Chapter Text
There’s an itching under his skin, like he’s wearing the wrong suit of skin. He’s no idea what’s caused it, even less idea of how to deal with it. He can barely think around the disquiet inside him. Everything is disjointed. Everything is uncomfortable. Everything is wrong. Everything is out of sync.
Relief did come though. It started with Zack twisting him in ways he’s not supposed to go. His knees, his garbage knees, were wrenched in ways knees are not supposed to go, and it fucking hurt, but it sated the itch. His body ached, but it was a satisfying ache. One that resonated though his body until the next time in the ring. For the brief moment, when he’d been twisted and in agony he’d felt better. Stretched and pained, his body felt like it worked together properly.
Hiromu, calling in what was the morning for him as he’d been exiled to America, had laughed at him. He’d warned Tetsuya that this was a slippery slope. It’s a ridiculous thing to be warned of slippery slopes by Hiromu. His little student leaps from terrible idea to terrible idea, but unlike Tetsuya, Hiro has a naturally short attention span. He obsesses deep, hard, and for an hour, as evidenced by Hiro, Tetsuya will keep his obsessions for years. Hiro had warned him softly that whatever he was chasing would probably end badly, but if he could help he’d try to not be too distracted by his current feud with El Desperado, and maybe Rocky Romero. Hiro himself isn’t sure who he’s feuding with, but his protégé is not good at focussing, and is probably feuding with both really.
The next night he’s in the ring with Suzuki.
It’s worse.
It’s perfect.
The vicious bastard hurts him. Every minute he’s in Suzuki’s grasp, his body sings in agony. It’s awful. He loves it. Suzuki seems slightly annoyed. His attacks burn, like fighting a flaming torture rack. The more Tetsuya seems to ignore him, or grin, or laugh at him, the more Suzuki rages, the more Suzuki hurts him, the more Tetsuya leans into it, the more he craves it. He staggers to the back, ignoring everything but the glorious burn of pain, and the hum of his skin fitting properly. Bushi shoots him an odd look. He ignores it. He doesn’t want to lose this moment of everything fitting together properly.
Hiromu laughs at him on the phone again. When he picks the cackling, little shit up from the airport, he’s going to smack him in his cute little face. Hiromu is an expert in matters of obsession though. His techniques for achieving satisfaction in his obsessions aren’t good, but he generally does seem to fulfil them. Tetsuya obsesses, but he generally has no idea how to fulfil his obsessions. Be careful. Hiro’s only advice. Tetsuya is even worse than Hiro at following advice.
Goading Suzuki Minoru is a stupid idea. It hurts. He loves it. He wants more. His body aches. He wants more. Every stretch, every pull, every single thing Suzuki does hurts. He wants so much more. He grins, he laughs, he spits, he turns his back to Suzuki, he refuses to even look at him. Suzuki hurts him even more. His body screams, but it’s a scream of satisfaction.
Hiromu laughs at him in person. Tetsuya bops him on the nose, and gives him a coffee. He loves Hiro. He can’t bring himself to smack him in the face as he deserves. He laughs harder at that when Tetsuya tells him. In their match, he’s going to let Suzuki beat the crap out of Hiro.
He ends up letting Suzuki ruin his knees more to save Hiro from the beating he very much deserves. It feels like Suzuki punishes him even more for putting himself on the line to save someone else. It aches. A horribly perfect ache. He wants more. He needs more. The next match with Suzuki is better. He seems damn near insatiable. Grabbing, pulling, stretching, smacking. Every action he can think of to pull Tetsuya apart, and he craves more of it. He wants Suzuki’s best shot. He wants to be torn apart, and destroyed. All so he can reassemble himself. He wants to be rid of the itching.
Evil’s return is overshadowed for Tetsuya. Suzuki tries to kill him in a stairwell. His hands on his body, squeezing, tearing, rending him. His hands around Tetsuya’s throat, wringing the life from him. By the time he makes it back to the rest of his team, he’s aching. By the sounds of the locker room, they won. By the pain of his body, so did he.
“Where were you?” Hiromu, unsurprisingly, is the first to talk to him. He sounds close to frantic. His eyes run over Tetsuya, and drags him straight to the showers. “And people wonder where I get it from.” He nods at Tetsuya’s groin. There’s an undeniable tenting. Hiromu looks judgemental. He has no business judging Tetsuya on anything relating to fucking his opponents.
“You! You’re judging me?” Tetsuya snaps, turning the shower on, and pulling off his clothes. He doesn’t want to think too much about what his dick’s doing. Autonomous penises are the worst design flaw human’s have.
“Strongly.” Hiromu laughs, stripping out of his gear, smirking at Tetsuya. He steps into the shower, and holds his hand out to Tetsuya.
“You, the man who tries to fuck everyone he’s ever been in the ring with.” Tetsuya lets Hiro pull him under the shower spray. Hiro slides a thigh between Tetsuya’s rubbing against his stupidly hard cock.
“Succeeded with most of them too.” Hiro smiles, his lashes low over his eyes, his sexiest, hottest, come fuck me gaze. “But at least I’m not getting off on having the shit kicked outta me.” He laughs, and starts getting washed, pointedly ignoring Tetsuya and his still hard cock.
“I’m not even getting a hand?” Hiro looks at him, an eyebrow raised.
“I’m not getting involved in any of the kinky shit that’s getting you off today.” Hiro twists Tetsuya around, pressing him back against the wall of the shower. “Not to kink shame, but we both know I’m not exactly the sadistic type.” Hiro presses himself against the length of Tetsuya’s body, licks the corner of his mouth, and taps him on the nose.
“And I am?” Tetsuya rubs his eyes, pushes Hiro away, and gets washed quickly, ignoring his cock, hoping it’ll go away on its own. He’s used to his body needing pain inflicted on it by now, but the fact that his dick has gotten in on the act feels like a betrayal. Hiro levels him with a very sympathetic look, and sinks to his knees, shoving Tetsuya back against the shower wall again.
“No…you do appear to be a masochist though.” Hiro grins at him, and takes his entire cock into his mouth. Blowjobs are a speciality of Hiro’s. He can’t shake the thought of Suzuki’s hands around his throat. His hands tangle in Hiro’s hair, and he pulls back. “No hair pulling. Desperado keeps doing it, and it hurts.” He presses Tetsuya’s hands back against the wall. He tugs Tetsuya’s balls, and retakes his cock into his mouth. Tetsuya’s mind drifts, the feeling of his body being pulled in the wrong directions, the warmth of Suzuki’s skin on his, his rough hands stretching him, his short, blunt nails digging into him, the vague scent of danger that clings to Suzuki filling his nostrils – things that are distinctly Suzuki and a million miles from cute, little, on his knees Hiromu. He would bet money that Hiro sucks cock a thousand times better than Suzuki, to be honest, he’d bet money that Suzuki hasn’t even had a cock in his mouth. Hiro’s teeth scrape along his cock, and the sudden sting of pain snaps Tetsuya out of his head.
“Oh fuck.” His hands want to grab Hiro’s head, and to pull at his hair, but a sharp rap on his foot, and a fiery look from Hiro, keeps his hands in place. Hiro finishes him off quickly, and bounces to his feet, kissing Tetsuya, forcing his cum into his mouth. He’s never liked Hiro’s irritating habit of making him taste himself, but right then it’s about the best thing that’s ever happened. It’s so rare that Hiro is even slightly forceful with him, and right now he needs it. He needs a strong hand before this thing with Suzuki gets worse.
It gets worse.
It gets far worse.
“Can we not give Hiromu a heart attack?” He’s barely made it out of the medical area before a flustered Bushi shows up, fluttering like a little, stressed butterfly. Evil is helping him on the path to their locker room. Inside there’s a startled looking Sanada and the physical remnants of Hiromu’s heart attack or temper tantrum, the scattered mess that is a Los Ingobernables de Japon locker room makes it hard to tell if Hiro actually did anything. “Oh fuck.” Bushi sounds utterly frazzled. The life of Bushi is hard. He spends his time dealing with the rest of them. Poor man. “Where’s the other one?” Sanada shrugs, toeing the closest bag to him, checking if it’s his.
“It was the weirdest thing.” Sanada rights the bag, satisfied it is his, and gives Bushi his most charming smile. Bushi looks at him blankly. Bushi is immune to charming smiles. “Hiro left...” Bushi shoves Tetsuya towards the showers, and stalks closer to Sanada. “With Taichi of all people.” Sanada is wearing an expression that would suit a statue of Buddah. He is a serene man. It’s enviable to be so calm in the face of the rest of them. Los Ingobernables de Japon are in many ways a chaotic, and far from tranquil bunch.
“Why the fuck is Hiro with Taichi?” He’s not sure if he or Bushi screamed that louder, the looks from both Evil and Sanada suggest it was him. Sanada shrugs, and starts getting dressed. It’s then that Tetsuya notices he’s sitting in nothing more than a towel. Evil finishes shoving Tetsuya into the showers, and vaguely promises to fetch Hiro if he’s gone for more than five minutes. This seems like an overly generous allotment of time. Five minutes gives his protégé far too much of an allowance. Hiromu can get a lot done in five minutes.
His shower is a very shameful thing. His mind wanders to the agony that Suzuki caused him. Suzuki’s warm, surprisingly pleasant breath on his neck, his low, growling voice in his ear, snarling a million other things he could do to cause Tetsuya pain, each one dragging more blood from his head to his cock. His forehead falls to the tiles, his hand wraps around his achingly hard cock. His breathing picks up as he strokes himself. Suzuki wrenching his neck back, pulls his legs apart, bending him in all the wrong ways. He needs more. He needs that pain, not just the memory of it. That low, gravelly voice sneering at him. He wants Suzuki there, he wants that vicious mind, that cruel body, that awful man tearing him apart.
“Fuck.” He comes with groan. Hiro laughs at him. He really should smack him. “Make some noise.” Hiro shakes his head, and folds his arms over his chest. “Why were you with Taichi?”
“We were discussing mutual problems.” Tetsuya shuts off the shower, and catches the towel Hiro tosses him.
“What problems? And what mutual do you have with him?” He scrubs the towel over his shoulders, and down his body. “He made you cry.” There are few people who have made Hiro cry who have lived without Tetsuya beating the shit out of them. He’s beaten the shit out of Taichi repeatedly.
“Meh. Plenty of people have made me cry.” Hiro shrugs. His gaze is judgemental. “But thank you for your concern? I imagine that’s concern.” Tetsuya nods vaguely securing the towel around his waist. “I like Taichi.”
“He made you cry.” Tetsuya repeats, scrubbing his hair dry with the second towel Hiro hands him. Making Hiro cry isn’t something Tetsuya forgives easily. Hiro pulls an odd face, dismissing Tetsuya’s concerns.
“He’s a good fuck.” Hiro laughs at whatever face he was wearing. It’s probably a strange mix of fury, disgust, and resignation. “Please. He made me cry, I had to prove a point.”
“I don’t even…I have raised you terribly.” Tetsuya ruffles Hiro’s hair, and wonders if he’s somehow responsible for the mess that is Hiromu.
“You have.” Hiro leans up to press a vague kiss to somewhere near Tetsuya’s mouth. He seems distracted, but that is nothing new for Hiromu. His arms drape over Tetsuya’s shoulders. “Taichi is the worst though…no use in planning at all.”
“And you’re planning what exactly?” It’s times like these that Tetsuya almost regrets not listening to Bushi more often. He’d warned that having Hiro in L.I.J. would make things more complicated. Hiro’s plans are usually chaotic, and end up with him fucking someone. He doesn’t want to think about who it is he’s looking to get into bed with this one.
“Hmm…what indeed, my dearest Naito?” He laughs, and pecks Tetsuya’s nose. He smirks suddenly, and nuzzles at Tetsuya’s neck. “Do you think I should let Desperado know that I know we had sex?”
“What?” He tries to look at Hiro, but he’s busy lick/kissing Tetsuya’s neck. The abrupt change of subject isn’t what throws him, it’s the revelation that Hiromu’s already fucked Desperado. He’d expected that to still be on the to-do list.
“We got drunk ages ago, and had sex, and all this time he’s thought I didn’t know it was him.” He sounds almost scolding, like this should be obvious. Honestly, it probably should have been. If the next thing out of Hiro’s mouth is that he fucked Rocky Romero on the off chance they were having a feud it would be no less unsurprising.
“Is it your intention to fuck all of Suzuki-Gun, or just the juniors? Is Taka on the list next?” Tetsuya tilts his head to the side a little. Hiro knows the spot that makes his moan pathetically. His mind is trying to conjure up ways to have Suzuki’s breath on the area.
“I’m thinking maybe one of the foreigners…would you recommend Zack?” Hiro pulls back just enough to wink, and then rests his head against Tetsuya’s shoulder, snuggling like a little kitten. “Or maybe I should skip straight to the general.” Tetsuya grabs his shoulders, holds him out at arms length, and shakes him. A smirk blossoms on Hiromu’s lips. He’s made a terrible mistake. Hiro laughs, and slips from his grasp. A horrible, terrible mistake has been made, the Taichi of mistakes. He has shown Hiromu the weakness he was looking for, and he’s very pleased with the revelation
Nothing happens in the locker room. Nothing happens as they eat dinner. Nothing happens as they all get drunker. Nothing happens as he’s half-carried, half-dragged to his hotel room by Evil. Hiro and Sanada had decided to continue the night at some club. Bushi had wanted to go to bed hours ago, but Sanada hadn’t let him, so he’s stuck going to the club too. Hiro was wearing a ridiculous black coat with tassels. He almost feels sorry for Desperado. Being the target of Hiro’s attention is not an enviable thing most of the time. Evil’s joining the others once he’s dumped Tetsuya. He’s grateful for being dumped. He’s not sure he’d be very good company. That’s probably why he’s being dumped really. He’s left in the hotel bar. Taichi is there. He orders him a whisky. Tetsuya isn’t a fan. Not of whisky, and not of Taichi. He endures both.
“He said he wouldn’t let you get this drunk.” Taichi sighs, smoke billowing from his mouth. Tetsuya hadn’t noticed the cigarette.
“Why is Hiro talking to you? You made him cry.” It’s a stupid accusation to make, one that makes Taichi look at him in mild confusion. Alcohol makes Tetsuya stupid.
“When? Also, it’s not hard to make your acolyte cry, Naito. He’s…fragile.” Taichi sips at his once more filled whisky glass. Vices seem to manifest around him. Tetsuya can’t remember if he was always like this. His mind is too fuzzy, and he feels too off to be able to trawl his memories.
“People should be nice to Hiro. He’s a good boy.” Tetsuya mutters, sipping his whisky, and feeling vaguely certain that half of what he just said is a lie.
“A delight.” Taichi is a master of sounding like an asshole. He’s a master of being an asshole too. “Here.” He sets a key-card on the bar top. “Go take care of me and your boy’s problem, okay?” Tetsuya stares at the key. Taichi kicks his shin. “Room eight-twenty-four. Go.” Tetsuya does as he’s told.
The elevator is empty apart from the man employed to operate it. He looks suspiciously at Tetsuya. He assures him he’s not going to be sick. The elevator operator doesn’t seem convinced. He’s not too convinced either. He’s more drunk than he’d wanted. He’d wanted to be drunk enough to shove everything with Suzuki to the back of his mind. Instead, he’s drunk enough to be horny, and the pain that Suzuki Minoru can cause him is front and centre in his mind. The elevator man looks happy when Tetsuya staggers out on the eighth floor. The key from Taichi is in his hand, there’s a sign with arrows pointing left and right. One to twenty is to the left, twenty-one to forty is to the right. The key in his hand is twenty-four. He’s really going to have to smack Hiro when he seems him next. This is his fault. He has a terrible feeling he knows what, more accurately who, is in room eight-twenty-four, and he’s not sure he’s grateful for that.
The room is dark. One lamp is the only lighting in the room. The air is thick with tension, despite there being only one man in the room. It’s bluntly stark. There’s nothing personal visible at all, apart from the man himself. Suzuki is sitting on an armchair under a tall floor lamp. He’s dressed simply, a white t-shirt, dark sweatpants, and bright coloured socks. In one hand is a glass of something amber, Tetsuya is a beer drinker, he knows very little to nothing of liquor. Suzuki looks at Tetsuya with unfiltered disgust.
“What?” Suzuki shifts in his chair slightly. Tetsuya’s thrown for a moment, just a moment. He rolls his eyes, and pointedly ignores Suzuki. He heads for the bathroom. His hands are shaking. He’s too drunk to deal with this. “Oi!” A bang on the door jars Tetsuya from staring at his slightly fuzzy reflection. He has no idea what the hell he’s going to do. He can’t walk out there, and demand Suzuki slaps him in some horrid submission hold that twists him into an agonised pretzel. “Oi!” Another bang on the door. “Fucking punk! Get out of there.”
“Fuck you, old man.” Tetsuya snaps, and decides to make use of the toilet. He’s going to look very sternly at Hiromu, and eviscerate Taichi. Another loud bang on the door. Tetsuya glances over at the door, and washes his hands. His next choice is does he leave the bathroom, or does he stay here until Suzuki realises he never locked the door in the first place. The door slams against the wall.
“The hell are you doing in here, Naito?” Suzuki fills the entire doorframe. His hands are clutching the wood, his knuckles white. Tetsuya snorts dismissively at him, and slowly dries his hands with the towel. “Answer me.” Suzuki strides into the bathroom, and kicks the back of one of Tetsuya’s knees, grabbing him by his hair, stopping his chin from colliding with the sink. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Being assaulted, apparently.” Tetsuya has no idea how he’s keeping his voice so bland, his heart is racing, but thankfully his breathing is even, deep and calm.
“Answer my fucking question, you little shit.” Suzuki’s hand tightens in his hair, holding him in what is an awkwardly uncomfortable pose, his legs bent in a strange way. Suzuki pulls him up, and holds him in some painful choke. “How the fuck did you get in here?”
“With my key.” Tetsuya manages to gasp around the choke, and his blood rushing to the wrong place. Suzuki sneers again. His arm tightening around Tetsuya’s neck. His head is lacking blood and air. The shortage isn’t stopping the smirk that’s forming on his lips. He meets Suzuki’s eyes in the mirror. “I got in with my key.” He manages to pull the key-card from his pocket, and taps it off Suzuki’s arm. Suzuki snatches the key, and shoves him forward into the sink. Tetsuya grasps the porcelain, his breath fogging the mirror slightly. He can see Suzuki glaring at the key-card in his hands like it had personally offended him. Suzuki tosses the card at Tetsuya’s head.
“Get the fuck out.” He returns to the doorway. Tetsuya stretches against the sink. He’s sure it looks unconsciously like he’s shoving his ass out, he’s not sure if it is or isn’t unconsciously. Suzuki is glowering at him. Tetsuya is certain the outside is tranquilo, but inside he’s a mess. “Oi! Get the fuck out.” He glances over at Suzuki, barely looking at him. That seems to infuriate Suzuki. Before Tetsuya can think, he’s wrapped in some painful hold that’s stretching him in an agonising way. Suzuki is snarling in his ear, but Tetsuya has no idea what he’s saying. His mind is shredded. He can’t focus on anything but the pain. Suzuki changes his hold, yanking Tetsuya back further, stretching him more, bringing more pain. Then suddenly, it stops. Suzuki stands up, glowering down at him.
Suzuki laughs.
His foot presses down against Tetsuya’s stupid fabric covered erection. He laughs again, his socked heel grinding against Tetsuya’s hard cock. He’s not looking. He can’t bring himself to look. He knows Suzuki will be looking at him in disgust. He’s not sure if it’ll be disgust that’ll end well or badly for him. He’s not sure what good or bad will be in this situation.
“That’s why you’re here, huh?” Suzuki toes at Tetsuya’s groin. “Fucking pervert.” The heel of his foot against Tetsuya’s cock again. “I should have known.” Tetsuya bites back a moan, and hopes that he’s managing to keep a blank face. He must, because Suzuki almost growls as he grabs him by the hair again, pulling him up to his knees. Tetsuya keeps his gaze focused on anything but Suzuki. That seems to infuriate him even more. “Oi, pervert.” He shakes Tetsuya by the hair. It hurts enough that he feels like he works properly. “Pervert.” Suzuki yanks his head back suddenly. It forces Tetsuya to meet his eyes. “I wondered why your little pet was fucking his way through my army…now I know, hmm?” He slaps Tetsuya’s cheek. His head snaps to the side with its force, but Tetsuya makes no attempt at moving it back to face Suzuki. “Which one gave him a key for you?” Another slap to the other side of Tetsuya’s face. “One of the foreigners?” Another slap, the opposite cheek again. Once more he doesn’t look at Suzuki. He growls, and tosses Tetsuya to the bathroom floor. “Should I ask the worthless whore myself?” Tetsuya really needs to learn to not leap to Hiromu’s defence. Him launching himself at Suzuki has only resulted in him being caught in some painful hold, his chest against the bathroom door, and Suzuki pressed along his back. “That’s a very glaring weakness.” Suzuki’s breath is tinged with whatever he was drinking, and hot against Tetsuya’s neck. He wrenches Tetsuya’s arm up higher. He stands on his tiptoes, playing at escaping the pain, but wanting more, wanting Suzuki closer. “I’ll ask again.” Suzuki tightens the hold, and presses Tetsuya firmer against the door. His chest feels constricted, his breathing coming in stupidly fast gasps.
“Ask what, old man?” Tetsuya closes his eyes, focussing on the pain in his arm, and the quickness of his breath. Suzuki is silent for a moment, and then releases him. “That’s it?” Tetsuya stays against the door, getting his breath back under control. “All the great King of Wrestling has to offer?” He laughs. Suzuki raises an eyebrow, a wry smirk twisting his lips.
“A drunk, perverted piece of shit like you isn’t my type.” He leaves the bathroom. “Send me your stupid, pretty pet instead.” He really needs to learn to not leap so swiftly to Hiro’s defence. He collides with Suzuki’s back, and Suzuki collides with the dresser. He’s a sudden flurry of movement and pain. “Dumb, fucking punk.” He sneers, disgust thick in his tone as he rends Tetsuya. He knocks his head back, connecting with Suzuki’s nose. “Stupid, Naito. Very stupid.” He’s stretching Tetsuya’s spine, pulling him in terrible ways that he shouldn’t be able to go. His elbows are digging into him in awkward ways, sharp and bony points of pain. There’s a razor-sharp edge to his voice. “You’re here for me to hurt, right?” Suzuki bites his ear. Tetsuya grunts, his eyes screwing shut, but not giving Suzuki anything more than that. Suzuki tightens his hold, then releases Tetsuya. He gets up, pulling Tetsuya to his feet, and then bouncing him off the dresser. The edge collides with his ribs, winding him. “How badly do you want it to hurt?” Suzuki laughs at him. Without thought, he leaned back against Suzuki, his head falling back to his shoulder. One of Suzuki’s arms wraps around Tetsuya’s throat, holding him tightly. His other hand grabs the blatant bulge in the front of Tetsuya’s jeans. “Pathetic.” He bites Tetsuya’s ear again. He grabs the bottom of Tetsuya’s shirt, and drags it up over his head. A sharp slap to his stomach has Tetsuya clawing at Suzuki’s arm. Another smack. Tetsuya digs his nails into Suzuki’s arm, scratching as deeply as he can. Suzuki laughs at him again. Suzuki lets him go, and yanks the shirt off. He smacks Tetsuya’s stomach once more. “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?”
“Fuck you, old man.” Tetsuya grunts. He stamps on Suzuki’s sock-clad foot, his sneakers may be old, and thin-soled, but it’s better than nothing like Suzuki. He’s once more shoved against the dresser, and forced over it, bent at his waist.
“Take your shoes off, little shit.” Suzuki smacks his back. Tetsuya has toed one shoe off before even realising he’s complying with the order. Suzuki’s hand runs over his back, almost a caress, almost gentle. “Pants.”
“Fuck you.” Tetsuya stamps on Suzuki’s other foot, and shoves him back. “Fuck you.” Suzuki smirks at him. The smirk sharpens. His normal death promising smile. The one that he wears into every fight. The one that makes Tetsuya tremble and ache inside, craving the agony that he knows Suzuki can inflict. Suzuki grabs the waist band of his jeans, and drags him close. His stare is not easy to ignore. Tetsuya manages it. He keeps his eyes on the alarm clock on the dresser by the bed. He’s spun around, and without undoing the fly, Suzuki drags his pants as low as they’ll go. They can’t pass all the way down, they get caught on his hips. Suzuki yanks again, the fabric digs into him. As good as the pain is, he needs these jeans to get to his room. “Wait.” He gropes behind him, catching a hold of Suzuki’s shoulder. “Lemme untie them.” He undoes the fly only just quickly enough for Suzuki to tug his jeans down. He pulls Tetsuya back against his chest, and grabs his cock and balls once more, this time through his underwear. He shoves Tetsuya back over the dresser. He drags Tetsuya’s underwear down and off, catching his jeans on his way down. A heavy hand presses on the back of his head, and an achingly painful smack lands on his ass. The hand on his head snatches his hair, he’s spun around, and forced to his knees. Suzuki presses Tetsuya’s face to his still covered groin. His cock is hard. He can feel it straining against Suzuki’s sweatpants. Suzuki pulls his pants down just enough to free his cock and balls. Tetsuya hesitates for a moment, and Suzuki takes his decision from him. He guides his cock between Tetsuya’s lips. Suzuki thrusts down Tetsuya’s throat, and holds his head in place, smirking at him as Tetsuya scrabbles at his thighs, trying to push him away, trying to get more air. Just on the edge of it being too much, Suzuki pulls him up. He barely gets a chance to catch his breath before Suzuki’s cock is back in his throat. He wants to pull back, but Suzuki is holding him in place. He’s no option but to wait for Suzuki to decide he’s allowed to breath properly again. Suzuki’s cock is withdrawn.
“Not enough, huh?” Suzuki is staring at him critically. His eyes narrowed. “Don’t move.” He starts moving Tetsuya’s head quickly, back and forth. He can’t help the gagging, choking noises he makes. His eyes tear up. It’s not so much that it hurts, but that’s it’s humiliating. Frantic, gasping, gargling noises escape him. Suzuki smirks at him, staring at him with a fierce heat. “This is it, hmm?” There’s a cooing edge to Suzuki’s voice. It reminds him of Hiro in the oddest way. It’s that edge of certainty that lets the playfulness that is at both of their cores shine through. Suzuki frees his dick, and throws Tetsuya to the side, letting him gasp for air. His foot is on the back of Tetsuya’s head suddenly, pressing him against the carpet, grinding him down against the floor. He catches hold of one of Tetsuya’s ankles, and applies a lock, twisting Tetsuya’s ankle the wrong way. His face is still being pressed against the floor. Tetsuya moans. Suzuki tightens his grip, raising him up, his achingly hard cock is weeping as it dangles against his stomach. Suzuki’s foot moves from his head, and kicks at his dick lazily. Tetsuya manages to turn on to his back, easing the pressure on his ankle, and letting him look at Suzuki. His cock is as hard as Tetsuya’s, precum beading at the head.
“Are you getting off on hurting me, pervert king?” Tetsuya manages to keep his voice even. He’s almost proud of himself. Suzuki twists him into some painful leg hold that he’s never endured before. His knees are screaming at him, but they’re screaming in gratitude. Every second of pain is another drop of blood rushing to his cock. Suzuki levels him with a stern look. He shakes his head, and laughs at Tetsuya. “You can laugh, old man, but your dick is as hard as mine.” Suzuki laughs again.
“You want it though, don’t you, you shit?” Suzuki wrenches against Tetsuya’s legs more, and he drives his elbow against Tetsuya’s knee. “You want every single thing I’ve done.” Tetsuya shrugs, finally meeting his eyes easily. “You need it to hurt, Naito, it’s why you’re here.” Suzuki releases the hold, and is on top of him suddenly, a hand on his throat. “If you wanted nice and soft, you’d be with your little pet, wouldn’t you?” He squeezes tightly. “Does he suck cock well?” Suzuki shifts, straddling Tetsuya’s chest, the hand on his throat coming around to the back of his head, tilting it up. “Pretty mouth like that, he must.” He takes a hold of his own cock, and traces it over Tetsuya’s lips. “Did you teach him everything he knows about that too though?” Tetsuya opens his mouth, and sucks lightly on the head of Suzuki’s cock. “Good boy.” He mutters, feeding more of his length to Tetsuya. He settles more comfortably on Tetsuya’s chest, watching him critically. “More, all the way.” He pulls Tetsuya up further, his cock buried entirely in Tetsuya’s throat again. “Better.” Suzuki smirks, and his hand withdraws from Tetsuya’s head. “How well you do, that decides what we do next.” Suzuki is mostly resting on his legs, his body weight only slightly pressing against Tetsuya’s chest. He can’t use his hands, so the only thing he can do is move his head, and use his tongue. He’s not sure if Suzuki is looking to come down his throat, but he’s going to try to make him. He uses every ounce of skill he has when it comes to blowjobs, every little thing he’s ever taught Hiromu, all trying to bring Suzuki off. Suzuki shifts back, more of his weight resting on Tetsuya’s chest, a small noise of pleasure escaping him. A look of annoyance flickers over his face at that, and his legs squeeze Tetsuya’s chest. His head falls back, letting Suzuki’s cock fall from his mouth. The pressure on his ribcage increases. Suzuki sneers down at him. “Get back to it.” He grabs Tetsuya’s head again, dragging him back to his cock. Tetsuya takes it back into his mouth, but this time he’s entirely passive. He lets Suzuki move his head, using him as he wants. “Lazy, piece of shit.” He growls. Tetsuya rolls his eyes, and stares up at the ceiling. “Look at me.” Suzuki shifts back, and bounces Tetsuya’s head on the floor. He tries to shake his head clear, but Suzuki keeps a tight hold on his hair. His head is bounced off the floor again.
“Fuck you, old man.” Tetsuya groans, his eyes screwed shut. Suzuki shifts back, and settles over his stomach. His hand runs slowly down his chest. It rests between Tetsuya’s pectorals for a second. The smack seems to resonate around the hotel room. Suzuki’s hand rests back on his chest. Another sharp smack to his chest, and another, and another, so many that Tetsuya’s loses count. The skin of his chest is burning, his hips ache where Suzuki is resting on top of him. A low chuckle comes from Suzuki.
“Look at me” Suzuki doesn’t sound like a person, he sounds like a rumbling eldritch god, demanding attention and adulation. Tetsuya’s eyes crack open, staring at him through his eyelashes. Suzuki shifts farther back, and grabs Tetsuya’s arm, pulling him up. “It hurts?” His voice is too loud in Tetsuya’s ear. It’s low rumbling notes has a shiver running through him. “Can you take more?” His teeth scrape Tetsuya’s ear. He takes a hold of both of Tetsuya’s arms, and pulls them behind his back. “What do you want, punk?” Tetsuya doesn’t answer, and Suzuki pulls his arms back farther, wrenching them, stretching the joints in them. “Answer me.” His hand tightens around Tetsuya’s wrists. Tetsuya stares at him blankly. He’s not sure what he’s being asked.
“Fuck me.” He groans, his eyes still half-lidded. His arms being wrenched back is making his abused chest burn and ache. Suzuki smirks at him, that dangerous fight smirk. Suzuki gets to his feet, and pushes Tetsuya flat on the floor with his foot.
“Get up.” He gestures to the bed. Tetsuya drags himself to his knees, and awkwardly crawls towards the bed. Suzuki nudging him with his foot as he moves. Little annoying nudges that send him sprawling to his stomach, or rubbing his head and scowling back at Suzuki. “On your front.” Suzuki shoves him with his foot, making Tetsuya collapse against the mattress. A bottle of lube smacks against the back of his head. “Hurry up.” Tetsuya does as he’s told. The last time he was fucked was the last time he saw La Sombra, which was far too long ago now. He works quickly, certain Suzuki will get bored quickly waiting for him to stretch himself open. His certainty is right. His fingers are pulled out, and he’s filled suddenly with the entirety of Suzuki’s cock. Suzuki’s weight rests on him, pressing him down to the bed. He pulls out, and wraps an arm around Tetsuya’s throat in a tight choke. He drags Tetsuya to his knees, and fills him again. The arm around his throat is tight, barely any air is getting through to his lungs. Suzuki is fucking him with heavy determination. Deep, firm thrusts that forces the little air he has out of him in shallow huffs. His vision is swimming, his body feels weak. The arm around his neck relaxes, and he takes several deep, gasping breaths around the powerful thrusts into him. Suzuki laughs at him; his teeth scrape along Tetsuya’s shoulder. “Good boy.” He laughs, and wraps his arm around Tetsuya’s throat again. Suzuki once more fucks him with slow deliberate strokes, his arm tight around Tetsuya’s throat. This time he doesn’t relent, he speeds up, his arm relaxing a little randomly, letting Tetsuya snatch breaths. “Touch yourself.” His voice makes it clear he’s close. Tetsuya starts stroking his cock, his movements are sluggishly weak. Without enough air, he feels like he’s floating almost. Suzuki comes with a noise that’s half snarl, half growl. His cum inside Tetsuya feels hot, and as soon as Suzuki pulls out, he can feel it leaking it out of him. Suzuki flips him over, and grabs his cock. His grip is on the edge of too tight, and too dry to be good, but it is, it’s perfect. Suzuki is staring at him, that vicious smirk on his lips, an inferno in his gaze. He makes what has to be the most pitiful noise of his life, his body is screaming at him, his joints ache, his chest is burning, his ass is stretched and painful, and all he wants is to cum. He needs this encounter to end. Suzuki’s other hand gently touches his chest, then skims down to his knee. His elbow drives down against it. The pain jolts through him, and his orgasm tears through him.
He comes back to himself slowly, almost in time with a soft cloth that’s running over his chest. He reaches out to bat at the hand moving the cloth. He wants to sleep, but he can’t sleep here, not with Suzuki.
“Oi, it’s okay. Lie still.” Suzuki isn’t looking at him properly, he’s focussed on something else, probably the cloth in his hand. “Lie still, Naito.” He mutters, it’s tinged with something mild. It’s not soft, it’s certainly not kind, but it is mild. He finishes cleaning Tetsuya’s chest, and skims it down over his groin and thigh, finally over his asshole. “Your pet is coming to collect you.” Suzuki gets off the bed, tucking his cock back into his pants.
“He’s not my pet.” Tetsuya moans as he sits up, ignoring the pain in his ass. Suzuki pours himself a glass of what Tetsuya can now see is whisky.
“As you say.” He sips at the glass, and retakes his seat under the lamp. “Get dressed.” Tetsuya casts his gaze around the room, no idea where to expect his clothes to be. Suzuki had pulled them off haphazardly before he’d forced him to his knees. They’re in a neat pile on the dresser near the bed. “Tell him that he should be careful if he’s planning on collecting a set…Archer will eat him alive.” Tetsuya shrugs. Hiromu is more than capable of looking after himself. His body is singing with pain. Every little thing about him hurts, but it’s a good hurt, the soul deep hurt he’s needed for a long time. The knock on the door is tentative and quick. Suzuki opens the door just enough to pull the person on the other side through. He’s got a handful of Hiro’s hair, which seems to be the preferred grabbing spot of most people. Hiro’s scratching at Suzuki’s hand, kicking at him, and hissing. “This is more my type.” He levels Tetsuya with an amused look. Tetsuya shrugs dismissively, continuing to get dressed. “How about we skip up your to-do list, little pet?” Suzuki drags Hiromu by the hair to the dresser, forces him to sit up on it, and stands between his splayed legs. His body blocks Tetsuya’s view, but doesn’t stop the uncertain emotions in him. He’s not sure if he’s jealous or annoyed. People really should treat Hiro more carefully, but he does need a good smack. “Skip the others, and I’ll fuck you here.”
“You wouldn’t be able to get it hard twice in one night, old man.” Tetsuya throws a pillow from the bed at Suzuki’s head. Suzuki doesn’t react other than leaning in closer to Hiro. “Once took long enough.” Suzuki makes a very short sound of surprise, and pulls back from Hiromu quickly. There’s a little blood on his bottom lip. Tetsuya should remember Hiro can defend himself.
“You need to train that thing better.” He jerks his chin back at Hiro, and retakes his seat. Hiro hops off the dresser, and bounds over to Tetsuya, leaping at him, and sending them both crashing back against the bed.
“Did you have fun?” He’s grinning like he doesn’t have a tinge of Suzuki’s blood on his lips. He really has done a terrible job of training Hiro. He’s nowhere near sane, and has a terrible concept of boundaries and social interactions. The pillow Tetsuya had thrown at Suzuki bounces off the back of Hiro’s head.
“Get out.” Suzuki isn’t looking at them. He’s staring pointedly at the door. Tetsuya purposefully pulls Hiromu down into a kiss, one hand in Hiro’s hair, the other grabbing his ass. The old creep can get out or off if he wants, but Tetsuya is going to treat his little student as kindly as he deserves.
“Ow!” Hiro bites him, and darts away quickly as though he’d stolen Tetsuya’s hat, comically leaping away from Suzuki when he realises he’d darted too close to him for comfort.
“I’ve better things to do than tuck you in, Naito.” His voice is quick and melodic. He’s got someone, somewhere, to fuck. Tetsuya can only hope it’s not another member of Suzuki Gun. They don’t need more dealings with them
“Train that thing better.” Suzuki drains his glass, setting it down on the table near his chair with a bang. “Or I will.” He smiles at Hiro, one that’s all teeth, and viciousness. Hiro smiles back at him, all indulgent warmth, and soft promises. Suzuki snorts dismissively, but doesn’t look away. Tetsuya gets up, and stuffs his feet in his shoes.
“C’mon you.” His hands rests on Hiromu’s neck, squeezing lightly. He can feel Suzuki watching him.
“Oi! Pervert!” Tetsuya glances back at him, and Suzuki throws him his phone. On the screen is a number typed into it. He hits dial. Suzuki answers his phone. Tetsuya sticks his phone in his pocket, trusting Suzuki to hang up, and shoves Hiro out of the hotel room door.
“Later, old man.” Tetsuya waves over his shoulder, and catches Hiromu by the neck again, following him down the corridor, towards the elevator. He’s looking forward to going to the shower, and then getting some sleep, but first he might try talking some sense into Hiro. He needs to be told to stay away from Suzuki Gun more ardently, because that look Suzuki shot him was a little too interested, and Tetsuya doesn’t like sharing, not even with his little student.