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Goro slips into the room and locks the door behind him with well-practiced ease. His former life's experience of skulking around Palaces undetected still serves him well nowadays; there's a sizable market for anyone willing and discreet enough.
And if the past couple years have taught him anything, it's how to be discreet.
With Shido's connections still out and about, he's had to be a bit... creative to make ends meet. To fly under any and all radars that could still be on the search for him. Never staying in one spot for more than a couple months, taking what work he can that doesn't ask too many questions.
Currently- and unfortunately- he's back in Tokyo. Risky, but easier to disappear among the masses, his pulse lost in the beating heart of the big city. Nothing but another face in the crowd. To make himself harder to find, he tends to frequent parts of the city his younger self wouldn't have been caught dead in.
Yet here he is, tucked away in a side room of one of the more popular clubs in Shinjuku. How the mighty have fallen.
It's a small, cramped yet thankfully well-kept place with no furniture to speak of. Nearly nothing is noteworthy about such a space... Save, of course, for the convenient plethora of holes in the wall shared between the slightly bigger side room. All at some varying approximations of pelvic height.
It wouldn't take a detective to deduce what those are meant to be used for. Even a failed fraud could figure it out.
It's dim and musty in here; there's a mild wrinkle in his nose at the lingering stench of smoke, sweat, and traces of cleaning solution in a vain attempt to cover up god-knows-how-much-else. It'll fade from his awareness in a few minutes, once he's gotten acclimated to it again.
Sometimes this room's open for recreational use. But that's unreliable, unpredictable, and quite difficult to profit from, so Goro and the club's host have an arrangement. Spend a handful of hours on the busiest nights sucking off strangers, get a chunk of whatever said strangers paid for access to it. There's even a promised bonus on nights he does particularly well and gets enough glowing reviews for his performance.
His employer, of course, is the one who decides how many reviews deign him 'good enough', so he's never actually received the bonus. Stingy bastard.
Still... he supposes he can't complain too much. The pay is decent without a contract, without any strings attached. All he has to be is a warm, wet hole for a meaningless number of drunks and/or businessmen likely dissatisfied with their lot in life to fuck. Then he can go back to his tiny apartment, rigorously clean himself, and pass out. Rinse and repeat tomorrow night.
The less he dwells on it, the better for him in the long run.
Goro has to suppress a scoff as one of the thin and short curtains on the other side is drawn away to reveal the first cock of the night. Already hard and waiting for him- impatiently so, from the way it juts out a little closer to him after only a second. Straining for stimulation, a wordless demand for immediate pleasure.
One he's quick to acquiesce to, sinking to his knees on the dingy tile and wrapping his lips around his eager customer.
Honestly, he tends to tune out these shifts. Most customers he gets are already pent up, eager and frustrated enough to fuck into him like a living fleshlight. All he usually needs to do is keep his teeth out of the way, let his jaw go slack, and spit out or wipe away the cum roughly a couple minutes later.
He's had a near-lifelong supply of experience letting himself be used. By now, it's hardly noteworthy.
After... an hour, perhaps? It's quite difficult to tell in here. After enough time to feel his knees start to complain about kneeling on the hard and unforgiving tile, cock number thirteen is different almost from the very beginning.
The curtain is drawn aside with a smooth haste- pent up, or perhaps embarrassed, but not drunk. At least... Not drunk enough to hamper coordination. A theory only confirmed by the swift sound of a zipper and the soft shuffle of fabric. Jeans, perhaps. Doesn't quite sound like business slacks.
But any idle analysis is quickly brought to a screeching halt as soon as the customer actually pokes through.
Because it is absolutely massive. Big enough to grab Goro's attention and resolutely refuse to let go. Definitely not the thickest he's seen, but it more than makes up for that. Long, lean, already flushed at the head... It stands before him with pride. Almost challenging him with its very existence, taunting him with the chance that he might not be able to fit it all.
Which doesn't matter for his job, he knows it doesn't, but somethings in him ignites at the thought. A part of himself he'd assumed was buried down so deep inside him it would never see the light of day again. Or the nearly-burnt lightbulb of night. Whatever.
All because of some stranger's goddamn monster of a cock.
And he refuses to let it win.
Usually he doesn't bother doing this, but he wraps his hand around the base, as far down as the barrier between them will allow. A distance which becomes a bit longer as the customer presses forward at the touch, letting out a barely-audible hitched breath. Wrought just from Goro's fingers alone.
Cute. Pathetic, but cute.
Judging from the reactions, this one probably won't last very long. He has to make it count, to conquer this challenge while he can.
So he doesn't endeavor to waste time. To tune this out like most of the others, tamping down the urge to swallow the saliva buildup in his mouth. It'll make the process a little smoother in the long run. An advantage he'll need.
The customer pushes in a little more as Goro's lips brush over the head before his jaw slackens, allowing further access inside. Near-flush against the wall at this point, judging from the few dark curls that poke through the hole to the other side. Surprisingly soft to the touch, he finds when his fingers trail down to brush against them. Keeping the cock steady.
Imagine that- a customer who actually bothers to groom themself down there. He's gotten so used to tuning out the feeling of moist oiliness, he'd forgotten what the alternative even felt like.
Briefly, ever-so-briefly, he even imagines burying his nose in it. Being able to breach the barrier between them.
But now is no time for such trivial flights of fancy. He still has work to do.
And work he does, diligent and careful. Putting his well-practiced motions to good use, lips too busy wrapped around velvety skin and preventing any drag of teeth to quirk up at every twitch. Every quiet sound.
The customer stays still, lets him work. A welcome change of pace. Their patience is rewarded by Goro bobbing his head up along the length he's managed so far, getting used to the progress he's made before delving further down.
Barely halfway, though. Damnit!
They don't seem to be just about to spill over, thankfully, but he can't afford to waste time. Not if he wants to actually go all the way. A challenge which ultimately doesn't matter, as he has nothing to prove- especially not to this infuriatingly well-endowed stranger who'll be fine getting their rocks off either fucking way.
But it's a goal he's actually bothered to set beyond just surviving day-to-day for the first time in a while, and he's going to accomplish it.
Goro pours that resolve into his work, going at it with newfound vigor. Immediately bobbing his head down to the point he'd gotten to last time and delving further. The slide of saliva coating the velvety foreskin makes it easier, but the more he envelopes, the less it helps.
He keeps his tongue flat along the underside, tracing along the occasional vein. His jaw slackens, his throat relaxes. Not even a trace of a gag reflex as the cockhead brushes against the back of his throat.
Yet it still keeps fucking going. Seemingly going on forever, past what he'd estimated at a glance.
Goro Akechi is many things. Too many to name, too long a list to bother mentioning.
But if there's one thing he isn't, even after all these long and grueling years of life- it's a goddamn quitter. Especially not when he's so close to his goal.
So he pulls back to breathe, stubbornly squeezes his eyes until they no longer sting, and gets back to it. His jaw aches a little from the sheer size, but judging from how the frequency of little twitches inside him has been picking up… He's not the only one who's close. Doesn't have much time left.
Still, minimal credit where it's due- the customer's lasted longer than he initially assumed they would. Especially judging from their apparent (admittedly assumed, but he's gotten good at reading the signs) inexperience. Defying his expectations.
Hopefully they can pull through and last a little bit longer for him.
He makes it worthwhile for them, and admittedly makes the challenge harder for them both, by going at a rhythm. Back and forth. Back, further down this time, and forth. More enjoyable that way. Getting himself used to it, preparing for the final stretch.
A finger slips off their cock as soon as his lips brush it. Making room.
Almost there, just a bit more…
He pulls back, a smooth and steady slide. Swallowing around a twitch.
Don't you dare fucking give in now. Not yet!
The customer lets out a low, needy sound. Wordless yet… oddly pleasant. Enough to spark a different flame inside Goro. A subtle straining in his own jeans.
Deal with that later. Don't get distracted.
Another finger slips off. He'll probably regret this for the rest of his shift, but even with the mild ache, he doesn't give the slightest shit.
So close…!
The customer's breathing is coming in faster now, panting to the point that even Goro can pick it up. Beads of dribbling pre line his mouth, greeting his tastebuds with the taste of salt thicker than sweat.
Final push.
With the desperation of a racer's last-minute push of adrenaline for the finish line, Goro dives back down. Slipping his hand off the customer's cock completely to give himself room to work. To make it that last little sliver or near-choke himself trying. Preferably the former.
The panting's coming in quicker, interspersed with the occasional low whine. If Goro wasn't so focused, something about the tone would strike him as… oddly familiar.
However, he's far too busy to worry about a trivial matter like that right now. Everything in the world narrows down to him and his customer, his challenge to overcome.
He will not let it- let them, whoever this bastard is- win.
That resolve pushes him to keep going. To ignore the ache, ignore any shred of discomfort…
…To finally, finally, reach the end. He's never been so goddamn glad to feel his nose brush against the cheap, flaky paint of the wall. The few reaching hairs tickle his lower lip.
The victory washes over him, lacing his very veins with a triumphant heat. Making him twitch his own hips and moan around the satisfying weight nestled within him.
They both deserve a reward for this. Especially him.
Suckling and slurping at the conquered cock, pulling back to a far more manageable level now that he's proven (to himself) he can take it all, it doesn't take long for the moaning to stutter and keen. For Goro to earn his just reward.
Usually he spits out the come after the customers have left. Means he also has to clean up before he leaves, but god only knows where some of these strangers have been. Goro at least has a modicum of self respect left in him, after all.
But for this… he decides to make an exception. To swallow down the thick, salty waves that greet him. That seek to paint him with shooting white strips. Taking it all like a practiced professional, like the goddamn champion he is.
Pleasure and satisfaction wash over him. Making his hips twitch around the hand he'd hardly even noticed working at the tent in his jeans until now. He hasn't come himself, not yet, but his boxers are slightly more damp than before. Noticeably so.
He'll regret that later. For now, he soaks in the sensation while he can. The pleasant ambience of his customer's groans. A job well done. He'd almost forgotten how self-satisfaction felt after all this time. Even for something so admittedly trivial, it's… nice.
Prior experience allows him to simply assume that will be that. Any moment now, the spent cock will slip back to the other side, the curtain will close, and he'll hear the sound of readjusting pants before the opposite room's door. Likely a muffled exchange between two people passing as another customer enters.
That's the routine he's gotten used to, anyway.
That's not what happens this time.
The cock does leave his side, and he hears shuffling fabric before a zip. A few more heavier breaths before a cleared throat.
Then… Instead of the curtain closing, something else slips through the hole. A rolled-up wad of cash Goro stares at for a moment. Before the slender fingers holding it- topped with glossy black nail polish, applied within the past two days by the looks of it- push it in a bit further towards him insistently.
As gingerly as one would handle defusing a bomb, he takes it. Unfolds and rifles his thumb through the bills. Searching for any suspicious signs.
These don't appear to be counterfeit, though. There's no odd powder along the surface or any staining, looking quite legitimate and pristine.
Yet something must be up. Why the fuck else would someone slip him fifty thousand yen?
His nonverbal question is answered… Though it brings it's own complications aplenty.
"It's a tip," his— the customer says. "Hope this pays well, but… Y'know. Thanks."
Goro freezes. Barely hears the paltry thanks, his mind elsewhere. Racing a mile a minute.
Because he knows that voice. It's been years since he heard it, enough to change it slightly… But not enough to ultimately matter. He unfortunately recognizes and remembers it too well to dare hope otherwise.
Part of him wants to scream. Part of him wants to laugh at the sheer dumb luck. Part of him wants to unlock the door and get the fuck out of here, move his plans up and leave the goddamn country tonight.
All to avoid even the slimmest chance of a confrontation with Akira goddamn Kurusu, of all people. It's doubtful Goro would've brought himself to look him in the eye before, but now, knowing what he knows… There's no way.
Of course this would happen to him. Of fucking course.
In the end, Goro does none of those things. Just tucks the money away- as much as the thought of accepting his pity sickens him, beggars can't be choosers- and watches the curtain close.
Hears the steps on the other side. The door opening to let him back out into the bustling club.
And waits for his next customer.
The taste lingers in his mouth.