathing. Trying not to move. Or waiver. Or give in.
Keiji is sure to level his voice before blinking a few times and looking up at a man surely on the brink of collapse. “I said—” He snaps again, “hold me up, not—”
“Didn’t—” The shake of Osamu’s head is weak and soon comes to nothing more than a loose sway. “I was— I can’t—“
“What?”
Keiji knows his tone is harsh, the expectant tilt of his head and impatient stare even more so. Osamu’s fighting with himself but inevitably loosens his grip.
“Lemme move now.”
“Yeah? You wanna fuck me?”
Osamu nods enough that his head may just topple right off. He does so while leaning forward, tipping his head up to try for a kiss. Keiji’s so close to letting him follow through but then he’s turning away, grinning around a laugh as Osamu’s mouth meets his chin instead.
“That’s too bad.”
“Please—” Osamu’s forehead knocks against his jaw. He nuzzles into Keiji’s neck, mouthing at it as he mumbles, “Hurts.”
“Oh, it does?” The snide remark brings Osamu’s face right back out to hover over him, to hang off every word like he hasn’t got a single bit of dignity left. “Poor thing.”
It takes no more than a quick glance down to know Osamu’s shaking. Keiji takes a moment to splay his fingers over Osamu’s stomach just to feel the tremble. The concentrated restraint. He pushes against the soft flesh, the taut muscle underneath, forcing out a whine.
“You sound so pitiful.”
It’s merely a whisper, but it slips between them only to be answered by Osamu’s shaky gasp when his hand crawls lower and tickles just below his navel. It sounds even worse when his touch drifts back up, over his chest, shoulder, the straining vein in his neck.
“I’m having plenty of fun.” The moment Keiji’s fingers graze his forehead, Osamu’s pushing back against his hand, butting into his palm like it’ll convince Keiji otherwise. “So good, Samu— maybe I’ll keep you like this all night. I could fall asleep right here. Would you like that?”
“No, please, no—'' Hair brushed back, the ripple in his forehead is clear and wobbling with tension. Weaving the short strands between his fingers, Keiji draws out a whimper and the slight, involuntary flinch of his hips before Osamu stops himself. He’s babbling, near incomprehensible while Keiji twirls a lock around and around his finger. “Gotta— wanna— please, mommy— ”
In a matter of seconds, everything stops.
It’s not often that Keiji is shocked to the point of an absolute stupor; but hearing that ghosted across his face was enough to do it.
“What?” He breathes back, almost inaudible over Osamu’s huffing and the thud of his own heartbeat.
Osamu mutters something at him, maybe Keiji’s too unhinged to hear it— maybe it was nothing comprehensible to begin with. Keiji tries harder to speak, cupping the rosy flush of Osamu’s cheek and mapping how the color bleeds into his ears, down his neck.
“What did you call me?”
This time, Osamu opts to give some whiny groan like he’s too embarrassed to acknowledge it.
“Be good,” Keiji’s thumb presses down until Osamu’s eyes peek open, hazy, lost, a little frantic. “Say it again.”
It takes Osamu a good handful of attempts to get his mouth moving, his pride swallowed, “Mommy, please,”
Something lurches in Keiji’s stomach, stronger this time. Maybe it’s the urge to break into hysterical laughter. Or to mock him. Or the strange possibility that this isn’t as much of a turn-off as he would have ever considered.
Keiji feels the need to talk gingerly, still so sharp that it may come off as a sneer but not enough that it would ruin this man entirely.
“Is this really too much that you’ve gone and lost your mind? You were so calm and assured— and now look at you.” The touch of his thumb on Osamu’s cheek softens, brushing gently just beneath a row of dark lashes. “And now— Mommy— ” The name sits ticklish and foreign on his tongue. “I’m fairly certain you’re almost old enough to be my father— don’t you think it would make more sense for me to be the one who—”
“M’forty-two.”
“What?”
Thick swallow, slow blink, Osamu repeats himself without a bit of shame or concern. “I’m forty-two.”
“This is…” Fucked. If Keiji’s being honest with himself. Weird and uncharted and, arguably, a laughable mess.
“Wanna stop? I can—”
Osamu’s hold on him starts to slip. He begins to lower Keiji’s legs as if he’s going to pull out. As if things are over. As if this was a blunder not a discovery.
The dart of Keiji’s hand back to Osamu’s nape and the knock of a heel to his back is all it takes to get Osamu to stop.
“You’re not going anywhere.” Pulling him down by the scruff of his neck, Keiji brings them close enough together that he can hear Osamu’s shaky exhale as much as he can feel it. “My baby boy wanted something after all. Didn’t he?” The nod Osamu gives is subtle, but his breathing picks up, thoughts surely racing just beyond Keiji’s fingertips. “And what was it again?”
Osamu’s answer doesn’t leave his mouth. It comes instead as the gentlest rock of his hips, not fully moving, just grinding deep and mind-numbing. Osamu stares at him all the while— close, attentive like it’s a request for permission.
He’s too good. It’s infuriating.
“You’re okay,” Keiji tells him in this calm voice, unreasonably quivering at the end. “Go ahead.”
There’s no sudden burst of movement. Osamu doesn't drag him down the sheets and start pounding into him simply because he can. He slowly draws out, makes Keiji feel every bit of his cock before sinking back in fully. It doesn’t feel like revenge or teasing. Osamu’s eyes are nearly shut, his mouth parted softly. This is what he wants. How he wants it. Lazily out, only a little quicker back in.
Keiji’s head is buzzing, pressure at his temples, a prickly sort of sting from behind his ears all the way down his back until it settles in the warm churn of his gut. He can’t decide what’s better, clenching his jaw to help bear the force of every thrust, every loud smack of skin— or letting it hang open, pull in heavy breaths, let free the quiet hiccups of sound that are being punched out of him over and over.
It comes to be that he doesn’t have a choice this time. His mouth is all but willed to fall around a moan the moment he’s hoisted further off the bed, nearly crushed in half, pinned in place so Osamu can take a nipple between his teeth. It’s tugged, lapped at, sucked until Keiji’s squirming beneath him.
His hand finds Osamu’s hair again, blindly slipping through the sweaty strands at his nape.
“Feel good, sweet boy?” The next bite is a brutal one. Bright pain zips across Keiji’s skin only to be soothed by the wet drag of Osamu’s tongue. Arching into it, feeling himself curve off the bed as much as he can, Keiji tears at the hair in his grip but merely smiles when Osamu refuses to move. “Mm, you like sucking on my tits that much?”
Osamu hums through a moan, keeping his thrusts steady as he nips a nasty mark onto Keiji’s chest. Osamu’s mouth releases him only once it has to. Only once he can’t keep himself bent over so low while also finding a faster, consistent rhythm.
It’s fine. It’s good. Osamu leans up instead, catches Keiji by surprise when he presses a delirious kiss to his lips.
Keiji usually isn’t one for kissing. Not when it’s men he barely knows. It shouldn’t even be enjoyable like this. More open-mouthed panting than an actual kiss, the sloppy swipe of a tongue nowhere near coordinated.
He tells himself he doesn't like kissing.
Tells himself a lot of things.
Like how he doesn’t want a relationship.
And how this is what he wants. To tear these men apart. Rip through them with every bit of anxious, underutilized energy that’s wasted day in and day out on a life he’s crafted around boredom and routine. A routine that needs breaking every once in a while. Just for a bit. Just long enough to wind someone around him tighter and tighter until they shatter and he slips away.
It’s a shame— maybe a blessing— that this one won’t seem to break no matter how hard he pushes. There’s no slipping away when the grip on his skin is going to bruise and the rapt attention still billowing away in Osamu’s eyes won’t even let him look away long enough to breathe.
Keiji’s used to his body being caught. He’s used to being pushed down, held up, squeezed and prodded and scratched and bit and looked at— but never looked through. Never quite seen so wholefully with such eager trust and vulnerability.
Osamu tries for another kiss, but Keiji stops him with the simple press of their foreheads together. But like this, so close, there’s nowhere for his eyes to go except to stare straight ahead into Osamu’s.
“That’s it,” Keiji speaks with some peculiar fondness. His own voice, far more affectionate than he’s familiar with. He can’t seem to help it. Acerbity, gone. All done away with by the hands of a complete stranger. He’s surely gone crazy. “Doing so well. Gonna fill mommy up?”
There must be something about it, the question leaving him so sincerely. The words seem to be the final weight to make everything that's been building on top of them topple over in an instant.
Osamu’s hips jerking are the only warning before he comes, bucking hard and sending himself into a full body shake until he’s near collapsing.
Ask before today and Keiji probably would’ve claimed he couldn’t be satisfied with a night like this. Slow, tender touches, eyes on him like he’s something to behold. The thought of it would’ve been mundane, unappealing.
But now, it’s wound him up so much that all he needs is a few hurried strokes and he’s spilling hastily over his fingers.
Keiji’s legs find the bed shortly after, but Osamu lingers over him. Eyes shut, they dare to let Keiji drift off. Open, they stare back at the warm gaze trailing up and down every bit of him that it can see. Shut, he listens to the sound of Osamu slinking to the spot next to him on the bed.
Sheets slide over his legs before they’re covered completely and Osamu is worming his way into Keiji’s side.
“So.”
Osamu spurs too soon, coming up out of the mire with a surprising degree of lucidity. Of course he does. Of course he’d be someone who can’t just leave things as they are.
“So?” Keiji sighs back at him.
“Was it mediocre?”
Keiji wants to laugh.
Or maybe sigh again.
When Osamu speaks, his voice falls against Keiji’s face like he’s coaxing him out of a dream. “Or, was it maybe even good? Maybe even more than good?”
Keiji opens his eyes only long enough to meet Osamu’s, to see how much they’re shining at him, before he closes them again. Blocks it out. The room, the apartment, they’re dormant beyond the two of them. It’s unusual for him not to want to break it. To not let the threat of intimacy consume him.
Keiji keeps his face still, moving just enough to speak. “I’m not one to fuel egos.”
“Did you at least enjoy it?” Opening his eyes seems to have been a mistake. It’s drawn Osamu even closer. That question hits Keiji’s cheek as a faint signal for the kiss that follows after. “Even just a little bit?” Osamu’s lips move slowly from cheek to jaw to parted lips. He takes his time laying down each kiss until it takes hold under Keiji’s skin and keeps him rooted to the bed. “Just enough so that yer not tryin’ to run outta here too fast?”
Osamu gives him only enough room to breathe. If breathing involves getting a nose and mouthful of hair while a grown man burrows their face into his neck.
At least Osamu’s hair smells nice. Woody tobacco laced with something muskier that Keiji can’t quite place between intentional or merely remnant of the sweat dripped in every curve of their limbs.
“You’re odd.” Keiji says, tilting his face away from a lock of black tickling his upper lip.
“Yeah? Ya think so?” Osamu’s voice is distant thunder against his throat. Something soothing about the sound but foreboding in its approach. “Don’t seem too bothered by any of it, odd or not. And that means I kept my promise, didn’t I?”
“Who’s to say?”
“You are.”
Osamu’s chin propping up on his shoulder hurts a bit. Toes, cold against his ankle. Exhale, caressing his face as it ruffles through the frayed curls behind his ear.
“I haven’t formed an opinion yet.”
If his mumbling is thunder, his laugh is the lightning. Sharp, startling, bright. Cutting through dark skies, blinding just long enough to disorient.
“I really doubt that, Keiji.”
His name, tacked on to the end of the comment like they’ve known each other for years. Like this isn’t the first time they’re so close, whispering familiar sentiments in between the gaps of lips and teeth, feeding the pulse of a storm that’s only just begun to stir.
It’s becoming harder to breathe. Usually, Keiji would start to fret when the closeness of an evening bordered on suffocating. He’d pull away, wrest himself from their hold and disappear.
His head turns, ready to try and heave enough air into his chest so he can excuse himself. Instead, he catches the sleepy curve of Osamu’s smile and his thoughts falter.
He wants to look longer. Feel longer. Be, whatever being may mean with this man, just a little longer.
“There’s still time for me to change my mind. We’re not done yet.” Every word pulls Osamu’s smile wider. Luring Keiji in further. Maybe, so deep that he won’t be able to find his way back out. “If I recall, you assured me you can keep up.”
“I can,” Osamu’s preening in an instant, fingers skittering over Keiji’s stomach to his ribs, leg wedging between his knees, engulfing Keiji entirely in this warm, inviting ease. “For as long as ya want me to, I can.”